Skar: Twenty Seven

Skar: Twenty Six

[SP] every time you kill someone, their fatal wound shows up as a scar on your body.

*****

After I watched the helicopter leave, I wondered how to proceed with my life and plans from that point. Was there any climb back from such a setback? I sighed loudly as I hailed a taxi. I knew that either way the thing went - Nathan Prescott's surgery and all the other procedures he was being flown abroad to take care of his grave face injury - there would be hell to pay. I smacked my face several times and kicked the curb as I entered my apartment building. Why on earth did I choose a bomb? Flair? Was it me being cocky, or trying to prove a point to someone who had been a thorn in my side?

I realized how petty and stupid my actions were at that point. There was too much in the line... I had far too much to lose to play that type of game. But there I had done it, and I had to live with the results of that action. I decided to remain in Baltimore, and at least try to do two or three more jobs. The hit on Stephan was a success anyway, that was a relief, and I got the money for it.

A few more hit jobs would secure the whole thing, my plans would have been executed, and I would spend retirement free and safe from Prescott, hopefully, But then again, there was the event of Prescott, dying. It would certainly be from those injuries. That meant my face would be covered in a bad scar - at the very least, and then I would have to wear a lot of makeup to conceal all of that stuff, thus putting a dent in my beach relaxation plans.

Also, it would make staying in Baltimore quite problematic, because that scar was bold and all too easily identifiable. I had not forgotten all that happened with Terry Dahl, the annoying detective/ I was tired of cleaning up after my mistakes, and all that trouble it caused. Moreover, there was a good chance the conditions that made it relatively easier to take care of things last time would not be there. What would I do then?

All of the thinking and considerations were doing me no good, so I just shelved it all. I grabbed my EncroChat device and looked through the five messages I had. One caught my eye, the assassination of a man overseeing some of the operations of the Japanese Yakuza in the city, That seemed more tailored to what were my current tastes - sniper work. I saw that any close-up action was dangerous now. A scuffle could ensure at any point, and I could aim the knife for one of the prominent regions that would give me a headache trying to conceal a scar located there.

This time, I found myself situated in the window of an unused room in a plaza used for business. My sniper rifle was ready, and I kept my eyes open and my eyes sharp and fixed on the narrow space between this building and the adjoining building from the angle where I was situated. There was just a three-second window of opportunity before he'd be out of my safe zone,

My safe zone was the window of time in which there was a chance for a clean getaway. Outside that zone, all that existed was rough experiences, crazy risks, and a stare into the cold, empty eyes of death. As soon as Ken Takeshi's chest came into the view of my crosshairs, I pulled the trigger twice and ran off. From the commotion outside, I knew I got him.

And even if he didn't die immediately, he was hit. There was no surviving that, I knew from experience. Modern medicine had not, and would probably never be able to fix that, not in time anyway. I jumped down the back of the building, threw the gun into a guitar case, and changed my clothes before appearing on the streets amidst all the fracas as a bum who performed on the streets,

I ran with all the people running as I watched his bodyguards storm the building, trying to find the assassin. He lay on the ground, one of his men administering CPR. An effort in futility if there ever was one.

As soon as I received my payment, I began to pack up my bags. I'd done enough in this side of Baltimore, there had to be other neighborhoods to live in. Staying at one place while still in the business was going to be a risk far too great to take. If I moved and I got more high-paying contracts, then there would probably be no need to move to another city. It would be straight to the Bahamas from there, and I could put this whole life behind me.

And piss on Karma for all it was worth,

The dreams of such a retirement - in a blaze of glory literally - kept me on track as I moved. There was still a lot to worry about, and I still had a lot of watching my back to do, but then, even I could daydream. I had put in the work, and the time for me to reap the benefits was just around the corner.

*****

TO BE CONTINUED.

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