Please Hold While I Kill a Bad Man

“Hi, dear! Are you busy?”

“Yes, mom. I’m in a meeting.”

“Ok. Call you back later?”

“Sure.”

**************

I love my mom, but she is absolutely driving me crazy.

**************

The back room of the brothel was a study in unhygienic habits. A thick coating of dust rested on top of sticky-looking grime. Beth counted no less than twenty used glasses and empty beer cans. The table where she sat was littered with the detritus of take-out food and full ashtrays. The smell of stale tobacco and unwashed bodies permeated the air, causing Beth to wrinkle her nose.

“My mom,” Beth said, putting her phone in her back pocket and smiling apologetically. The men at the table stared at her for a moment, then nodded. They understood about moms. Beth noted with amusement that no less than five of the men had “Mom” tattoos on their arms.

Beth opened a large, long case and took out the rifle that was nestled inside. She tested the bolt action and the trigger with an expertise that belied her youth and gender. She adjusted the butt and changed the trigger pressure from 500 grams to 700 grams. She slid the sight onto the rail and looked through it, satisfied that she could make the necessary adjustments. The fifty-inch rifle assured her of an effective killing range of almost a mile.

“Why can’t you guys have back rooms in clean brothels? They have ‘em here, you know. I’ve seen ‘em.” Beth looked around and grimaced. Again.

“We meet where we meet,” one of the heavily-tattooed and muscular men said. He then ignored her and concentrated on inspecting his handgun. Beth got the message.

Upon departure, Beth offered a handshake to the only man in the room who spoke. The man hesitated before accepting. Etiquette, even among killers, must be proffered.

The trip to a remote area outside of Wellington took almost an hour, but the distance was no more than thirty miles. No one moved quickly through Wellington, she suspected. Not even an American assassin.

Beth tested the rifle to her satisfaction, making minor adjustments after each shot. She recorded the barometric pressure, the wind speed, and the temperature. Beth continued to make minor adjustments to scope sighting and trigger pressure until she felt that her weapon was as fine-tuned as she was.

Rrring.

“Yeah, hi mom. Just wrapping up.”

Blam!

Beth checked the scope and made the most minute of adjustments. Her OCD served her well in her profession.

“Lord! What was that?”

“Car backfire, mom. They do that a lot in Greece.”

“Humph! They should buy American.”

“Mom? Really? They aren’t Americans.”

“Aren’t they close to the U.S.?”

“No.”

Blam!

Beth was happy with her adjustments and started breaking the rifle down.

“Lordy, dear. How close are you to these cars? Is it safe in that country?”

“Yeah, it’s safe for me. Listen, gotta go, mom. Can we talk later?”

“I thought your meeting was finished.”

“It is. I have another one, though.”

“Ok, dear. Enjoy your new phone! Do you love it?”

“I love it, mom. Thanks. But you spent too much on it.”

“Nonsense. I wanted you to have it so we can stay in touch and send each other pretty pictures.”

“Sure, mom.”

“Soooo…send me some pictures of Greece.”

“Ok. Gotta run. Bye.”

**************

It isn’t that I don’t want to talk to my mom, but she wants to talk about the most inane things. Who had a baby. What Mrs. So-and-So said at church. How much my daddy drinks. Blah blah blah.

Her getting me a new iphone for my birthday gives her an excuse to call me up all the time. She sends photos that are always blurry and off-center. Her text messages are infused with perfect grammar and are perfectly mundane.

Sure, my old phone had a cracked screen and was scuffed up from rough use. Sure, I needed a new one.  Trust mom to do me a favor that works out well for her.

Yes, I love my mom. I gotta remember that.

**************

“The target will be at his New Zealand villa for a week. He likes to swim early in the morning, so we have a window there.”

Beth nodded. She gazed at the pictures of the man she was selected to kill. Royce Hanson. Running to fat. Not handsome but not ugly. Seventies porn star mustache.

“Your code name for this action is Red Rain,” the man in the suit said, looking at Beth. Beth laughed out loud and then covered her mouth. Everyone in the room looked at her and shook their heads. Code names. What are we, ten years old?

Garrison Anders was the man in charge of this operation, and the one speaking to the room. He was CIA, but in his former life, he was a SEAL. The man looked like he could still bench press a polar bear, Beth thought.

“Wellington, and the surrounding area, aren’t easy places to navigate. Stick to the exfil plan. Ben, you’re secondary. Your code name is Pink Mist. Lark, you’re tertiary. Code name’s Gilligan.”

Several people in the room chuckled. Ben and Lark gave Beth envious looks that were not meant to be friendly. They didn’t like Beth for no other reason than she was a better shot than they were. Her reputation for accuracy had spread quickly, and the CIA was happy to use her for their most important liquidations. Beth, for her part, lost no sleep over the opinions that others had of her.

Garrison waved the support personnel out of the room. Papers were shuffled and everyone but Garrison, Beth, Ben, and Lark left the room. A few final details were discussed. Garrison dismissed the trio of snipers fifteen minutes later.

Rrring.

“Yeah, mom? I’m still in a meeting. I’m gonna have to…”

“Your dad is tinkering with the lawn mower. Lord knows what it’ll cost us to get it fixed after HE fixes it. Hi dear.”

“Mom! I gotta go! My boss is staring at me!”

“Ok, dear. Talk soon. Don’t forget your cousin Alice’s birthday next week.”

“Mom!”

“Love you, sweetie.”

Beth put the phone on the table and gave everyone an apologetic look.

“My mom.”

Everyone nodded. They knew about moms.

**************

Beth showered and ate, ready for bed by 7:00. She would have to get to her nest and be set up by 6:00 the next morning. A knock on her hotel door startled her; she grabbed her Sig Sauer and looked through the peephole. Garrison.

“Can I come in? Just need a few minutes.”

Garrison came in before Beth had a chance to answer. His manner was brusque, but Beth had worked with him before. She understood him. At least, she understood him as much as was possible. The man gave little about himself away.

“Don’t worry about Ben and Lark. They think they should always be a primary on every operation.” Garrison’s gravelly voice filled the room, as did his physique. He sat down and gestured to Beth that she should do the same.

“Sure. They’re good, though.”

“Yes, very good. You’re better. You’ll put Hanson down.”

Beth didn’t know what to say. She knew she was good at putting a bullet in the heads of those that her government wanted eliminated. She never questioned her government’s targets, and this made her an extremely valuable asset.

“Your mom thinks you’re in Greece?”

Beth looked up, surprised.

“Uh…yeah. How did…”

“We monitor phone calls. Especially personal ones. Can’t have you guys giving anything away.”

Beth nodded.

“I know. I had to put Decker Blane down last year for bragging too much about a kill. The man was good, but he talked too much. Me and Ziggy Stardust put two in his chest so his mom could have an open casket funeral.”

“Ziggy…” Garrison looked at Beth quizzically.

Beth held up her Sig Sauer. The handgun gleamed in the dull light of the hotel room.

“Stardust. I gave it a name.”

Garrison shook his head. Assassins. You can never figure out what makes ‘em tick.

“I chose you as the primary because of that. You’re the most mentally tough of the three I had to choose from. Eliminating Hanson is a top priority. Can’t afford to fail on this one.”

“I never fail. I’m too tough to fail.”

Garrison got up and made himself a drink. Beth declined any alcohol. Garrison, she knew, was testing her.

“How did you get so tough? Bad home life?”

Beth thought about it for a moment before speaking.

“When you go to a rural school in west Texas and you’re a lesbian, you have two choices. Get tough or be a victim.”

“Mmm.” Garrison said nothing, letting the silence do his work for him.

“I have a girlfriend, you know. I’m not a monster. She’s a…”

“We know who she is,” Garrison said.

“Oh?” Beth’s eyebrows arched.

“A well-respected vegan chef. Makes decent money. Doesn’t spend outside of her means. Mom and dad own a small accounting firm. They are all,” Garrison said, “as they appear to be. Your girlfriend is acceptable, at least as far as we are concerned.”

“But tomorrow,” he continued, swallowing the rest of his drink, “you need to be a monster. My monster.”

He looked at Beth through cold gray eyes, slightly narrowed.

“Of course. That’s my job. Oh!”

Garrison gazed at her with those icy eyes that Beth found, oddly enough, comforting. You always know where you stand with this guy.

“Yeah?”

“I need some photos from Greece. Not great ones. I need to send them to my mom.”

Garrison smiled, a rare thing during a mission.

“Sure. I got a mom, too.”

The door closed quietly behind him. Beth locked the door and went to bed, snuggling up with three pillows, a T.V. remote, and her Sig Sauer. Each offered her a piece of comfort, and she was soon asleep.

**************

Distance to target: 707 meters. Elevation drop: Almost seven meters. Negligible wind. Two bodyguards on opposite ends of the swimming pool. Security lights just went off.

Rrring.

“Hi mom.”

“The lawnmower is in pieces, scattered all over the garage. Hello, dear.”

Beth checked the barometric pressure. A little higher than I expected. She made a minor adjustment to the railed scope and put her eye to it. Clear sighting.

The sun was rising behind her, its faint tendrils of light starting to claw through the remains of the night. Beth could already feel the warmth creep through her clothing.

“I hired Mr. Jenkins’ son. Riley. You remember Riley, dear. You used to babysit him after school when his parents went out.”

“I remember. He ate his own boogers.”

Royce Hanson came out and stood by the pool, waving his arms around to loosen up. Beth didn’t hesitate.

Blam!

“Lord, dear. Another backfire?”

“Yes, mom. Another backfire. Loud, aren’t they?”

“Terrible, dear. Anyway, our lawn looks like it hasn’t been mowed in a month, though it’s only been a week. No…no…it’s been eight days, not counting today…”

Royce Hanson’s head exploded, prompting a lot of shouting and movement. More bodyguards poured out of the house, pointing towards Beth’s location. Shots were fired, but they were ineffectual at such a distance. Beth knew this, and she calmly broke down her weapon and put it away.

She trekked two hundred yards to a waiting van, loading her weapon in the back. The van sped off to the north. Beth got in a car and they headed east, to a private airstrip. She got on the jet and buckled herself in, waiting for takeoff. Five minutes later, they were in the air and headed for Paris. Beth’s mom continued to chatter.

“Mom, take a breath!”

“That was very rude, dear. I thought I raised you better than that!”

“You did, mom. I’m a bad daughter.”

Silence filled their phones. Finally, the mother sighed and then spoke.

“We all have bad days, dear. I forgive you.”

“Thanks, mom. And thanks for the phone. I’m gonna send you pictures of Greece. Maybe you and dad could go there one day. It’s beautiful here.”

Beth’s mom laughed out loud.

“Your dad? Go to Greece? Never! Now, maybe Colorado, so he could do some huntin’. That might be…”

Fifteen minutes later, Beth hung up. Garrison smiled at her.

“Mom again?”

“Yeah. Mom again.”

“She called you during the mission.”

“Yep. It calms me to let her prattle on while I do my job, and it makes her happy. Win-win.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“During the kill shot.”

Beth looked at Garrison, her face expressionless.

“My mom buys me gifts, and if I don’t use them, she’ll lay a major guilt trip on me. One year, she bought me a dress. If I didn’t wear it to school at least once a week, there would have been hell to pay, in the form of making me feel more guilty than a whore in church.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. I don’t wear dresses. Ever. But I did for mom.”

“My mother,” Garrison leaned back and sipped a beer, “made me wear Italian loafers to school. I’ve never forgiven her for that.”

“So, maybe you do know.”

“I do.”

“Great. I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Me too.”

The flight to Paris continued, its two passengers sleeping peacefully.

**************

I send mom pictures of Greece. She says it looks lovely but I don’t take good pictures. I tell her I need more practice with the phone camera. Mom is now happy.

My next mission is in Macau. I’ll tell her I’m in Ireland.

And, she says, I need to be more engaging when she calls. That’s a hard no, mom. You’ll just have to hold while I kill a bad man.

Works for me.