Perched On Cupid's Trigger

“Hey, Dylan! Sarah! So glad you could make it! Go ‘head and grab a beer from the -,” the young man’s pleasantries were cut short by the unfamiliar face standing like a mannequin behind the party guests, “Hey, what’s up? You come here with Dylan?”

“Yes. Yeah - *ahem* yeah that’s me,” He responded quickly and without fully hearing the question. 

“Alright cool, cool. Well come on in, man, we’re just getting started.”

“Yes, perfect,” The mannequin man said and made way for an entirely uncomfortable silence. “May I also grab a beer?”

“Uh, yeah. Go for it, dude.”

The screeching voice from his ear piece nearly made the man cry out in pain.

“What the HELL are you doing!? Relax, already! I can see that kid glaring at you from all the way over here.”

Not the pep-talk he needed but certainly the one he deserved. He took his hand down from the earpiece and looked towards the young man that answered the door.

“Haha, that’s so crazy.”

“What is?”

“Yeah well… Anyhow, I’m just… just gonna sneak right past ya here… Just gonna… yep. Alright cool.”

Squeezing past the doorman, nearly knocking him over in the process, the unwanted guest had breached the threshold and set their plan in motion.

The earpiece voice once again barged itself into the man’s ear and through his head, “Church, do you read me? Church?”

“Yes of course I read you. I read you perfectly fine when you shouted into my ear!” His shouted whisper would have reminded anyone of their mother’s quiet public scoldings as a child - that is if anyone could be bothered to pay him any attention.

But of course, no one was bothered -- not by Church’s presence at the party or by the fact that he was a man on the downward slope to forty wearing a Bulls snap back and a California Republic hoodie. In fact, it was his impressive talent to be completely overlooked that made him the perfect candidate for the job at hand. Someone with a noticeable presence to them would only cause suspicion and unwanted attention from the party-goers.

The doorman, whose name was not Micheal, was only momentarily intrigued by the blundering idiot who had crashed his party. But, like always, as soon as Church’s body slid into the house, he faded away into the woodwork.

“Perch? Perch can you hear -- uh, read me? Can you read me, Perch?”

The voice came through like television static, but Church could still make out his partner’s irritated groan.

“Yes, Church. You read. Have you located the target yet?”

“No I haven’t,” As he spoke he walked through the party. He gave a few unsolicited fist-bumps and two-stepped across the makeshift dance floor in the living room. 

The party was small by New Years Eve standards, but larger than Church's preference. In the three-story building there wasn’t a single uninhabited square foot. The music and laughter bled into shapeless, unintelligible noise. College, children, parties, none of these were even remotely close to Church’s comfort zone. 

Tax evasion, money laundering, inside trading, these were his skills. Armed with nothing but his buffoonish demeanor and a well tailored suit he once had the world’s elite on his payroll. And yet, here he was -- wearing thrift store clothes and working as the legs for Perch-whatever-his-real-name-is. Working for a hitman… deplorable… but necessary if he’d ever want to pay back his blood money and get back in a suit. 

“ - Okay? Church? You read?”

“What? What - yeah yeah yeah, I gotcha.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Of course I’m listening to you!” Church was not listening. “I’m just--”

“Oh, you’re going to get me killed.”

This was a viable worry and Perch would not be the first of Church's partners to share in this fear. Church’s successful Hit-Count was somewhere between zilch and a big fat goose egg -- problematic for a potential hit man.

“Okay, Church? Listen to me carefully. Please. Just go into the party and pick out the target. Then all you have to do is lead him to the bathroom window, and I’ll take care of the rest. Can you do that?” 

“Pshhh, is that all? I’ve got it down.”

With newfound and completely insincere confidence, Church moved forward from his spot in the kitchen’s corner and strutted into the living room. The last thing he remembered about the target was the detailed description provided by the Board. He was a man, somewhere in his thirties; medium length brown hair, often seen pulled back into a very small, tight bun; and of average height. Church anticipated that, with such unique character traits, finding the target would be the easiest part of the operation.

An hour into the night, after speaking with thirteen identical young men, Church had lost any semblance of confidence.

“Church, we’re running out of time! The Board gave us till midnight to carry out the order. If he’s not dead by the time the ball drops, then we’re going to ring in the new year without jobs.”

“Look, if you want to come down here and look for yourself, be my guest. I’d be happy to stand on top of a building pointing a rifle at the same place all night.”

“I’d sooner shoot myself than ever trust you to make a shot from 50 yards.”

While making his way across the house, he caught himself fixated on a face that he felt like he’d seen before. Sitting on a loveseat across the room was a man and woman a bit younger than Church but still older than most of the party people here. Church had never seen the woman a day his life, but the man was familiar. He was completely bald and had recent-looking tattoos on his knuckles, none of it matched the description, but Church couldn’t shake the feeling he knew the face. 

“I’m telling you, that has to be the guy”, Church said in his best convincing voice.

“No, no, no. You’re wrong,” Perch spoke clearly and with the diction of someone who was just about out of patience. 

“I know what I saw. It was him. I don’t know why the details on the job are so off-base, but I swear to you that was him.” 

Surprising even himself, he was confident in his resolution. 

“You said the Board has had a hit on this guy for months, right? Well maybe he caught a whiff of it and changed up his look or something.”

There were a few moments of silence followed by a deep sigh. “Church, for the love of Mother Madonna, you better be right.”

Church let his mind wander. He was so close to getting enough money to pay back everyone he owed and then some. By day’s end he would be back in the New York elite and would never again have to degrade himself by working as an executioner’s assistant. But something was wrong. As Church looked at the man who was unknowingly minutes away from death, he noticed something in his eyes. Not the deep fire of a criminal mastermind or the teary streaks of someone who knows they’re done for. This man’s eyes were fixed upon one thing and one thing only: the woman next to him. 

She had her back against the arm of the couch and placed her legs up on his lap. The love between the two was easy to see in the way they looked in one another’s eyes. All of it weighed on Church’s chest and made him think about what was about to happen -- what he was about to cause.

“Hey everyone!” A voice rang out from the crowd. “Only one minute until midnight!”

Suddenly all the people at the party gathered in the now tightly-packed living room, huddled in front of the flat screen. Among the rabble was their target. He stood up and took his partner up by her hand. As they moved to the center of the room Church felt his stomach tying itself into knots. 

The way he held his hand at the small of her back -- how she attempted to hide the blush in her cheeks when they locked eyes…

“No… no no no no I can’t do this,” Church mumbled to himself. “This is bad this is bad this --”

“Hey, what’s going on over there? I see movement,” Perch scanned his rifle across the house’s bay window but couldn’t make out anything amidst the sea of people. “Church what’s the situation?”

Still mumbling to himself, Church’s head was spinning. “-- bad this is bad this is bad. Pull it. We’ve got to pull it.”

“Church, what the hell is going on?”

But words refused to come. Church suddenly realized that he could no longer feel his legs, and was stuck in place where he stood. In front of him, a young couple was making silent plans for a life together -- unspoken promises for the next 365 days. But 50 yards away was a man who could end all that. With the pull of a trigger, one man loses his life because somebody somewhere with a boatload of cash wanted the poor soul dead.

“Church, I have visual!”

Perch was shouting so loud that he would have been audible even without the earpiece. Church looked to the front window of the house and saw the faintest trace of a red dot making its way through the glass and coming to rest on the target’s neck.

As a unit the crowd started chanting gleefully, “Ten… Nine…”

The man had locked his arms around the woman from behind in a tight embrace as they counted down together.

Church’s stunned silence was finally broken by him choking out a quiet,“Wait.”

“Church!? Do you copy? I need your call!” Perch had the red dot positioned in the perfect position for a swift execution.

“Six… Five!” they continued on.

Church’s eyes moved between the lovers and the red dot. His voice was inaudible amidst the cacophony, yet he still screamed out to anyone that would hear him. 

“Church!? Church?!, I see him. I see him, I SEE HIM! I’m taking the shot!”

“Three… Two!”

“NO!”

“ONE!”

Boom.