Mission Revenge

His finger lay steadily on the trigger of his M82 Barret rifle ready to squeeze at the perfect moment. His left eye fixed on the target through the automatic rifle’s scope, he had a perfect view. His left hand gently but firmly held the base of the long-range firearm. His cherished baby. Thanks to its outstanding ballistic performance, it had earned him countless trophies, among them his beautiful Jamaican wife Ronica. As he lay on his belly behind a granite rock at the top of the Hunyani mountain, he could feel the angry Zimbabwean sun scorching his back. He had to do this job. He was not about to abandon the mission because of the sun. His cargo pants felt wet from all the crawling in the grassland and his limbs felt stiff from climbing up the steep-sided mountain with the ammo-laden backpack strapped to his shoulders. ‘Any time now it will all be over’, he thought to himself, or would it?

Chinembiri had done this over a thousand times, in fact he was now an expert cold-blooded killer. Meticulous, calculative, emotionless, fearless and ruthless. As best as they come. He made killing look like child’s play and he did it with the finesse and dexterity of a conjurer adept at close-up magic. He could actually write a book on how to be a professional killer, and no doubt it would be a bestseller. He was skilled at long range kills and rumour had it that once he had taken out a drug kingpin in one clean shot one thousand yards away. Yes, he was that good. He knew he was that good, the best in the industry. He had to be that good, especially after a decade long stint in the elite special-forces before deciding to go private. A gun for hire, and with a reputation of keeping tabs on his enemies. They called him Ngirozi-the angel of death. Regarding clients he was clandestine and indiscriminate, as long as the buck was good. Politicians sought him if they wanted rivals taken down, crime bosses called him when they needed to settle scores and even young, beautiful gold digging wives engaged his services to put their ailing old rich husbands to rest. He was the go to guy in matters of death and death. You wanted someone sent to the afterlife he was your guy.

As he waited for the kill his mind trailed off to his previous job. ‘A heck of a job’, he muttered.A notorious mafia boss, Givhi, had hired his services. A nutty gang boss, Tindo, was on the loose and upsetting the peace in Givhi’s territory. He had to be silenced before it was too late. Like on every other job Chinembiri had asked for his payment upfront. That was his number one rule. In this killing business buffoons were always out to play each other and one had to make sure. Tindo had been easy prey. A man given to strippers and gambling, he made Chinembiri’s job too easy. A regular at Chigarapasi, the infamous club owned by Motsi, another notorious drug lord, Tindo met his fate in the midst of a big scoop. He was playing poker, two mistresses by his side as always. He was in a really good mood that day and it was his lucky day. He was winning like never before and everyone in the bar had left their tables to come and watch the big game of the day. He was truly in his A-game. Suddenly a ‘plunk’ sound was heard and Tindo fell headlong onto the poker table scattering the chips all over the carpeted floor. In that instant sounds of women screaming and shrieking were heard as everyone realized what had happened. Tindo the boss was down. A clean shot through the skull had splattered his brains onto the table and a pool of blood was already noticeable. A bullet hole could be seen on the left window. Once again Ngirozi had done it.

Suddenly the target moved into place and quickly Chinembiri’s trained mind became alive. Suddenly he could feel his heart beating fast. He could feel the rush of excitement as adrenaline coursed through his blood. He was used to this feeling. The drill was always the same. Before the decisive moment of squeezing the trigger, his heart would beat fast, a rush of adrenaline, the world stops, dead silence and then … pow the trigger is released. It was the same every time. All his missions over the years had the same narrative. Some arch-rival had to be clipped, big bucks were paid and no emotion was involved. It was just a job. This one was different. For the first time no money was involved. He was not a hired gun. This was his own job. For the first time he was killing for emotional reasons. Revenge. It was not a job anymore. It was personal. 

The previous year Chinembiri had lost his only child, his daughter Haru, to one criminal mastermind by the name Gofu. Gofu had killed Chinembiri’s daughter in a hit and run car accident. The case was taken to the courts and Gofu walked out a free man. Lack of conclusive evidence, the judge had said. But Chinembiri knew otherwise. Gofu had both the police and the judge in his pockets and coupled with friends in high places, he was untouchable. Chinembiri was devastated. His child had meant everything to him. The only family he had. She was his world and losing her like that felt like daggers had been plunged deep into his heart. He was bleeding inside. He had to stop the bleeding, and that meant putting a bullet through Gofu’s chest. Maybe he would feel better, or even worse, but it didn’t matter. It was painful everyday watching the bastard who murdered his daughter enjoy life, whilst she lay dead. Today Gofu would meet his maker, and he would facilitate the meeting.

As he lay there motionless and about to do it, floods of memories of his daughter rushed through his mind and tears rolled down his rugged cheeks. For a moment he thought he saw her smiling through the rifle's scope but he knew his mind was playing tricks. Quickly he shook the image away from his mind. He had to execute his mission and the moment was now. Then it happened. His heart pounded harder, adrenalin floodgates gave in, everything stopped, dead silence and ...pow.