One Of Those Nights
by Aaron Jeffrey Michael Smith
The meeting broke late. From a small doorway a dozen or so like-minded people spilled out into the night. A few continued on in groups to grab a bite to eat and to further discuss the minutiae of previous conversations. A few went directly to their abodes, as it was late, and their jobs were waiting tomorrow morning. One quickly turned down an alley, taking a shortcut to her waiting ride.
Her long blonde hair flowed easily about her shoulders and back as she walked with a steady pace. She avoided the main streets and sidewalks on purpose. As even with her collar turned up, wearing these costume glasses, and this atrocious wig, there was always the possibility that someone would recognize Susan Hasselbond. She had to be careful, she hated going to these small meetings of eco-minded people, but they were a perfect place to recruit for her cause. Usually, looking for the more radical among a green-group. Preferably the one who would stand up and scream at the top of their lungs “this group wasn’t doing enough”. Even better if they were then kicked-out for their confrontational views, these are the types of people she searched for. Tonight, however, it was nothing but a frustrating waste of time. More of the college educated, hippy, privileged, spoiled brats who thought just showing up meant you were doing something. Immediately after the meeting broke, they would go back to their wasteful lives and habits. It sickened Hasselbond, briefly she entertained the notion of just wasting the lot of them. That thought was quickly dismissed, if violence must be done, it must be done with a reason, and “they’re a bunch of spoiled brats that will do more harm than good” wasn’t a good enough reason.
She continued to head for the hybrid SUV that was quite the second home for her. The night air felt pleasant and cool in her lungs. She relaxed a little bit, the air was polluted as any city air usually is but she breathed in deeply never the less. Tomorrow she had a planning meeting with her crew in the morning, midday she was attending a protest at yet another factory who was skirting around EPA regulations, and at night, a scouting mission at that same facility. A large figure emerged from a corner in front of Hasselbond and aimed a weapon at her face.
Time slowed down as pure instinct took over. With near incomprehensible speed, Hasselbond’s left hand reached for the weapon and jammed two of her fingers behind the trigger, effectively disabling it. Her right hand grabbed the wrist of her attacker and wrenched both muscle and bone, a disturbing grinding noise emanated from the captured wrist as her attacker moaned in pain. In the next instant she leveraged her attacker up and over her shoulder, slamming his frame into the hard concrete covered ground. On his way down, due to his now useless wrist, his grip loosened on his weapon. He was disarmed. Landing on his back the last image he saw was an open palm slamming the bridge of his nose, then nothing but inescapable darkness.
Adrenaline surged through Hasselbond’s body. She quickly knelt down to check on her attacker, just as she wanted, knocked-out colder than a cucumber, but still breathing. The headache he would harbor when he woke would be massive, but he’d live. She smiled to herself, very satisfied with her work. “You picked the wrong lady to mug tonig….”. Her words trailed off as she inspected her attacker’s weapon that she now held in her left hand. .45 caliber, anti-fingerprint tape, silencer, no serial number, her eyes widened. This wasn’t the weapon of a mugger; this was the weapon of an assassin.
She was temporarily stunned when the wall next to her head suddenly evaporated into a cloud of brick particles and debris, showering her face with rock. Instinct took over again. She quickly switched the weapon from her left hand to her right and rolled away from the prone and unconscious form on the ground. She quickly glanced down the alleyway to see another dark figure, apparently aiming a weapon towards her. Shuf Shuf her second attacker let loose two more shots from another silenced handgun. She continued her evasive maneuvers, hearing the bullets tearing up the asphalt where she was just a moment before. She made her way quickly behind a dumpster for cover. There Hasselbond did a lightning fast check of her newly acquired weapon and did a quick scan of the area around her, searching for all of her available options.
The second attacker cursed his awful luck. He had her, dead to rights, crouching over one of his fallen team. He took careful aim at the side of Hasselbond’s head and took his shot. His nerves must’ve gotten the better of him, as he pulled the trigger rather than squeezing it. It caused the gun to swivel 1 degree to the left. Which caused the bullet to miss eight inches wide. Which caused an alert and agitated target, rather than the much preferred dead target. He let go two more shots at the now dodging form, each one just a second too late. But, now he had confidence, he had her. She was crouching in fear behind that metal dumpster. A knot formed in his stomach, as he was rapidly approaching a life-or-death moment. Quietly he stalked towards his target, his weapon trained at every possible exit point. Every exit was covered, as he drew closer and closer, he knew that it all depended upon a lightning quick shot the second that he revealed himself. He came even with the dumpster and placed his back to it. Ever so slowly and quietly he slid along the dumpster until he reached the corner. He drew in a silent but deep breath of air and made his move.
With a quick lurch he turned his body around the corner. His eyes, already adjusted to the light saw a crop of blonde hair; he quickly fired three shots, into thin air. The wig was dangling from a small nail in the wall, but there was no target underneath it. His eyes widened, his thoughts raced, a black form swooped in from nowhere and caught him on the bridge of his nose. His thoughts were silenced, as he fell backwards into oblivion.
Susan Hasselbond watched the second attacker fall backwards from her perch at the top of the dumpster. For the last few minutes as her attacker approached, she ditched her wig as a distraction ploy, squeezed her frame behind the trash receptacle, and slowly, and ever so quietly positioned herself to be able to mount it. The moment he placed his back flush with the cold metal she heard his clothing scrape against it. With the agility and silence of a cat, she mounted the dumpster and waited for her opening. Three shots, and a firm kick to the head later, she was again victorious. Trying to blot out the sound of her own heart about to beat out of her chest, she scanned the rest of the alley. Looking for any sign, any signal, and sound that would indicate someone else out there. She dispatched the first, she missed the second, she did not under any circumstance want to miss a third. After a minute that seemed like an hour, she made her way off the dumpster and to the second body.
Her first instinct was to make this one pay, but she quieted her bloodlust and immediately started to rifle though the man’s pockets. Searching for anything. “Ah ha!”. She thought to herself as her exploration netted a USB flash drive. It was unlikely that these professionals would carry their orders into the field, but it might give her some insight as to who is trying to kill her. She pocketed the drive, as the world seemed to collapse on her back.
She was driven hard into the pavement her right cheek taking an awful impact as bits of pebble and glass were driven into her cheek. She was instantly aware of a large boot pinning her down on the top of her back, a knee into the small of her back, and a large round piece of metal touching the base of her skull. The barrel of a gun, no doubt. She cursed herself. I missed the third! She quickly looked for options but found very few. She was hopelessly pinned, the tremendous weight on her back making it nearly impossible to breathe, much less move. She heard the click of a revolver being cocked; this was it, the end of time. She steeled herself to the inevitability of it all. She was a warrior; she would die a warrior’s death, brave and unflinching. Secretly, however, hoping for a miracle.
She heard a deep voice from behind her, “Goodbye, Ms. Hasselbond”. She closed her eyes.
A shot rang out in the alley.
If you missed the first part of the story: Night Drop
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