It was the prefect vantage point for the mercenary. His target would be in the parking lot, he’d pull the trigger and melt away into the traffic.
His stable hands calmly held the weapon, while his trained eye peered calmly through the scope. He gently squeezed, something he’d done a million times before, never missing.
His nerves suddenly taut, he grabbed his binoculars and trained them towards his mark who had crumpled to the ground, hit right between the eyes. His gaze swept the area just beyond and he caught sight of a shattered window and frowned. It took him less than a minute to pack up and leave.
He reached home and switched on the news. There it was; influential businessman Thomas Fielding had been killed, but the bullet had gone straight through his head, smashing into the shop behind and hitting a young woman. The mercenary shrugged, he had got his target, the money would be in his account, stuff happens.
The doorbell rang. “Hey honey, did you forget your keys agai…” he froze at the sight of two policemen.
“Mr. Johnson? We’re sorry to inform you that your wife was involved in a tragic shooting incident…”