Chapter 1 - CONFIRMATION My name is Tony Massey aka “Warlock”. I’m a high profile sniper for hire.
I only get the jobs that no one else wants or can’t get done. I may be expensive, but my work is guaranteed. I’m an ex-special forces sniper of the Lost Boys squad. One hundred and thirty two confirmed kills. O’ yeah and still counting, hurrah! I was at the firing range when I got the encrypted confirmation. CONFIRMATION – GO FOR FLAME OUT – DEPOSIT VERIFIED – $2mill “Well this is going to be a good pay day.” I said popping off my last rounds in the head and eyes of my paper target sheet. “He’s money in the bank.” I’ve been tracking Robert Harrison aka FLAME for the past three months. But he’s been able to stay one step ahead of me. My field guys traced him here to Monte’ Carlo. Flame’s addiction to gambling and Formula One was bound to lead here. It was just a matter of time before he would show up the week of Formula One. I had gotten close to him at the other races in Japan, Brazil, and Daytona, but I’ll be damned if I miss him this time. This is home turf and I know everybody and I have enough people on payroll to keep up with the son of a bitch. I set myself up at the same hotel he’s staying at under one of my aliases, Trent Masterson and opened a half a million dollar house line of credit to make sure I blended in as a heavy gambler and get the usual complementary “whalers penthouse suit.” I actually kinda liked the special treatment, but more importantly, the privacy rule… “I was never here.” It’s 8pm Saturday night and the casino is full of people from all over the world. But the only person I’m interested in seeing is Flame. I made my way through the crowds to the high rollers no limit area. Knowing him and his gambling habit, this is where I’m most likely to get my first verification that he’s on property. I made my way over to the craps table where the yells are loudest. If the table is hot, he should be leaning over the rail. “Eight, easy eight!” shouted the stickman. The table went nuts. There are three tables of dice action. I chose the middle one, signaled for a fifty thousand dollar marker and joined the game. I laid out my bet and scanned the rail to see if he was here.
“Six, easy six!” shouted the stickman again. I wasn’t doing too bad as I pulled back my winnings and kept scanning the table. He wasn’t here after five rolls. I colored out my chips and went over to the bar. “Jack on the rocks, hold the lime.” I said not really paying any attention to the bartender. I was still scanning the room. “Here you go Mr. Masterson.” “Thanks. Keep the tab open.” “My pleasure sir.” ‘Where the fuck is he? My contact told me he was here.’ I thought to myself drinking down the Jack Coke in one swallow. Just as I was about to order another one, a waitress came up to me. “Your friend is at the third black jack table to your right.” She said cutting her eyes towards the blackjack tables. She’s one of my ‘insiders’ I use to stake out bars and restaurants. I tipped her and picked up my chips and went to join the table. I sat down and signed off on another fifty thousand in chips and pushed out ten grand on my first hand. The table didn’t act surprised. That was chump change compared to the others but a decent open without drawing unnecessary attention to myself. “Hit me.” Said Flame focusing on his cards then looking at the dealer. Judging by his small stack of chips he was losing his ass and hoping this hand would save it. I spilt my nine’s and doubled down. “Dealer busts.” Said the dealer flipping over her cards. Flame sighed a big sigh of relief. He pulled in a cool fifty thousand on this round. He looked thinner than his picture, brownish hair with a reddish sheen, green eyes, about average height. His suit hung on him like a cheap set of drapes on a crooked window, but when you got money or at least look like it, you’re going to draw attractive women to hang around you to make you look good. I had seen enough to confirm it was him and that he had no idea who I was. The race is tomorrow morning, he’ll be there and so will I. Chapter 2 – It’s now or never I decided to have breakfast in the main dinning room. I got a table in the far back corner so I could see everyone that came through the front door. I ordered breakfast and pretended to be reading the paper. Flame came in with a blonde
and took a booth half way in the restaurant. ‘This might be easier than I think.’ I thought to myself looking at how at ease he was. He is so sure that no one knows he’s here, that he didn’t order room service. I signed off on my tab and went straight to his room. I hacked his lock with my scanner. I figured I had about thirty minutes’ tops to get in and find his race tickets to see where he would be sitting. ‘Grandstand VIP pavilion’, perfect placement, lots of people around and lots of noise near the start finish line. I quickly scanned the ticket with my blackberry infrared scanner and made it back to my room to prepare. The race is starting in four hours, which gives me plenty of time to setup at one of three spots I picked out four days ago. I wasn’t sure which one I would use until now. I pulled out my map and triangulated the best shooting position for a clean kill. I had plenty of range with my SFHV-203 custom sniper riffle. The titanium bullets would have the least wind drag and nearly no skull fracture on impact. “Flame won’t even feel it enter his brain. Hey, I made a funny.” I said and laughed to myself while polishing the bullets. “Flame-brain. I just crack myself up sometimes. God I love my work.” I packed up everything I needed including a change of clothes and a new face skin to disguise myself for a clean exit. The keys to the villa I’m using are exactly where she said they would be, under the third planter near the entrance. It’s a nice place and she is a hell of girl. I plan on seeing later after the job is done. Good wine, good food and a good fuck. What away to end a perfect day. I could hear the pre-lap warm ups starting. I looked through my scope at the track. The cars are zigzagging to warm up their tires and get the engines up to racing temperature. I scanned over to the Grandstand VIP section to see if Flame had arrived. “Just a bunch rich idiots standing around drinking champagne and eating chocolate dipped strawberries. I’m in no hurry; I’ve got plenty of time.” I said putting down my riffle and walking over to the kitchen to make myself an espresso. Soon the sound of the Formula One car engines idling let me know that they are at the starting line. I looked over at the TV and could see them lined up and ready to go. “Good, Flame should be arriving or already there by now.” I said taking the last sip of my espresso. “Let’s take a look.” I lifted up my riffle and looked down at the Grandstand box and scanned for Flame. It took a couple of passes but I found him standing with a glass of champagne talking to the blonde I saw him with this morning.
“Poor bastard won’t even see it coming.” I said making fine tune adjustments on the scope. I needed to have a precise crisp cross hair on his temple. “Damn blonde bitch, get the fuck out of the way.” I growled out of frustration. She kept getting in the way. “Shit, just pick a spot and stand there damn it.” I said squinting my eye looking down the scope trying to get final fix on Flame. The race started with the roar of the Formula One cars pulling away at breakneck speed. The crowd took their seats as the race got underway. Flame left for a few minutes when I scanned for him again. “He must have gone to take a piss.” I said to myself. “No worries, still plenty of time.” Ten minutes had passed and still no Flame. “What the fuck?” I became concerned as I kept scanning left to right. “Where the hell is he?” Just as I was taking my last scan I spotted him in the far left corner sitting at a table away from the others. There are two half empty champagne glasses on the table. Flame had a shit eating grin on his face with his head titled back. “What the hell is doing, taking a piss?” I thought to myself looking at the expression on his face. “Fuck me!” I said out loud as I figured out what was going on. The blonde is giving him a blow job under the table! I just smiled and watched the action for a few minutes then settled down to business. “That’s it, just sit there and enjoy the last BJ of your life.” I said making the last adjustment to my scope. “There, perfect just like picking off cans on a fence when I was little boy.” POP-POP! The sound of my riffle was music to my ears. It’s a very clean and crisp sound. You can barely hear it. The silencer dampers the sound to a mere little pop. I watched as the blonde kept sucking him off until she felt him go limp in her month. “Oh this is going to be good.” I said watching and waiting for the scream. Sure enough she looked up at Flame and saw the small hole with slow dribbles of blood running down the side of his cheek. She totally freaked and screamed her head off. I calmly took apart my riffle and put in its case. I put on my face skin disguise, clothes, and went down to blend in with the crowd. I knew no one would have suspected the shot would come from here. Hell I was a mile away. I went to a
side café and ordered an espresso and pastry then texted my confirmation to my client. CONFIRMATION – I PUT THE FLAME OUT – YOU’LL HAVE NO MORE PROBLEMS. **********************************
AUTHOR’S NOTES: This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content. eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Copyright © June 1, 2009 – John Marion Francis (Author)