The Shooter

It was exactly at four thirty in the evening when the shooter’s pager went off. He was right in the middle of his bath and it took him another twenty minutes to notice that he had a message. He thought about the Alicia, the girl whom he had met at the dry cleaners. It had taken him almost two months to pester her to a lunch at the Swazancy’s. The reservation at Swazancy’s had to go. Reservations there were always hard to get. He had to bribe the waiter there about twenty dollars just to ensure that he had one. Then he thought about his work. It was not peculiar that the organization had called him on a Sunday morning. It was a strenuous and exasperating job. But the pay was ridiculously high. ‘Damn’, he thought to himself, ‘Alicia can wait’.

For him the profession always came first. He thought about calling her up to call off the date. ‘No’, he said to himself sternly, ’this is no time for getting emotional. Never ever get emotional before a job.’ Anger or sorrow sometimes brought shaky hands and shaky hands were no good to the aim. This is entirely unacceptable for his line of work. He messaged Alicia briefly that he was going to a job and asked her not to ring up but suggested that they change the date to dinner the next day.

He never detailed people about his job, for they were always horrified at the details. ‘What has to be done has to be done’ he thought to himself. He knew his Indian parents would be aghast to know what he did to earn his opulent life. Then he switched off his mobile knowing very well that Alicia would call him as soon as she saw the message. He imagined what would happen if he left it switched on and carried the mobile with him. He had a passing image of the mobile ringing while he was right in the middle of his job. He would be busted and the security guards would be upon him in no time at all. Guffawing at his own thoughts and glad that it had somehow lifted his mind off Alicia and the job he proceeded to suit himself up.

It took the shooter exactly an hour to reach the doors of the organization. No one would have noticed it anyway because it was located on either side of it were huge shopping malls. ‘Anderson has really chosen the spot well’ he thought. Anywhere else in the city the small rented space stood a chance of being noticed, but here right in the middle of downtown, there was no way.

As he entered the building he noticed that there was no one to be in the office besides himself and Anderson. Anderson was his boss, his godfather, the man who guided him. However there was no one to protect him from the legal issues. If anything did go wrong, and the client had not exactly narrated the situation that would be available to the shooter, the worst possible thing that can happen is that the cops would be on scene immediately. Then he stood no chance at all. He would have to deny all knowledge of his clients and would explicitly state that he was working alone. He would be right in the middle of a soup. Luckily it had never happened. He had survived only because of his stealth and his ability to lye undetected for hours waiting for his targets.

‘You refused my car for your transport’, Anderson said as the shooter entered the room.

‘You know that’s not my style’, replied the shooter, ‘besides I would rather prefer to get home myself rather than Sam wait on me at the steering wheel. It spoils the day for me as well as him. Why should Sam suffer?’.

Anderson laughed out loud at this ‘True! True! You know you are after all a Humanitarian to be working in such a line of work! Okay enough of the small talk, have a beer. I’ll lay out the job to you’.

‘No thanks’

‘Have it your way then’, said Anderson and proceeded to explain the nature of the job to him.

The job was to take place in a hotel that evening. The exact location of the target was not known currently. However it was confirmed that the target would be at the selected location at a particular time. The Shooter slowly whistled as he heard the name of the hotel. It had considerable reputation across the state and country. A single storied building that laid out its lavishness to its guests. It was the hotbed of celebrity parties and festivities, a hangout for the elite of Hollywood. The hotel had recently, aggressively campaigned to host the wedding union of one of the nation’s top movie stars. The wedding was for the Crème de la Crème of the movie business and to the hotel it meant a deal worth thousands.

This meant that security measures would be too tight to get close to the target. He has to be in a safe place without anyone noticing. This was what worried the shooter. He had almost always had no problems staying hidden from view and shooting at the most unexpected moments, but doing it in the middle of a partying hotel was hard. It involved slipping in and out of such a hotel unnoticed in broad daylight. The shooter made it a clear point that such a job would mean a wait for an unknown period of time and literally meant staying in danger almost continuously. He wanted triple the usual pay.

Anderson nodded and merely copied out a number, handed it over to the shooter and said ‘Park a hundred yards ahead of the hotel and call this mobile. The rest I am sure you can take care of’. The shooter rose from his table shook hands with Anderson and left.

He arrived at half past one at the hotel. He called the mobile that had been provided to him from a coin operated phone. The voice at the other end asked him to seat himself in the car. A few moments later there was a tap on the window. It was the contact. The next ten minutes he filled the shooter with the lay out of the hotel. Then he handed him a snow white dress that resembled that of a chef’s in the hotel. It was to prevent any suspicion.

The man was a junior manager in charge of hospitality in the hotel. He would obviously be paid an exorbitant sum for his trouble. ‘Use the kitchen door. You can come in and move out that way’.

‘I need something to hide this in’ said the shooter opening his suitcase. The contact nodded and handed the shooter a silver tray that bore the hotel’s emblem on its underside. Then he climbed out of the car and went into the hotel. Te shooter decided to wait another three hours before going in. The name on his badge read ‘Sanjay’. The guards did not murmur a word at the Indian chef who headed for the kitchen door.

The kitchen was large and was abuzz with activity. Clearly there was a very important deadline to meet for the ten different cuisines being prepared. No one took any notice of the Indian Chef who silently went by or the serving of Kadai Paneer that vanished from the Indian side of the kitchen. He made his way right into the central wing where the ceremony was to be supposedly held. There were 21 suites in that part of the wing. At the farther end was the impeccably decorated double door. It had hid quite a number of private events from prying eyes. Besides it stood the announcement that a certain Mr. Hollywood actor was getting married to a Ms. Hollywood sweetheart at six that evening. He was to go through that door. There were two large bouncers at the entrance. They did not even twitch at the faux Indian chef who carried a covered silver plate which emanated a spicy aroma. They knew there was Indian cuisine to be served that evening. They never suspected foul play.

He rid himself of the aromatic Indian dish and positioned himself for the job. He had never been so close to the target in his six year career. It made him sweat profusely despite the breeze in the open yard. It was another two hours before

the guests started coming in. From then on everything happened at a much faster pace.

The ceremony started at seven. He even looked better than he did in his latest movie. Hysteria was yet to die around the groom who had played the part of a narcissist model. The majority of his fans were obviously women. The bride arrived in a red dress accompanied by her father and the hot shot movie producer who had launched her movie career two years ago. At that time she was just another blonde dreaming about the starry movie life. Two years and three movies later she had come to demand some of the highest paid salaries in the business.

At the altar the two actors looked perfect for each other. The shooter paused to think about the righteousness of his job. Andersons’ words echoed in his ears ‘you are too humanitarian for this line of work’. The thought about buying himself a house on the Sunset Boulevard from the pay erased all sense of morality in him and reeled his focus back to the couple at the altar. The shooter had made a decision and then went about his job effortlessly. Twenty minutes later he was coming out of the kitchen and was moving towards his parked car. No one ever had suspected him. It would even be a hard job for the security cameras to identify him. He was safe. The evening’s shoot of the one of the most secretive and most private Hollywood weddings was going to fetch him a fortune. The Paparazzi had just finished the scoop of his life.