Face Shot (finale)

     When the Landcruiser pulled into my field of view I was steady.  The compound was about ten dirt-road kilometers from the tiny hamlet of Ra's ar Ru'ays.  I expected the target would want to exit the vehicle right away and do some polite greetings on the porch before going in the main house.  At best I had a minute to pick my shot.
     Of course the best was not to be.  Apparently Saif was cranky about something.  I watched the back of his head as he threw a brief tantrum, pushed aside his men, and stomped up the stairs.
     It took me a split second to weigh my options.  I could wait for a better shot, but my new friend would tell her warcriminal-hunting bosses and they would surely spill the beans thus ruining my payday.  I could kill the girl and hope it didn't alert the target.  I could take this shot and also take the pay cut for not getting the target's face.
     Then everyone turned around and looked to my right.  I squeezed the trigger and the-
     -Confirmation camera whined as it captured two seconds of digital HD.
     -Stabilizer hissed like a leaky tire as it absorbed Baby's recoil.
     -Tri-laser 'flash' on the gun-cam lit the target's face for one second, both for illumination and to attract the target's attention for his last living photograph.
     Still traveling at over twice the speed of sound, the .300 Win Mag slug slammed through his head like it wasn't there - and a good part actually wasn't there shortly thereafter.  He kinda stood there for a second, a halo of blood, brain, and shattered skull framing his final, open-mouthed expression.
     Jackpot!  Perfect face shot.
     I put the rest of the magazine into various other warm bodies, then another mag into the Toyota's engine and tires.  Heck, I figured it was the girl running to her boat that had got their attention and turned them around for me; the least I could do was give her a chance to reach her dinghy.


     It took me most of a month to track her down, but I had the time and the money.  Her name was Sharah Kalid and she worked out of ICC offices in Alexanderkazerne, Netherlands.  Soaked from the cold rain, I barged into the lobby and asked for her.  Five minutes later she marched out the elevator; she looked fine in a black pantsuit, but didn't seem happy to see me.
     "What do you want," she snapped.
     "Well, hello to you, too."  My mouth went dry.  "I just wanted, ya'know, to check up."
     "You murdered four men and you think that makes us friends?" she said, fists going to her hips.  She was cute, all mad like that, but her tone bothered me.
     "I saved your life, I reckon, so what the hell's wrong?"
     "If you don't know, I doubt I can explain."  She snapped her fingers at the chumps behind the security desk and one of them started toward us.
     "Look, Sharah, I don't know what bug is up your ass."  I took a deep breath and held my temper.  "Those guys were all terrorists and war criminals.  I did the world a favor and I got paid for it, legal and aboveboard.  Ain't no shame in that."
     "Bounty hunting, that is what you do, made legal by blood money and corruption," she said and put a soft hand on my arm.  "I could forgive you for Saif, but those others were wrong.  Goodbye"
     Standing in the rain waiting for a cab, it struck me as funny; they all wanted to see the blood for some reason or other, but nobody wanted to know the reaper.
     Screw it.  I went to Amsterdam and got laid.


The End