Today’s guest blogger is Steve. Welcome Steve and thanks for the story. Steve B Robinson gained an honours degree in Fine Art from DMU graduating in 2008 as a mature student. His full artist c.v. can be found on website……www.steve-b-robinson.co.uk . Way back in 1984 he won the poetry section of the only ever Hinckley Arts Festival. Steve is married with three adult children and one granddaughter and he is currently engaged – very part time – as a life model in various places. He pays the bills via taxi work. Here’s his story:
The sun was going down and it was almost time for the task in hand…………everything was ready………he had waltzed in to the hotel carrying his holdall, not bothering to try to look inconspicuous as just being normal is the best disguise. The elevator had opened on the fourth floor and he had stepped out into the corridor scanning the room doors until he found the direction he should be heading…………..to room 431, but instead he continued to room 451 and used his electronic skeleton key. Just one of the gadgets he had. He had entered the room and opened his holdall. From it he removed a rifle complete with sound muffler and telescopic sight. He stroked it lovingly before standing it against the window. He checked the view. Good.
Then he took out some other clothes from the bag and stripped off his suit. He stepped into American Tan tights, a plain green dress, smart but not outlandish, he didnt want to stand out. He applied makeup and donned his blonde shoulder length wig, The shoes, low heeled in case he had to run, he left by the door. Returning to the window he took up the rifle, loaded two bullets, and tied the barrel to the venetial blind cord in order to minimise the motion of the rifle as he took aim.
He waited silently. And there, across the road, on the steps leading up to the opposite hotel entrance was the man he had been instructed to terminate. A non -descript man, average build, alone, no security entourage, a seeming nobody. But there must be a very good reason this man was destined to meet his maker a little early. He took aim. Took a deep breath and held it. Phut, phut. The man was thrown forward and down. The concierge at first looked startled, as if the man had merely fainted, but the blood that spattered onto his best white shirt told another tale and his face rapidly drained of blood. He staggered back toward the exit/entrance , his eyes roaming wildly around to see where the shooter was, but he was too late and too far away for his tired old eyes to comprehend.
And just like that, it was over.
The man, now woman, calmly replaced the rifle in the holdall and covered it with his trousers, shirt, jacket and shoes. He stepped into the low heels waiting by the door, smoothed down his dress and quietly left the room. A porter passed and enquired if he could assist the lady with her bag, and was delighted with the large tip for doing so.
So the escape was made in a calm cool and ladylike manner and nobody guessed.
As she exited the hotel and made for the waiting taxi, which had been hailed by the gratified porter, the sirens came closer until the blue strobing lights could be seen and the hotel opposite had been closed to pedestrian traffic ,inwards and out. The taxi purred away, and she smiled, satisfied at another job well done, whilst the taxi driver sneaked a look at her legs in his rear view mirror
Sarada Gray 