would I blow him up, you might ask? Doesn’t seem very subtle, but it’s all about the profile. This guy is essentially an arms dealer, so his enemies are fond of bombs, specifically exotic explosive devices. Feds will assume they planted a device, which will appear to be very sophisticated and worthy of his enemies’ time, money, and expertise. Ballistics will never find fragments of my cup—a hardened polymer that dissolves into the same type of melted plastic you find from a variety of objects at ANY fire investigation. So the end result is a crime scene that points a smoking gun at a very specific class of perps.
Unfortunately the explosion didn’t take out his security detail, and those guys were tough as nails. Within a few seconds of the blast, they stumbled into the hallway, ears bleeding, and opened up on me with two TEC-9 submachine guns. The Kevlar poncho saved my ass, but it felt like I was inside a laundry bag getting beat up by a bunch of gorillas with sledgehammers. They emptied their clips and bounced me down the hallway until I smashed through a quarter-inch glass conference room window. I’ll never forget the looks on the faces of the poor bastards cowering under the conference table as I pulled a flash grenade from my suit jacket pocket and chucked it into the room. It’s a nonlethal stun grenade that uses a bright flash of light and a loud bang to knock anyone within ten feet of it unconscious. I dove back into the hallway as it detonated. Meeting adjourned.
I had to go through all of this rigmarole because no one could know that I was ever there. Bob’s instructions were very specific: target eliminated with a covertly planted device so that the identity of the bomber would only be a matter of speculation. So I was not in a position to get into a gun battle with the security guys, who were now reloading in the hallway. I knew I had to make a move before they got those second clips in, so I whipped out The Pig . It’s a little invention of mine, kind of like a Taser, but instead of using wires to deliver a high-voltage shock, it uses barbed darts and thin surgical tubing to pump drugs, poisons, and other nefarious liquids into the target. I can dial up all kinds of exotic, untraceable cocktails with The Pig. I just need to get close enough to deploy it. And since these guys were fifteen feet down the hall . . .
I took off at a full sprint. The first one chucked his TEC and went for the Beretta on his hip. Dumb. By the time he had it out, I was fully airborne, smashing my size twelve, nondescript, brown wing tip directly into his chest. As he went down, I deployed The Pig into his armpit. Side note: forget the neck, Dexter. The medical examinerwill see that a mile away. ALWAYS choose a hairy injection point. You could jab a horse needle in there and lazy-ass autopsy drones will never go bushwhacking for clues. He’s out before he hits the floor, but his buddy now has the TEC locked and ready to rip right in my face. I bench-press his buddy into him just in time for him to pull the trigger. The barrel is buried in the guy’s ass, causing the blowback to reverse in the chamber. The TEC-9 explodes in his face, and he goes down.
Now I had a mess to tend to and I had about thirty seconds before the fire crews would come crashing into the hallway. I bagged both TEC-9s in my Kevlar poncho and quickly removed the shrapnel from the security guys’ faces. Then I dragged them both into the target’s burning office so they would get good and charred and fit right into the scenario. Scooping up the shell casings was a major pain in the ass but I bagged them all, got into the stairwell, and jumped through the door on the floor below just before the fire crew went stomping past.
Yes, that is a lot of extra work after the target is already dead, but remember that we don’t just whack people pell-mell and drop our guns at the scene like you see in some of the shittier movies about our profession. It’s
Unfortunately the explosion didn’t take out his security detail, and those guys were tough as nails. Within a few seconds of the blast, they stumbled into the hallway, ears bleeding, and opened up on me with two TEC-9 submachine guns. The Kevlar poncho saved my ass, but it felt like I was inside a laundry bag getting beat up by a bunch of gorillas with sledgehammers. They emptied their clips and bounced me down the hallway until I smashed through a quarter-inch glass conference room window. I’ll never forget the looks on the faces of the poor bastards cowering under the conference table as I pulled a flash grenade from my suit jacket pocket and chucked it into the room. It’s a nonlethal stun grenade that uses a bright flash of light and a loud bang to knock anyone within ten feet of it unconscious. I dove back into the hallway as it detonated. Meeting adjourned.
I had to go through all of this rigmarole because no one could know that I was ever there. Bob’s instructions were very specific: target eliminated with a covertly planted device so that the identity of the bomber would only be a matter of speculation. So I was not in a position to get into a gun battle with the security guys, who were now reloading in the hallway. I knew I had to make a move before they got those second clips in, so I whipped out The Pig . It’s a little invention of mine, kind of like a Taser, but instead of using wires to deliver a high-voltage shock, it uses barbed darts and thin surgical tubing to pump drugs, poisons, and other nefarious liquids into the target. I can dial up all kinds of exotic, untraceable cocktails with The Pig. I just need to get close enough to deploy it. And since these guys were fifteen feet down the hall . . .
I took off at a full sprint. The first one chucked his TEC and went for the Beretta on his hip. Dumb. By the time he had it out, I was fully airborne, smashing my size twelve, nondescript, brown wing tip directly into his chest. As he went down, I deployed The Pig into his armpit. Side note: forget the neck, Dexter. The medical examinerwill see that a mile away. ALWAYS choose a hairy injection point. You could jab a horse needle in there and lazy-ass autopsy drones will never go bushwhacking for clues. He’s out before he hits the floor, but his buddy now has the TEC locked and ready to rip right in my face. I bench-press his buddy into him just in time for him to pull the trigger. The barrel is buried in the guy’s ass, causing the blowback to reverse in the chamber. The TEC-9 explodes in his face, and he goes down.
Now I had a mess to tend to and I had about thirty seconds before the fire crews would come crashing into the hallway. I bagged both TEC-9s in my Kevlar poncho and quickly removed the shrapnel from the security guys’ faces. Then I dragged them both into the target’s burning office so they would get good and charred and fit right into the scenario. Scooping up the shell casings was a major pain in the ass but I bagged them all, got into the stairwell, and jumped through the door on the floor below just before the fire crew went stomping past.
Yes, that is a lot of extra work after the target is already dead, but remember that we don’t just whack people pell-mell and drop our guns at the scene like you see in some of the shittier movies about our profession. It’s
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