Elgin’s Trial
By Mr. J.
Chapter VII: The Boston Job
023980 grips the rifle tightly from her perch overlooking the bohemian coffeeshop . The target should be crossing the street any moment now. She was sure of it. After several weeks following him from home to work and back again, his route was so predictable it was boring. If there was any hint that he’d deviate from it now, she doesn’t see it.
At least, she hopes so. Or else the consequences have been really, really bad.
She shudders at the thought. The idea of letting her brothers and sisters down makes her recoil. She owes it to them to get it right. She’s seen the file on him—the young man is a threat. She didn’t understand how an unarmed person could pose such a danger to so many people. But that’s what it said, and no way is she ever going to let anyone get close enough to hurt her family.
The image of his fat, dimply face in her head makes her seethe. Watching him gasp for air as his blood pools around him would be a pleasure. She doesn’t question where the hatred comes from. It’s not part of her parameters. But those are Frank’s orders. Just think of the smile on his face when he finds out...oh boy.
If she’s lucky there might even be an orgy.
“023980, are you in position?” Her headset crackles.
Silence.
“023980, do you read me?”
“No!” She cries. “I mean, yes!”
“You see him?”
“Just his head.” 023980 recovers her breath. “He should be out in a minute or two. You know what to do, right?”
She goes over the instructions in her head. Soon as he makes contact, she’s supposed to put two bullets in his head, through and through dump him in the alley. Escape through the back entrance. Walk towards the rendezvous point a few blocks away. Act natural, and above all, don’t be seen.
023980 grows agitated as the raven haired young man lingers near the window, chatting up a much older man. An exasperated sigh escapes her lips. Hurry up, damn you. The sooner she gets this over with, the sooner she can get back to her life. Watching and waiting is not her virtue.
As if on cue, the target walks out of the coffee shop cup in hand, oblivious to the assassin lying in wait. He looks a bit dumpy than she remembers. Come to think of it, he looks downright slovenly what with the stains on his shirt. The young man checks his PDA as he prepares to cross the street, completely oblivious to the would-be sniper watching from above.
“That’s right.” 023980 mutters under her breath. “Check your email like a good little boy.”
Her finger lingers on the trigger. Yet as seconds pass into minutes, she has yet to do anything. She curses herself and steels herself, yet she can’t bring herself to do him. For a flicker of a second she swears he looks familiar. She pushes the thought out of her mind, yet something is still preventing her from killing him.
This is very bad, indeed.
“Is it done?” Her headset crackles. “023980? Are you there?”
“Negative.” She whispers in his ear.
“Enough fucking around. Is he dead or not?”
023980 hesitates.
“Affirmative.”
“We’ll be at the abandoned warehouse down the street.”
Click.
023980 takes off as the peal of a police siren whirs nearby. She doesn’t even bother to pack up, just runs as fast as her legs carry her. A fiery sensation travels up her legs. She doesn’t understand why, yet something in her refuses to let her stop. She can’t.
Sweat drenches her body. She doesn’t know why she’s running. She always stays behind to finish the job. What does she have to flee from? She has a comfortable life. The food is great, the sex is good. All she has to do is please and obey. She’d never been bothered by the sight of blood before.
So what’s changed?
“023980, what’s your twenty?”
“Got to catch my breath.” She breathes heavily into the headset. “Police are after me. How soon can you get a van over here?”
“What’s your coordinates?”
023980 tosses her headset into the nearest trash bin and ducks into a side street. To her great relief, a squad car passes by without notice. But even so, she is at a loss as to the erratic behavior. This is not part of her programming. This is not why she was created. Frank is going to be pissed.
She flags down a passing motorist. She puts on the saddest face she can imagine and hopes for the best. As they travel down the freeway, a guilty feeling sinks into her belly. She’d gone and done the one thing she swore would never happen. With her betrayal of Divinex, she’d notarized her death certificate.
She wishes she were dead already.
Alone in a dreary hotel, 023980 tosses and turns through the night, trying to figure out what caused her to seize up. In her dreams, she sees a comely young woman, red hair all up in a bun as she mixes test tubes. A fetus sits on a jar at the top of the shelf. 023980 retches from the sight yet she can’t turn away. A strange Rube Goldberg contraption sits in the foreground, though she does not know why.
She wakes up to the piercing ray of the Sun, the dream from the night before having already receded into her subconscious. As she stretches and yawns, all she can think is: what’s next?