Black Mamba

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I slowly rotate my head, relieving the slight tension in the nape of my neck, "How we looking, ladies?"

"So far, so good," Hai's voice rings through my micro-Bluetooth, "Jade's right across from the Plaza, she texted that he's leaving right now.  He should be there in 20 minutes."

Ivy chimes in, "Camera sequence is looped and set to play—smooth sailing."

"Media statement?"

Hai says, "Aria's working on it.  It'll be ready by tomorrow's broadcast."

"Jade's on standby for the call, too?"

Hai reassures me, "She's walking away.  She'll place the call when you're done."

Ivy sighs, "Honestly, Lori, chill.  You're acting like we haven't done this a million times."

"All it takes is one mistake for everything to go to shit."

"You're so negative.  You need to schedule an appointment with my sister, Jesus."

"I love Inaya, but been there, done that.  No, thank you."

"You've just listened to her advice you.  You need to try the whole setup- the lying on the couch, the spilling your guts-"

Hai interrupts, "Lori doesn't do therapy.  She prefers self-destructive habits and calls them therapy."

"Maybe if she did REAL therapy, she wouldn't be so negative and paranoid."

I let them continue to bicker in my ear like I'm not listening.  I know when it's showtime, they're going to be thorough and attentive, and that's all that matters.

It's taking everything out of me not to loosen the tension in my back from lying on the floor of this undeveloped building; I can't risk moving and giving away my location.  I'm on the tenth floor which is the perfect angle to see over the buildings in front of me and lock in on the brownstone house 500 yards away.  It took me a week to find the perfect spot to have the best vantage point of my target, so I'm damn sure not going to give away my location now.  And the perfect vantage point comes at a cost- the concrete floor is digging into my stomach and knees.  Even with the night air blowing through the open space made for a window, all I can smell is construction building.  I've been in position for an hour, I'm sore and stiff and hungry.

But with my girls watching my back and arguing in my ear and my precious Remington Model 700 Tactical Chassis Rifle with its Nightforce ATACR 5-25x56 F1 scope waiting for action, I'm as content as can be.  Besides, the outcome of this mission will be worth the discomfort.

Hai and Ivy abruptly stop arguing about my different forms of self-destructive behavior and Ivy says, "I see him.  Lorelai, you see his limo?"

I magnify my scope ever so slightly higher so I can see the face of the passenger exiting the backseat of a sleek black limo.  Thick black hair, green eyes, a five o'clock shadow he didn't bother to shave, tall and lean built, self-satisfied smirk.  I make a small noise of affirmation, "Definitely him."

Ivy reads off the research we did on our target, "Daniel Hansen.  Age 36.  Investment banker who recently was cleared for the third time in his investigation for insider and unauthorized trading, high-pressure sales tactics, and pump-and-dump schemes.  Also has been reported several times for suspected domestic abuse but nothing ever sticks there, either."

I grumble under my breath as I watch Daniel Hansen enter his brownstone, carefree about the number of people he's screwed over.  Hai spent two weeks on an online platform where Hansen's victims poured out their stories of how he used their money and accounts to screw them out of their entire life savings.  Madelyn read the reports from neighbors who heard fighting from his house and from the responding officers who reported Mrs. Hansen looked "upset but unharmed."  But in the next photos of her at an event, she'd be the only one in a high collar and long sleeves.  One of the reports Madelyn read even mentioned Mrs. Hansen had a healing black eye but that she'd claimed, "she'd blacked out and fallen."  She'd tried filing for divorce twice but would always back out due to his unrelenting threats and abuse.

Luckily, Mrs. Hansen was far away in Brazil visiting family and had zero ties to us.  Nothing that happens tonight will fall back on her.

I wait patiently for him to move through his house.  I know thanks to Jade's stalking how meticulous Daniel is- every little thing he does before going to bed when his wife is not there remains the same.  He pours himself a drink, drinks it while looking out his front window, goes upstairs to his bedroom, removes his jacket, watch, rings, and tie, and goes into his bathroom to shower.  I need him to be in his room, still in his suit and still wearing his flashy items, before I take the shot.  No one else will understand my reasoning but I will.

I'm executing a shady businessman who wears his expensive garments and accessories while his clients suffer.

My body tingles with anticipation when Daniel leisurely heads upstairs to his bedroom.  He starts to lift his hands to the collar of his jacket-

I pull the trigger.

My SureFire SOCOM762-RC2 suppressor silences the sound of my shot, but nothing interrupts the smooth shot of the bullet.  I watch from my scope as Daniel Hansen falls onto his carpeted bedroom floor.

I exhale sharply and eject the empty shell case, "Tell Jade to make the call in five.  I'm heading out.  Have the camera feeds ready to play."

Hai and Ivy say in unison, "Godspeed."

I slowly lift myself up, ignoring how my joints complain from the movement.  I pick up the empty shell case and carefully examine my surroundings.  I've left nothing behind; my hands are gloved, and my hair is tied up and covered with a mesh hair net and hoodie so there's no risk of leaving behind any DNA.

I remove the small can of spray paint from my hoodie pocket and pick up a slab of wood leaning against the wall.  I spray paint a small image of a black mamba raising its hooded head, fangs out, and ready to attack.

My calling sign so they'll know.

The Black Mamba was here.