The air bumped with subwoofer bass as lights flashed, and Mike looked miserable, sighing with relief as the lights went back up and the show was almost over. He walked his way to a rear exit and was stopped by security.
“Can’t go this way, emergency only.” said the man in the chair.
“This is an emergency, I forgot my daughter’s gift in the car and I can’t get Baby Glock to sign it if I didn’t bring it.” Mike said, looking pathetic with his cane and extra frosty beard. “Please, I paid for a backstage pass, she’s in the hospital with a broken leg and missed the concert, so I recorded it for her and I wanted him to sign a couple bottles of his branded tequila as a gift. She’s 29, I have pictures of her.”
“Man, I feel ya. But this is…” he said as Mike took out a roll of hundreds.
“Check me for security, I already got my wristband, you can check me again when I get back, check the bottles. I’ll be 5 minutes. I have to do this, she’s been having a terrible year with her mom dying…work has been rough, then she fell…”
“Okay, lemme quick check you, 5 minutes, I’m checkin the bottles.” He agreed.
“Bless you.” He said standing for a pat and quick wanding.
Nadja looked in the truck mirror, fake salt and pepper beard, and ski mask in her lap, almost passable as Mike from a glance, down to the padding and glasses. The DuPont rally in full glory roared in the distance, as a man in the driver’s seat drove the news truck around. They showed IDs and made it to the parking lot.
“Now…you remember the lines?” She asked, tossing a pair of wire cutters in the back and putting her beverage bottle in the cup-holder.
“Yes I do. You’re my cameraman, Ted, filling in for Joel if anyone asks, just please don’t hurt my family.” He sighed.
“That depends on whether you do your job. I don’t want to hurt them, but I will, if you do anything stupid.” She said in a strange southern accent, no hint of Russian bite or lisp, an almost passable masculine voice. “Park there, in the handicapped spot marked reserved.” She said getting out a handicapped sticker.
“Why me?” he asked.
“You are a news reporter, nobody suspects. You have clearance. You have disposable cameraman. Approximately my size.” Nadja smirked.
“God, he had a family.”
“Well, I can kill them too if you’d like, then I will leave nobody to suffer.” She shrugged. The News man sucked up his anxiety and grabbed his jacket. Nadja grabbed her laptop bags and they began walking the perimeter. She led him the long way around, looping near the outhouses and taking out a sack from her coat that looked like grass, draping it over one of the bags and giving it a hefty toss over the fence, mentally marking the location and carrying the second identical case to the main entrance.
The security door opened with a knock as Mike returned with a 17x8 box with a passably printed logo of Baby Glock’s signature Tequila, Nin9 Mill on the side.
“Yea.” He nodded to the walkie-talkie “Yea he’s chill. Just got some Nine to sign, he’s good.” He said as Mike handed him the box to check and leaned in close, the guard flinching and grabbing his neck as Mike took the box back and stepped away, putting his sunglasses on him and leaning him up, arms crossed.
“Oh, the irony, if only this wasn’t a 45.” He whispered as the man drifted to sleep, propped up like he was watching the door. Mike carried the box, making his way to the backstage signing line.
Nadja placed the bag on the counter and walked through the metal detectors with Donnovan Roe, the locally known news reporter, sweating bullets and looking sick. Security checked the bag, camera and mic, laptop, inspecting them all and passing them with a little green tag for cleared. They proceeded to the open area and past a lot of people, paying attention to him and not Nadja sneaking behind the outhouses, she tucked the security tag in her pocket and scrunched down, quickly swapping the bags and walking along as if nothing happened, slowly and discreetly re-applying the green tag to the identical black laptop bag with some clear tape, and rejoining him as if just answering natures call. She nudged him to move along and handed him a hat and glasses.
“I thought you wanted people to know me?” he asked.
“To get in. Now I want you to blend.” She insisted, leading him to a shelter house off in the far corner of the venue. Nadja held up the bag with the green tag as the doorman waved them on and gave Donnovan a “hey, I know you!” look, as they exchanged handshakes and smiles. Nadja kept her head down, her neon green Channel 8 hat clearly visible. They turned a hall and Donnovan did his thing again, getting right past the security on to the stairwell, and up they went, past the no-entry sign and up to the locked door to the roof access.
Mike followed the line as a young lady peered at him oddly.
“Is that stuff any good?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s very effective. I would probably put it as my top 2 or 3 favorites of all time.” He smiled, cradling the hidden MPX proudly.”
“Maybe I should try some.” She nodded.
“Mined the upgraded edition, it’s limited run, so sadly you can''t get this exact model, but the original 9mm is still very nice and highly recommended.” He joked, approaching the table
“What’s up gramps, you a fan of the music?” Glock asked.
“Honestly no, big fan of the 9mil, I may have a drinking problem, but my girl really thinks you’re the top of the list, and I’m mostly doing this for her. I’d love to get a signature and I actually have a gift from her, it’s a necklace she made.”
“Ooooh, shit, always down for new bling, and I love to see people rockin the bottles. Respect the honesty, Gramps. Showin up for your girl, tight.” He nodded
“Actually, I’d love to do a shot with you, can I offer your bodyguards a shot?” he smiled as Glock unwrapped the smaller necklace box and looked oddly at the dog collar, blinged out and accented in high-visibility orange.
“Kinda odd gift. Pour a round. Fuck it, we partying, but just one shot each, these guys are on the job.” Glock waved.
“Perfect, one shot each will due just fine.” Mike said, abruptly pulling the MPX and firing one 45 hollowpoint at each of the now identified bodyguards, the crowd scattering and Glock ironically unarmed, frozen in his seat in shock, Mike pointed the gun at the man on the balcony rail as he waited for the clearly unfit rent-a-cop to radio in the problem.
“We got 2 men down, one shooter, elderly white male, alone, He’s got Glock hostage, I’m unarmed.” He said, emphasizing the last part louder so Mike could hear it and hopefully not shoot him. It didn’t work. Mike put a round through his head, grabbing the lady behind him by the shirt collar.
“Not you, both of you follow me or die, right now. That won’t be repeated.” He said as the crowd cleared, his hostages complied.
Stolen story; please report.
“Why me?” she asked.
“You didn’t scream or panic, keep not doing those, and you’ll be just fine." Mike chuckled.
The roof access door opened as Nadja tossed aside her lock picks and shoved Donnovan out first.
“What are we doing on the roof?” he asked her.
“You are doing what I say, no questions or wife and daughter die, slowly, on video for the internet. Now listen closely. You will go back downstairs and socialize with someone, walk with them past the stairs and give them this hat. Sign it, tell them it’s free, and make sure they walk out wearing it. Any man roughly my size. You will rush back to the desk and say your cameraman left without his ID and you are lost. Show them both, they will remember seeing that hat pass by and send you outside, So nobody is unaccounted for. Remember I have earpiece and you do too. I can hear your conversations. Do what I said. Leave and go back to the car. Await instructions, and when I am satisfied nobody is following me up, you are free to go, leave earpiece in, leave parking lot and drive away. Easy. Family will be safe and waiting. Nobody you love gets hurt. No questions. If I tell you to do anything different on the way out, you just do it. I am listening closely.” She informed. He nodded and made his way down the stairs.
Mike made his way to the parking garage as the last of security and police arrived, fanning out into position.
“Where’s your car?” he asked the woman.
“Floor down.” She panted.
“Hey pigs… You see that orange shock collar on Glock’s neck? That’s enough C4 to make him a foot shorter, see this orange watch monitoring my heartbeat? I die, he dies. And the whole place is rigged with explosives, all the concrete supports, so we all die. Everyone, trying to get out of locked emergency exits and most of your security team, are standing in the kill zones. You may have me in your crosshairs, but if you pull the trigger, you kill 30 or 40 innocent people, and Baby Glock in the process. Go ahead, let’s all go to hell together, see which of us is on the devil’s good side!” Mike yelled. “So I want weapons down and hands up, a helicopter on the roof, and I got you on camera. Anyone moves, the internet will know the police just got 40 people and a celebrity killed.” He hollered, as they all reluctantly lowered guns, and he moved to the stairwell, going down instead of up.
“You never getting out of here alive with me, they got cops following you all over the place.” Glock noted.
“You’re right.” He said, holding up the camera to record, and leaning in for a selfie, placing the Mister Black mask on and everything. He grinned and lifted the MPX to Glock’s chin, cuffing him to a random car door handle, pressing record.
“And that, kids, is what endorsing crooked politics will get you. These celebrities you idolize, bought and paid for by the rich pedophiles that own your country, and lower your food stamps. They don’t give a damn about you. There’s no left and right, no good side and bad side…just evil. Evil rich men who want you desperate, and evil fuckers like me cutting em down like grass.” He finished. “And evil prevails, pick your lesser!” he barked, covering the camera and firing a shot before cutting the live feed.
“FUCK!” Glock yelled, holding his clipped ear and head spinning.
“I’d be very chill for a while if I wanted to live.” Mike said, leaving him and pushing the girl towards where the car was parked.
Donnovan let out a huge sigh of relief as he got in the truck.
“Okay. I’m back. You’ll let my family go now?”
“Yes, one last thing. There is water bottle in a metal thermos left in cupholder. Do you see it?” Nadja asked.
“Yea. Black metal can with a red x on the side." Donnovan inspected.
“Read me the code on the bottom of the bottle.” She said getting out her phone and punching in a phone number, hovering over the send button.
“God it’s really smudged and hard to rea-” he said with a subtle pop of smoke and a jerking motion, as he dropped the smoking thermos and flopped over the seat, blood dripping from his head, the thermos with a hole in the end rolling to the floorboard. Nadja hung up, ending the call and his life, all witnessed evidence of her voice, or the fact that she was anyone but a young cameraman in a bright neon hat. She dialed again and put the phone to her head. Hello Yuri. Yes, kill the family discreetly. Da. Your services are almost done. Good work.” She smirked, sitting back in the sun with her laptop case and a bottle of water, waiting for the President to begin his speech about how he will not tolerate vigilante justice or terrorism. She played some Russian opera in her earbud, checking the timer and patiently waiting on the long speech.
Mike stuck a pencil through his shirt and reamed out a hole, ripping a blood pack with his teeth and making a fake gunshot. He closed the passenger door, removing the mask and hat, replacing it with a dew rag and fake blonde braids. He turned to the calmly cooperating women in the driver''s seat.
“Now listen carefully. Everything you saw was fake, tranq bullets, the fake collar, there are no bombs anywhere, but they don’t know that. You’re gonna drive out of here and tell them at the gate your husband was shot, you’re taking him to a hospital, and they will clear us both, here’s a fake ID, flash that and yours as we get to the gate." Mike huffed.
“Wait, it’s all fake?” she asked.
“Of course. It’s about the random money and the message; nobody’s dying except a few pigs that refused to back down.”
“Oh, that’s so badass. So I’m not in any real danger?” she asked.
“Not unless you wanna be?” he smirked, wondering if he saw a glint of orange in her eyes or imagined it in the dim lighting.
“Okay, this is officially the best show ever. So that detonator is just a prop?” she asked with a grin.
“Shock collar for dogs, just gonna give him a little zap and scare, not a bomb in the building…see?” he said pushing the button, and her face waited for the sound of explosions. “See? No bombs. Only one who noticed a thing, was Baby Glock, and Nobody ever died from a little shock collar.”
“I am so hot for you right now. I’m Taylor.” she said, shaking his hand.
“Too close to Tanner, I’m gonna pretend you said… Rebecca. By the way, you are absolutely killing this role tonight.” He winked, taking a swig off a real bottle of Nin9 Mill, and noticing the slight orange in her eyes now clear and vivid. That icy cold smirk in her face that said she wanted him.
Nadja’s hand lifted to secure the black latex butcher gloves with a snap.
She took a knee, placing down the laptop bag, unzipping it with a final look to confirm nobody was near. She flipped the top over, revealing a B and K folded rifle in industrial gray and urban camo, specifically selected to match the rooftop. She left-hand lifted the gun like a pistol, giving it a quick jerk and unfolding the stock from the receiver, the big scope already on. Her right hand blindly reached into the top of the bag, grabbing and playfully flipping a 16-inch barrel clad in carbon fiber, and began rapidly tightening it on the gun. The speech rambled in her ear, as she finished tightening the barrel with a firm torque twist, her left hand already grabbing the foregrip and dropping it on, clearing the barrel as her fingers buffered the impact, catching and locking it with the flip of a latch. She grabbed the suppressor, wrapped in concrete colored cloth and spun it in place, letting it stop and tightening it. The bipod legs flipped out, and she was armed in just 35 seconds. She smirked a little, knowing even the President would be caught off guard when her planned shot was a full minute too early to expect, making his reaction real.
Her earpiece hummed to the speech as she waited, knowing she would have just a few seconds before being spotted. She double-checked her custom magazine, containing exactly 2 rounds of 6.5 PPC ammunition, she double-checked her scope, 3.1 mil elevation for 170cm drop, adjusting for wind and closing her eyes with the gun in her lap, her head behind the concrete post and the words counting down in the speech. The word “integrity” rang through the earpiece, opening her eyes. The right eye a greenish-blue and the left one shimmering in the light with a hint of orange, she grabbed the rifle and put it to her shoulder.
She took one breath through her nose and made one rotating motion, placing the rubber feet of the bipod down and landing almost on target, making one tiny adjustment with a subtle hunch, placing the crosshairs on his glasses, pulling the trigger, and reflexively left hand kicking the bolt up and back like a good soviet AK reload, following the staggering president as he rubbed his eyes and face, placing the second shot directly center chest, and knocking the wind out of him as he fell backwards. She rolled away from the rifle, as shots landed near the wall, Grabbing Mike’s black Jezebel pistol and extending the folded stock as she made her way to the other side of the roof, a piece of printed paper with the small text: Fuck you was now all remaining in the laptop bag, as she left the rifle behind and casually stepped off the edge of the building.
Baby Glock struggled with the collar as the police approached.
“Man, get this shit off me! Everyone else upstairs to the roof, kill this motherfucker and tell them I got shots off on the guy before he ran away.” He said as the light turned from green to red and with a hefty thump, baby Glock became a lot more limp and a foot shorter, the white car now rocking an authentic gangsta red bloodsplatter paintjob.
Nadja closed her right eye, taking a shot with the unfolded pistol, and putting a round through the sinus cavity of the security guard mid-draw of his own pistol. She sprinted for the fence, climbing the outhouse and doing a running jump over the fence, and onto a parked car, to slow her rolling fall. She got about 150 yards and turned around, carefully shouldering the weapon and dropping the one witness in the area, reaching the News truck, and shoving the corpse aside, flooring the gas and making her way full speed at the wire perimeter fence. She aimed right between the 2 red flags she marked, where the fence was already cut most of the way up and plowing through, leaving the flapping section. While driving, she carefully touched her right eye and blinked a few times, flicking the blue contact lens aside and grabbing a purse with a contact case and eye drops. She made her way down the road, slowing down to normal speed as she merged to the interstate.