Current mood:	mellow
Current music:	Nas - the world is yours

Pernicious Practice
I had to be careful with this job, last week's was far too messy. Back in my head I knew that I shouldn't even be out right now, I should be on the low, patiently waiting. For sixty-thousand dollars, I was willing to take the risk. The place has surveillance cameras everywhere, so I gotta be swift, proficient. On the bright side, there are several exits on both wings and that promises an easy escape. A short girl at the front ripped my ticket, handed me the blue stub and directed me to auditorium four. The boss said the mark was an older man named Mike Sanders, apparently taking his wife and kids to a show as compensation for being so busy lately. He's been busy, alright. One of the top fucking dope shifters in the region, walking around in a public theatre, and these incompetent assholes tell me they can't get a single photograph of the guy. Not that it matters anyway, I can see him across the lobby, standing in line, trying to decide upon the grand three item list on the elevated menu board. This guy will be lucky if he manages to finish his meal before I'm through with him. No time to stand around, I have to get to the auditorium and locate a back row seat to ensure I can be behind him. The front lobby is hot as all hell too, my skin beneath the gun holsters is profusely sweating. Several stupid posters decorated the harrowing hallway, reminding me why I've always hated movies. I glanced at my blue stub to see what movie this old bastard and I were watching tonight, it said "Ladies in Lavender", great, this oughta be a blast. I was greeted at the auditorium entrance with a thick stench of mothballs. After passing through the dark hallway I turned and discovered the source of the foul smell - hordes of old people. I felt sorry for the kids Mr. Sanders is bringing along. While walking up to the back row I noticed a large glass panel that was about two meters high on the wall. Some kid was behind the glass, threading film through the enormous projector. When first entering the theatre I overheard an employee refer to the upstairs area as "booth". I wonder if they call it that because of John Wilkes Booth assassinating Lincoln from above in a theatre. This smell is unbearable, maybe I can get a clean shot from behind the safety of the booth glass. There is too many people in here anyway, things could get out of control. Journeying back through the hallway I noticed an elevator on the right side and hopped inside. The doors slide open and the most probable entrance to the room above is quickly located at the end of the left corridor. No cameras in sight. While scaling the wall I spotted a rather inconvenient obstacle, a numbered lock mechanism on the handle of the door. Shit. Incredibly, the troublesome door swings open and a bumbling lanky teenager walks out. I hide behind the door and stealthily roll behind the kid, slipping into the room just before the heavy-sounding door shuts closed. Time to get this over with. I dart through the massive, noisy room and find a projector with the number four labeled above. As I screw the suppressor on to the .44 I think to myself "Sic semper tyrannis!" and laugh out loud. Hell, these fucking projectors are so loud I probably won't even need a silencer. Sanders is square in the middle, surrounded by clueless seniors and bored children. Still, from here it oughta be a clean shot. I raise my weapon and take a deep breath, hold it, aim carefully.

Now.

The glass shatters immediately after I pull the trigger and Sanders' head splits in two halves. I pop off a second shot and splatter the brain matter, just for the hell of it. Screams erupt out the cavity in the wall. Mission complete, lets get the fuck out of here. I sprint over to a hidden door at the far end and moved so fast down the stairwell that I was practically falling. Two different exit doors. I choose the one behind the stairs and play it Bogart as I casually walk outside. The sun shines down on my face, and I finally exhale.