It wasn’t going to be an ideal hit, that much was obvious. The closest Clint was going to be able to get the building was nearly two blocks away. His target’s only window was on the front side of the apartment that faced a busy street. There were no side or back door exits that he could case. There was simply the front door, the window, and the loading dock behind the building that tenants only used for moving in and out of their units- at least, as far as he could tell.
Clint leaned back and lowered his binoculars, squinting across the street. He was a hit man for hire, it was true. His clients, however, didn’t consist of underground criminals or mob bosses just trying to off one another. He was hired by police, by the government, and by private investigators when someone who would be receiving high profile media attention needed to be taken out. Such esteemed offices could never be accused of getting their hands dirty. Not when the public was so concerned for their own safety. What was to keep them from being offed over morning coffee, they would cry. Clint knew the answer was simple- most of those people weren’t endangering innocent lives. The people he was hired to dispel of were. It wasn’t a justification, but that didn’t keep him from repeating it night after night as he lay in bed, unable to close his eyes due to the red that swam behind his lids every time he tried to shut them.
With a sigh, Clint began to pack away his binoculars.His boss wouldn’t like what he told him: that no matter which direction the bullet came from, things would get very messy in a very short time span. The drug mogul he would be taking out wasn’t stupid. He was never alone, his curtains generally pulled tight and window closed despite the warm weather. The only way to take the guy out would be when he exited through the front door with his bodyguards, which would be very public and very dangerous for everyone involved- especially Clint. His boss wouldn’t care. “But will you do it?” he would ask. And of course, Clint would. It’s not like he could get a desk job punching numbers into a calculator all day with nearly 15 years of unexplained employment on his resume. This was his life, now. This was his choice.