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Written By Miro A. White and Lillian De Jong
Inspired by Irishboy@1977
Boardroom meetings, who on earth thought up that concept? Or the name for that matter. Bored room gatherings would’ve been a more apt description of my time wasted in that stuffy office. Sometimes I just felt like putting the rest of those suits down like the dogs they were.
Of course I’d never do so but sometimes the thought continued during those long dull hours in that steel grey office building with it’s freeze dried recycled air-conditioned air, cubicles, annoying telephones, absolutely irritating elevator musak and a copier that just drove the most down to earth person to go postal.
Add to that the fact that my love life seemed totally non-existent and you might get the picture of how my life was looking.
“God I’m bored with my job,” I sighed as I stretched out next to Phil in the janitors closet. A closet it was not. It was filled with buckets and mops and cleaning supplies but it was bigger than my corner office.
Phil the Custodial Engineer nodded wisely and took another drag off his cigar. Phil was a fifty five year old black man with a hangdog face and the greatest outlook on life I’d ever come across.
“Boredness is just life’s way of saying … move on”.
Phil’s little life changing phrases had stuck in my head. But Phil was filled with these little tidbits of information. Like; “Nobody ever pays attention to the janitor” and “When life gets rough, grab a surfboard” and “Who says that a day job should be carried out during the day”.
I was senior partner a highly successful international finance law firm, with clients all over the world. I’d been all over the world, seen great beauty and the great horrors of this world.
Now though … every time I stepped into that office building I was bored before I reached the reception desk in the downstairs lobby.
“I used to be so excited going to work but now … ,” I shrugged and took a drag from my own cigar.
“Maybe it’s time to bring that excitement back into this building and your life,” Phil suggested and handed me a plain white business card with nothing on it except a website address. Streetwars
“What is this?” I asked, certainly interested despite the fact that the mental picture of a full out gang war started playing in my head.
Phil didn’t answer immediately but twirled his cigar in the air as if trying to formulate the answer.
“That my dear boy is the answer to your problems,” he smiled. With that enigmatic note he picked up his rolling mop and walked out of the closet humming the tune from the A-team.
“A three week long squirt gun assassin game?” I exclaimed that night as I sat in my den behind my laptop.
“Cool!” I said out loud after reading a few lines of the general outline of the game of games.
“At the start of the game you will receive a manila envelope containing the following:
The Newest Assassin Game:
Assassins For Hire
You can now hire an Assassin from the Shadow Government for your personal wetting missions.
• A picture of your intended targets
• The home address of your intended targets
• The work address of your intended targets
• The name of your intended targets
• Contact information of your intended targets
Upon receipt of these items, your (or your team’s) mission is to find and kill (by way of water gun, water balloon or super soaker) your targets.
You can hunt your target down any way you see fit; you can pose as a delivery person and jack them when they open the door, disguise yourself and take them out on the street, at work, in a cab, in the movie theatre etc.”.
Grinning I opened the sign up sheet and entered my name at once. Phil was right, this would definitely liven up the workday.
Only downside was that the next game didn’t start for six more weeks.
“And I think you’ll find that Mr. Delaurio has indeed paid the proper amount in taxes for the last fifteen years. All by the book your honor,” I said confidently as I handed over the paper work it had taken me five weeks to compile and or track down to the bailiff.
White collar criminals had to be the most shifty kind of people on this planet. Fraud, embezzlement, tax evasion and other kinds of money stealing schemes were my cup of tea. I still hadn’t figured out how precisely the IRS had come to the conclusion that my client was a major book-doctor though. They seemed not to have been able to find any other suspects and therefore pinned the crime on this weedy little mouse of a geek with glasses so thick that I always figured it was a miracle that he could see at all. He looked kinda like a man evolved from a mole.
“Thank you councilor. This court is in recess until Monday the 17th at 11am when we’ll go to closing casino şirketleri arguments,” Judge Tracy Moran said and rapped her gavel loudly before exiting quickly on the way to her hair and manicure appointment before going off for a week to Barbados with her husband.
The bailiff’s led Mr. Delaurio back through the side door and I went to pick up my briefcase.
Later as I got back into my office I remembered that my secretary, Beth Masterson, had taken an early weekend to spend some time with her girlfriend. I set my briefcase on my massive oak desk and sat down in my all too comfortable chair, gazing out of the window.
I had no work until next week Monday morning 11am.
What on earth was I going to do until then?
At a quarter to three a boy from the mail room came in and delivered a stack of manila envelopes.
The First Ops
With one week to go I had received my first target. The amount of data on the target had both surprised and disappointed me.
Mr. Joshua Warren. A picture, his home address, his favorite haunts, telephone number, email and his place of work … so to speak.
I’d found that a little more information was not out of the question.
Warren was a brilliant 23 year old biochemistry major at Yale University.
At school he was your typical rich kid who’d decided that it was time to defy his parents and not go into the family business. He looked like a plant that had been forced to grow in the dark. Tall, pale face, intelligent pale blue eyes and long black hair that was quite greasy.
He also appeared to hold himself slightly bent as if trying to fit in with his fellow students. He was not the geeky kid that he appeared to be at first glance. Nor from his description in the manila envelope.
I had already observed him going to the gym three times that week, his mornings started with a long run through the park. He was in fantastic shape. When he was not in school he lived in a swanky townhouse with a large garden which had obviously been paid for by his parents. No normal student could afford a house like this.
He was also in favor with the ladies. I’d already observed him going home with two gorgeous girls two nights before.
July 17th: Day 1
As I sat there in my car the morning of the start of the game of games I felt excited, totally focused and kinda geeky. It was as if the knowledge of shooting someone had been downplayed because of the water gun angle but I could live with feeling geeky. I was a tax lawyer after all.
Now being such a freak for details I already had five completely filled water pistols on me, two in my briefcase, one in the glove compartment and one super soaker in the trunk of my car. I was a very cautious and well prepared individual. I had read the team angle. People could form teams to start with and work together to take out one target.
“Always best to be prepared,” I said out loud as I turned on the engine and gunned out of my driveway.
It’s funny but I don’t think I’d ever been so hyper alert as I was that morning. Everyone entering my office was a potential assassin. But that didn’t stop me from doing my job. The closing arguments had gone swimmingly and I had charmed the pants off every juror in the room. Mr. Delaurio was acquitted that very afternoon.
Now it was time for me to get to the business at hand.
As I got out of the court house I called the office and I told Beth that I would take the rest of the afternoon off.
“Alright Gary, you have don’t have any appointments until 1300h tomorrow,” she said in her sweet voice.
“God I wish she weren’t gay,” I found myself thinking again as I walked into the parking garage.
When I got to my car I slipped out of my suit coat, shirt, suit trousers and stepped out of my polished shoes.
Then I put on my brown dreadlock wig that I’d bought three years earlier for a Halloween party and then slipped on a pair of baggy jeans, my dirtiest trainers and my sunglasses. After looking at myself in the little mirror I put on my trusty old Bob Marley shirt and buttoned it up leaving the top three buttons undone.
Then I hoisted my faded backpack onto my back and left my car under the courthouse and left on foot.
The mid afternoon sun was so pleasant I decided to walk through the park to the University. No one would recognize me, not even my own mother at first glance.
Coming into the University grounds, a smoking cigarette hanging loosely between my lips I must’ve looked as if I had no idea where I was. My walk had modified itself on the way through the park and I now walked with a little more bounce and swagger than I usually did.
“Yo mon could ya tell me da way to da Bio Chem. labs ‘ere?” I said to a random guy in my wanna-be Rastafarian voice.
The guy smiled and directed towards the wrong side of campus as casino firmalari expected. I thanked him and set off the other way leaving him to stare at me.
Two of my water guns were in my backpack, one each in the side pockets of my baggy jeans and a green one that was shaped like a .357 Magnum was in the waistband of my jeans under my shirt.
It was one in the afternoon and I knew from my observations the week before that Mr. Warren would be going to lunch in a few minutes.
I stretched out lazily against a tree in the park and pulled out a bottle of water and a book that I’d bought that morning before coming to court. I wasn’t really reading the book though, I was carefully observing the exit of the Bio Chem. labs for my target.
At a quarter past one I saw him coming out with a few others that looked much the same as he did. Withering plants. Them I’d seen before. Paul and Jonathan. His best friends. Smiling to myself I took out my small digital camera and activated it. I would take no chances being cheated, Mr. Warren was already a proven liar. He lied to and about himself.
I stood up, yawned, stretched and clumsily picked up my bag. After that I set off along the path Mr. Warren and his friends were walking. They were headed to MacBeach’s, their usual lunch time spot. I could see that Mr. Warren had a water gun on him as well but it was clear that he wasn’t really expecting trouble this early in the game.
I knew he would have to give me his target or targets when I sprayed him and I began to wonder who his targets were.
They sat down on the terrace of MacBeach’s and ordered their usual three pints. They had just received their menu’s when the Coca Cola truck stopped in front of me blocking the view like I had hoped it would. I pulled out my .357 Squirt gun and made my way along the front of the truck as the driver started opening up the side door and climbed inside noisily. I saw Paul, Jonathan and Joshua watching the truck driver pile the coke bottles and acted.
“Yo mon! You a dead mon!” I said loudly and squirted at the same time. The long stream hit Joshua Warren straight in the face and chest. Spluttering and dripping wet, Joshua looked up at me with fury in his eyes.
“No way!” he called, drawing his own water gun but then saw the digital camera in my hand and his shoulders sagged.
“Fine,” he growled and indicated for me to sit down. I did and continued to be my wannabe Rastafarian. He introduced me to Paul and Jonathan and then handed me a manila envelope.
July 18th: Day 2
My second target couldn’t have been more easy and I felt no desire to stake out this one. Beth Masterson, my secretary. She didn’t know I was in the game but now I knew she was. I called her into my office the following day and threw a water-balloon at her. Wide-eyed, her new suede suit ruined, she gave me her manila envelope. I gave her money to buy herself a new suit.
July 24th: Day 8
James Levy, working as an on the road tech supporter in the midtown area. He could have been harder to reach if I hadn’t posed as the most inept person with a computer. I called in a favor with my colleague downstairs and she called him down out to work on her secretary’s computer. She gave Benjamin, her secretary, the morning off and I sat behind his desk instead, my colleagues glasses on and my manner as feminine as could be.
James Levy was a homophobe and therefore reluctant to look at me.
I squirted him on the back of the head as he sat behind the computer.
He was the first one that smiled as he handed over his manila envelope.
August 4th: Day 19
I saw online that my codename was ranked second in the standings. You were given a codename on the site and mine was Rastafarian due to the Quote; “Original manner in which I conducted my first ‘kill’,” End Quote.
I was eager to be ranked number one. I had already eliminated eighteen targets in nineteen days. I’d had them all report in that they’d been ‘killed’ by me when I was still with them.
I had been targeted by only three other players over those eighteen days. Luckily for me I kept a desk drawer filled with water balloons and three filled water pistols on me at all times. The first had been a barman from the café next-door. The second was something of a surprise because he was my boss. Mr. Walker, a powerful presence in any room had asked me into his office to talk about my last case. He had thrown a water balloon at me the moment I walked into the office. I had just been able to duck out of the way and squirt him between the eyes. The third had been the most fun because it appeared that he had hired a team to do his dirty work.
When I walked to the parking garage elevator that morning I found a team waiting for me inside. Three kids of about 12 years old were inside armed with Super Soakers. Luckily for me it was a glass elevator güvenilir casino and I’d seen them just in time. The kids had all been ‘killed’ and then had revealed who their ’employer’ was.
Their employer had turned out to be Mr. Declun of Foster, Declun and McKay. A divorce attorney on the other side of town who conveniently had arranged my parent’s divorce a few years earlier.
I had then dressed myself as a janitor and decided to take out Mr. Declun myself. I needn’t have bothered because he had just been killed by a man styling himself The Bucketeer. He was the most successful player around and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on him.
Mr. Declun’s list aside however I had another target to take out. That Target however proved rather elusive.
Her picture and file had been handed to me by a spluttering (and by then very wet due to the fact that I’d thrown a water-balloon at him and then soaked him with my super soaker for fun’s sake) fake waiter who had just been on the way out of the restaurant holding a new manila envelope. This was due to the fact that he’d just ‘killed’ Judge Tracy Moran and her husband.
Judge Moran’s former target was: 26 year old Katherine Webster and she looked so completely like the actress Claudia Black that I suspected that it was Claudia Black under an assumed name. It was not. I’d called and found out that Claudia Black was still in Vancouver filming.
Katherine’s workplace, an insurance firm, was an option but not a great one seeing as she sat with her face towards the office and elevators and her windows didn’t open so there was no chance for me of hijacking a window washing trolley.
Angel, as she was codenamed, was ranked third and therefore high on my list. Due to my extreme attraction to her however I decided to give up my plan to hit my next target in the subway and decided to scope her out a little first, maybe get a date in the process.
I knew from her file that she sometimes hung out on Fridays at a place called Lilly’s. She hadn’t shown and I’d been forced to listen to a very bad band playing … well … whatever that was couldn’t be called music anyway.
The Last Kills
August 5th: Day 20
Saturday afternoon she spent with her mother shopping for groceries and seeing as I was running low as well I thought I’d go there too. Problem was it was so incredibly hot that day that I couldn’t be bothered to do any sneaking around.
That evening I looked online and saw that Angel and I were tied for second place meaning that she had ‘killed’ someone that very afternoon. First was still held by The Bucketeer. I wondered what he’d done to earn that nickname. He was very good though. Twenty three ‘kills’ in twenty days.
Seeing this again I pulled on my clothes and headed out with two friends and their girlfriends to The Rock and Rose, which was Angel’s second most likely hangout.
The Rose, as it was called by it’s regulars, was a crowded bar/club with three levels with fantastic atmosphere, great music, large video screens showing both the happenings in the club and music video’s. It also had a very large dance floor. Every level of the club looked out onto the large dance floor in the middle of the first floor.
My friends quickly headed to the dance floor with their girlfriends and a drink. After saying that I had to get to the bathroom and that I would join them later I headed upstairs.
Searching for Angel.
After one lap of the entire club, during which I had already picked up two new telephone numbers that I’d been given by two drunk girls dressed like cheerleaders on the second level, I reached the bar and I finally saw her.
Well not the real in the flesh her but she was on the screen in front of me.
Black dress, flowers in her black hair, hands above her head and dancing in time with the music with two girls. I smiled, I knew those girls. The drunk cheerleaders. I quickly picked up my beer and looked out over the railing.
There in the middle of the dance floor was Angel with the two cheerleaders.
I grinned and fumbled in my pocket for my phone. An idea having struck me. I pulled a card that I’d taken from her office out of my pocket and dialed the number. I saw her flip open her phone and then frown. She didn’t know the number that was calling her. After smiling she closed the phone again and continued to dance.
She was good.
But I was better.
Quickly I dialed the number of the cheerleader closest to her and let it ring.
Amy, as she was called, picked up the phone at once.
“Amy,” she shouted into my ear.
“Hello Amy! Could you do me a favor and hand your phone to Katherine?” I said in a calm and reasonable voice.
“Sure,” she giggled and handed the phone to her girlfriend.
I saw Katherine frown as she took the phone.
“Yes?” she answered and her voice made me weak in the knees.
“Hey Angel do ya wanna grab a drink?” I said in my wannabe Rastafarian voice.
I saw her eyes dart around the dance floor, looking for me. She was good, yet I saw no sign of a water gun.
“Rastafarian?” she asked, her voice uncertain.
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