Judge & Executioner

Normally in my line of work, I deal with a lot of characters that most people would consider unsavory: thugs, thieves, hookers, killers, crime bosses, and the occasional cop-dirty and clean. Every once in a while, however, I get to meet some really high-class souls. Like a judge.

This particular judge had been contacted my employer and offered a rather large amount of money to ensure that my employer's son, Robert, would be acquitted of a murder charge. Since it looked like the jury would return a guilty verdict, it would be the judges job to overturn the verdict. Now, being a greedy soul, our friend the judge did take my employer up on his offer-and his cash. Unfortunately for him, he didn't live up to his end of the deal; he refused to overturn the verdict. Adding insult to injury, he also denied Robert's appeal, which made my employer very, very upset. And when my employer gets upset, he calls me.

Now, seeing as how my target was a federal judge, and was therefore surrounded by multiple layers of security, I needed to find an appropriate method to deal with him. In other words, it would have been impossible to simply walk up and double-tap him in the back of the head with my Glock 10mm. Now it was time to start thinking creatively.

The solution I came up with turned out to be not that creative. Okay, heck, it wasn't even original. But it worked.

Three weeks after the verdict was handed down, I parked myself atop an air-conditioning unit on the roof of an apartment building across the street and three doors down from the federal courthouse. My Glock was parked in its shoulder holster, where it would hopefully remain for the duration of this assignment. Instead of my sidearm, I had a Remington 700, stock braced firmly against my shoulder, bipod extended and resting on the unit's steel housing, the crosshairs of my Leupold scope lined up on the courthouse door 100 yards away. I'd been up there for over three hours, waiting for the judge to exit. Normally he'd have been out those doors an hour earlier, but for some reason he was taking his time today. I'd had over two dozen false alarms and was rapidly growing impatient when the doors opened one final time. It was him.

I knew from observing him that the judge always walked straight down the courthouse steps and across the sidewalk to his waiting Mercedes sedan; a distance of twenty-five yards than he never took more than thirty seconds to cross, which meant I'd have to act fast. I immediately lined the crosshairs up on the judge's head and began to deliberately squeeze the trigger. All I needed was four pounds of applied pressure before the trigger would break cleanly and send a .300 Winchester Magnum round speeding into the judge's skull. But before I could apply that pressure, a female reporter ran up to the judge. Directly into my crosshairs. The judge began walking faster towards his car, but the reporter stayed right with him.

Twenty seconds.

The judge turned his head and motioned for her to leave him alone, but she refused, growing more aggressive in her questioning as they moved closer to the sidewalk.

Fifteen seconds.

"C'mon, lady. Move." I whispered to myself as the judge drew ever closer to the Mercedes. One of the judge's bodyguards tried to muscle the reporter away, but she shrugged him off like he wasn't there and resumed her one-sided question & answer section.

Ten seconds.

As they approached the bottom of the steps, a pair of bodyguards forcibly moved themselves between the judge and the reporter, obscuring my shot even further. Somehow, the reporter managed to duck between the guards and got right back in the judge's face as the group reached the concrete sidewalk.

Five seconds.

The judge's chauffeur walks around the car and opens the rear door.

Four seconds.

The reporter gets nose to nose with the judge and begins shouting at him.

Three seconds.

The judge yells to one of his bodyguards.

Two seconds.

The bodyguard wraps his arms around the reporter's waist and physically lifts her off the ground.

One second.

Still holding the now-kicking-and-screaming reporter, the guard backs away from the judge.

Clearing my line of fire.

I don't hesitate: my right pointer finger pulls back hard and smooth on the trigger. There's an ear-splitting crack, the gun recoils slightly, and I see the judge's brains explode all over the courthouse steps. Screams erupt as the bodyguards all drop into crouches and draw their weapons, but it's obviously too late.

My job finished, I quickly disassemble the rifle, tuck the various components into a suitcase, climb down from the air conditioning unit, and begin walking quickly across the rooftop. I cross over to another building and then another before climbing down the fire escape into a back alley, my job completed.

"Hey, you! Hold it!" I turn around quickly and spot a pair of cops running down the alley, pistols drawn.

"Is there a problem, officers?" I ask coolly.

"What were you doing on that fire escape and what's in the case?" one of the cops ask me.

"Files and stuff for work," I reply.

"What were you doing on the escape?" the cop repeats.

"Elevator's broken," I say, motioning towards the building, "and the landing on my floor's being painted. It's just easier that way."

"Yeah?" the first cop asks me, "well, how about we just take a look in that case, okay?" Damn.

"Sure, whatever," I say, handing the case over, "knock yourself out." The cop holsters his pistol, pops open the case's latches, and opens the lid. A second later, his eyes become as big as dinner plates. He lets go of the case and reaches for his gun.

"You're..." he starts to shout, but gets no further. My Glock is out of its holster in a heartbeat and I fire one shot point-blank into the cop's forehead. His partner's gun comes up, but it's already to late. I swivel and fire three shots, two of which strike him in the head. Both cops are dead before they start falling. Not bothering to survey the carnage, I quickly reholster the Glock, grab the case, and run towards the street.