The First of Many

I
Charlie awoke suddenly as the plastic alarm clock next to the motel bed started to scream. He jerked his hand towards it and violently sent it smashing into the ground where the beeping ceased immediately. He cursed and swung his legs out of the bed, careful to avoid the pieces. He felt revulsion in the fact that he had not yet gotten used to the motel alarm clocks. He speculated that one never could, even if he spent his life in motels. He found it unusual and remarkable that the clocks always sounded the same. He walked to the kitchen area, (“About the size of my bed” he mused.) and bent down to fish in the cupboard for the dust pan.

SLAM

He had stood up suddenly and banged his head as he remembered exactly what he was there for.
It was his first! Well not quite, but professionally it was. He had been training for months, he didn’t understand the need. He was good, great, maybe even the best. What a waste of time it had been. Sleeping in motels for goodness knows how long.
But today was it! He felt the excitement all through his body and scolded himself for banging his head.
“That’s the kind of thing that gets you killed,” he muttered aloud, “carelessness”
He said this more out of habit then belief. It had been drilled into him since day one and Duke had surely never let him forget it, but he was gone now, Charlie had made sure of that.

Ropes, ducks and umbrellas.
These were the striking images in his mind of that day.

He started to rush towards the bedroom, and then slowed down. Rushing causes mistakes, this one he believed in whole heartedly. It was the reason he was in this position in the first place, not that he was complaining. He loved his job but sometimes it felt like a lonely existence. He walked steadily towards the chair in which he had laid the clothes he had taken off the night before. He felt disgusting, wearing the same clothes for such a long time in a row. He had lost track of the days lately, he figured it must be at least six since he had began to plan. He slowly began to put on his clothes, taking his time to look neat and tidy. He would need that advantage. When he was finished, he decided to keep breakfast until after the deed was done. It was 4 in the morning after all; he would feel more comfortable eating later.

He began to clean up any trace that he was ever there, he was well aware that maids would be sent to the room to clean but was used to following his routine. Anyway there was no assurance that the maids would clean everything. He made the bed and wondered if the maids would come and change the sheets anyway. He left the room like it had been before his presence. Dingy, small and no trace of a man who would later be known as the Death Collector. The sun had begun to peek from behind the horizon as Charlie left the Sunlight Motel behind him.

II
Everything was set and ready. He had scouted out this area weeks beforehand and was pleased to find that nothing had changed, it seemed not even a new speck of sand had dared to violate his territory. The 22. Caliber rifle was beside him as he sat quietly in the car watching the waves. It had been stashed secretly under the upholstery in the trunk.

The competition was still a number of hours away but the beach had already begun to swarm with surfers hoping to catch a few waves before it started. It was Hawaii after all, he couldn’t have expected any less from the locals. Charlie had arrived on these islands as soon as he could after receiving his assignment and had begun to plan almost immediately. It was his first solo mission and he needed it to go smoothly and without mistake, his whole career would depend on how he handled this. Although he had only been given a series of photographs and a name, Jim Murphy, Charlie knew more about this man than he was supposed to. He knew what had been done to warrant the death and who had ordered the kill. These things did not affect him, they only intrigued. He would carry out what he had been ordered to do even if there ever came a time in which his values did not match. He did have a conscience and a heart but not for matters such as these. People died all the time; if he wasn’t the killer then it would be heart disease, lung cancer or even a runaway bus.

The hours had ticked by as he sat thinking through these things, his mind had even wandered faintly towards the things he had left behind to pursue this career. He was suddenly jerked out of this as he noticed the white Lamborghini that he’d had to memorize, pull up (as luck would have it) right beside him.

Jim Murphy stepped out of his car and glanced directly into Charlie’s window and at the seat holding the rifle.
“Sorry, Tinted” thought Charlie and laughed suddenly.

Jim had already begun to move on. He was dressed in traditional beach clothes, suitable for the hot sun of Hawaii. He would soon change into his wetsuit as the surfing competition started. He did not look like a dangerous man, more of an innocent civilian but he had sure done something to annoy the BroadSurf Company. It seemed that surfing gear wasn’t all they dealt out. He walked down the steps and disappeared from view. Charlie sat up straight and positioned himself comfortably. He had decided to wait until the competition was over before completing the kill. If Mr. Murphy was to win, Charlie would give him a few precious moments to bask in his glory.

He considered making his way down to the beach but dismissed the idea as he couldn’t bear to leave his rifle alone in the car. The heat in the car was rising but Charlie hadn’t noticed, he was used it. You couldn’t fight in the Vietnam War without ignoring the heat.
The smell of sea salt had peaked as the day had gone on. It was now 9 O’clock and Charlie was looking forward to watching the surfing, he hadn’t had a moment to enjoy any simple pleasures for weeks now. He needed to rest although he knew he would not be able to, he was about to kill a man. These things did not come lightly. He needed to concentrate on what he was going to do. It was very simple but he would need to disappear almost immediately. He was not to be seen.

Jim Murphy appeared on the beach in front of him, wetsuit on, surfboard under arm. He pushed the point of the surfboard into the sand and started talking to a man in a hat labeled ‘Judge’. The judge waved Jim away and walked over towards the judging table and sat down. Jim walked back towards his surfboard and picked it up as a loud voice spoken through a megaphone addressed the surfers.
“Surfers please take your positions at the waters edge.”
Jim walked confidently towards the water and was joined by nineteen others. Charlie hoped that he would still be able to pick him out of the crowd.

The competition was split into five rounds, each person having to surf together for the first four; the last would be a solo attempt. Charlie had watched the first four rounds intently, marveling at Mr. Murphy’s style. He had only been beaten once, by a surfer who played dirty. The judges had not noticed the knock the surfer had given Jim but Charlie had, he had been born with sharp eyes and his training had only improved them.

The last round had begun and Jim was the last surfer. He needed a score of 132 to achieve a win. His turn was up and Jim walked into the water for the last time in his life. Charlie planned to perform the task as soon as the competition was finished. Jim mounted his surfboard and paddled out into the water, he had soon caught a decent sized wave. He started off his series of moves with a cutback at the top of the wave. Turning his body around, he directed his board downwards and tore down towards the bottom of the wave and complimented this with a re-entry. Now facing his right, he rode along with the water, gathering speed and tearing up the wave. He ended his ride by changing direction sharply and taking a jump off the top of the waves before it broke completely. In the big-air time he had, he completed a 360 degree turn in midair. When he eventually landed in the water beside his board Charlie could see the smugness on his face and wished to wipe it off as soon as possible. Jim returned to the shore and immediately started up a conversation with a fellow surfer, acting as if the surf he had just pulled off had been the easiest thing in the world.

The beach was tense as the judges regarded the results but Charlie was calm. It did not matter to him who was going to win; he only needed a good shot. He opened the door and stepped out of the car; he grabbed the rifle from the seat and crouched down on one knee.
The judges had decided.
Charlie loaded the rifle.
One of the judges stood up.
Charlie shifted his body weight and leaned comfortably on one leg.
The judge raised the megaphone to his mouth.
Charlie closed one eye and peered through the scope.
“The winner is………”
He pulled the trigger.
“Jim Murphy!”
The look of surprise on Jim’s face had nothing to do with his victory. The bullet had entered his heart and sent a shock wave through his body before he collapsed on the sand. The beach had been sent into hysterics at the sound of the bullet and one of the judges had run over to Jim’s lifeless body. Charlie stood up and placed the rifle once again on the seat next to him. He opened the door, sat down and drove away.
By the time Jim Murphy was pronounced dead, Charlie had already stopped to wipe down and drop the gun in the shrub off a busy highway.
He had left Hawaii behind by the morning.

The First of Many

Troy Ollis

Joined March 2008

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Artist's Description

This is a story i had to spit out for school so its not GREAT.

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  • MuscularTeeth
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