» Fri Jul 13, 2012 12:28 pm The heat, my God the heat. The Mojave would never let you down when it came to her heat. the [censored] would burn your eyes right out of their sockets if she could. Mine would have been close if they weren't vacuumed into lenses of binoculars for eight hours.
Being a spotter for a hit man was no easy task. I was supposedly "Lucky" enough to be his spotter, his so called "squire" and apparently his wench and God damned pack mule as well. Still I suppose the experience was worth the work.
I traveled with Mr. Blue for a good twelve years, lugging his equipment around, and even learning to clean and fix his guns. Every so often he would let me take an old hunting rifle he had and shoot coyotes, but never one of his marks, although I did ask many times.
Every Mark was the same. We followed them, learned their routines and their schedules and their strengths and weaknesses. After Mr. Blue collected enough information, and recorded it in one of his note pads, we would strike. Often we would stake out on a hill, a cliff, or an abandoned building, then Mr. Blue and his rifle would do the rest. Sometimes it was different. Poisoned food or chems, rigged traps, mines or whatever else Mr. Blue deemed appropriate for his customer's requests.
But this time, it was completely different. Mr. Blue insisted on taking the hunting rifle I'd used so many times, with us. He bought a silencer and a scope for it off of some trader and fixed them onto it. I had hoped that he'd finally let me kill the mark, but I assumed since we were deep in NCR territory, and since they aren't usually too kind on murderers for hire, it was for a different purpose he had in mind.
Still, it was more different. We followed this man for two weeks, usually it only took six days for Mr. Blue to collect the information needed. But Mr. Blue took no notes this time. He just watched him from the shadows, in complete silence. Even the stakeout point was odd. A hill, no more than one thousand yards from HELIOS One. Surely he expected to run into patrols? Granted I never knew him to run from a fight, especially with the NCR, he never looked for one. He always hated the NCR, The Legion, and The Brotherhood or anyone else assuming authority over the wastes.
No matter how odd things were, I never questioned his ways. Although never flawlessly done, all of his marks were hit, and were done so to the satisfaction of his customers.
"Anything yet?" I heard the old man's gruff voice say. "Nothing" I responded. And there was nothing, for at least another three hours, and then finally I saw it. The man's red felt hat that I had noticed while we followed him.
My heart jumped into my throat from excitement, but I kept my cool. I never saw Mr. Blue lose his form, and I wanted to impress him. So I composed myself and calmly said "Got him."
Mr. Blue stood up from the rock he was sitting on, polishing the wood of the hunting rifle. He walked over to me, rifle in hand and put his other hand on my shoulder, signaling for me to take it from him. I paused a moment. I waited a long time for that moment. Since I was eight years old I watched Mr. Blue take lives for money. I wanted his life, I wanted his job. And now, my moment was finally here.
I took the rifle from his hands, laid on the floor of the hill and nestled the rifle under my right arm and rested it on a flat rock. I looked down the scope and captured the man's head between my crosshairs. I remembered everything Mr. Blue told me when I hunted coyotes. "Watch the wind, regulate your breathing and pay attention to your heartbeat." His words echoed in my head. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and a wave of endorphin flooded over me. I was about to take a man's life. As soon as that thought entered my head it was followed by a sharp pain in the back of my mind. There was a voice that mumbled and shrieked. Although I never heard it before, but it sounded.... No. It felt familiar to me. As if it were a part of me, and always had been. The voice began to speak softly, but I couldn't concentrate on the words. Although my body was still, in the same position, I felt as though I were being drug away. Everything was happening so fast, it was all so confusing. and I was so tired. I needed sleep.
I opened my eyes for the first time in ages. So long was my slumber. Dreamless and peaceful. There was no moment to spare, for me to asses my surroundings. No moment needed. In only an instant I felt my mind was flooded with what I needed to know. I watched the wind stir the dirt, and dance on the wasted plain like a ballroom floor, to the beat of the heart in my chest. It thumped, and it pulsed blood throughout my veins, lightly shaking my body. Then, silence. Silence and stillness. Aiming down my scope, I saw my target. I waited for my heart to thump more, and for the stillness that followed. I locked the target within my crosshairs. The time was now. I felt my index finger graze the trigger of the rifle in my arms like a gentle kiss on the lips of cold iron. I felt calm, I felt whole. I belonged. We belonged. This rifle was more then a tool, it was my long time friend. We were as one. A courier, stamping our seal and delivering the letter of death into the arms of the reaper himself. I was right with the world. I had done what I was meant to do. What I was made to do. My eyes began to grow heavy, I let that old familiar embrace of sleep wrap it's arms around me once more. I would awake again.
