A single suppressed shot fired and the job was done.  Xavier detached the fiberglass silencer and shattered it beneath his sturdy combat boots.  He placed the gun, a .45 Desert Eagle, in his target’s hand.  The victim, a lady in her late thirties, possessed information to indict Xavier’s contractor – the CEO of Majestic Inc., a very prominent electronics company -- on charges of fraud and money laundering.  The Chairman needed protection, and Xavier provided that for him.
     Xavier arranged her body carefully, so as not to leave any bruises or marks that may suggest murder instead of suicide.  Legs a short distance apart, arms at her sides, gun in her right hand, and her head turned to the right (showing the wound clearly), Xavier’s victim looked like any other suicide victim: pale, quite dead, and fear written all over her face.
     He exited the small apartment in the same manner he had entered – the bedroom window’s fire escape.  As he climbed down the ladder, the faint blare of police sirens echoed through the alley.  Xavier hurried, leaping to the ground below as he reached the ladder’s last step.  Behind a nearby dumpster, he found his duffle bag in the same condition as he had left it.  Checking his surroundings and reassuring himself that no one had followed, he dug through the duffle bag’s contents.  From the bag, Xavier pulled out a wig, faded jeans, and a tie-dye shirt.
     The assassin quickly changed out of his previous clothing (jogging gear) and into his new outfit.  The last piece of clothing to come off was the pair of latex gloves.  He disposed the gloves, jogging gear, and duffle bag into the dumpster beside him, and made way for the main street.
     The police had received a call from a man in the neighboring apartment room, claiming a gun had been fired in the room across the hall.  The station dispatched a cruiser which had just arrived at the apartment.  The two officers made their way up cautiously, guns and flashlights in hand.  When they entered the room they found exactly what Xavier had meant for them to find: a suicide case.
     “What a mess,” the larger of the two officers commented.  “I’m sick of these damn suicides.”  The second officer, much smaller than his aforementioned partner, called the station on his short-wave, requesting an ambulance be sent.  Without moving the body, they outlined her with white tape as they awaited the ambulance.
     Outside, Xavier had crossed the apartment parking lot, a small park, and ended up in a Burger King’s parking lot.  Keys in hand, he unlocked a silver Gemballa Mirage GT and hopped in.  As he started the car, Xavier sighed.  Another job done, another life taken, and another paycheck earned.  Such was his life.
     He pulled out of the parking lot, making his way home.

╞╤╧╤╧╤╡

     “I can’t take this anymore,” Carrie whined.  “He’s so insensitive.”
She went on about how Xavier had gone from a loving fiancé, to a heartless brute, leaving Carrie quite unsatisfied with their relationship.  They had been together for 3 years and had dated for 2 years prior to their engagement.
     “Perhaps he’s just going through some internal struggle,” her friend Justin replied.  “It happens now and then.  But, he should never forget those who love him.  Perhaps he just lost interest in you?”  Justin had been friends with both Xavier and Carrie since they began dating, and had taken pride in the fact it was he who introduced them.  But now, after all these years, Justin began looking after his own heart.
     “But how could he not care?” she argued. “After all the years we spent together!”  Tears ran down her cheek as she spoke.  
     “I don’t know, Carrie. Xavier’s a confusing man.  But just know that I’m here for you if you ever need a shoulder to cry on.”  He placed his hand on her shoulder and offered her a smile.  The whimpering girl looked into her friend’s eyes and found comfort.
     Nothing could be said for Xavier, though.
     Justin offered to take her home with him, watch a movie, talk, and so forth.  In her state of mind, she gladly accepted, and off they went.  Little did she know Justin had other intentions.  Xavier was no longer a factor, as Carrie’s love for him had quickly turned to apathy.
     They arrived at Justin’s apartment and made themselves comfortable, while Justin offered Carrie some refreshments.  She declined and instead took to staring at Justin, their eyes locked.  Each held the stare for several minutes, both smiling, neither speaking.
     “Justin…” she said softly as she walked over to the sofa he sat on.  Standing in from of him smiling, she took to straddling his hips, positioning herself comfortably on his lap.  She ran her fingers through his hair and gazed into his eyes, while Justin sat quietly and allowed himself to be manipulated.
     Carrie slowly closed the distance between their lips, her eyes focused on his.  They became locked in a kiss, and as Justin’s hands made their way under her shirt, Carrie smirked and offered no resistance.
     And the rest need not be spoken of.

╞╤╧╤╧╤╡

     Xavier pulled into the driveway of his small colonial home, a street-corner house just outside of Cincinnati.  Parking the Mirage in his garage, he checked the glove compartment.  Inside, Xavier recognized his favorite PP9, complete with silencer and a pair of latex gloves.  Satisfied, he closed the compartment, exited the car and dragged himself into the house.  It had become a very tiring day, and there was still unfinished business the assassin had to take care off.
     Throwing the keys onto the table absentmindedly, he picked up the phone, and with it, a small black book.  Flipping through the pages he found the number he desired, and dialed it into the receiver.  It rang seven times and Xavier hung up.  He re-dialed, letting it ring five more times.  At the end of the fifth, he hung up again.  Once again, he re-dialed and allowed it to ring.  At the ninth, he hung up and placed the phone on his lap.  A few moments later, the phone rang, and upon the third ring, he answered.
     “Seven, five, nine,” a distorted voice rasped on the other end. Xavier rolled his eyes and spoke back, cocking his head towards the clock to catch the time. “It’s done,” he replied casually. “She’s on a nice, long vacation from work.” The assassin smirked and the voice cackled.  “Nicely done,” it complimented him. “You made sure to disguise it as a suicide?” Xavier nodded, but unless his employer had cracked Xavier’s own defenses at home, the voice wouldn’t have seen it. “Indeed,” Xavier said, following the nod.  “Expect your compensation within a week.”
     The line went dead and Xavier clicked his phone off.  The payment the two had agreed on was $75,000, though Xavier had only requested sixty-grand.  It was unusual for his employers to pay more than they had to, and the only reasonable explanations were that, either his employer wished him dead before he received said payment, or the employer simply wished the job done to perfection.  Whatever the case, Xavier was positive that the former would be impossible for his employer to achieve, and the latter was certainly true.
     Sitting in silence he drifted back to his earlier years, a child in high school, friends abound.  He had been a normal person in those days, maintaining an above-average grade, a good rapport with his instructors, and the loyalty of many friends.  They were simpler days; they were days to cherish.  But he had long past the point from which he could never return.  His actions would cost him, be it that day, the next, or in years to come.
      His peaceful reverie was interrupted by the sound of the back-door opening.  He assumed it was Carrie, and crept into their bedroom – it was their 2-year anniversary as a couple, and he had a present for his dearly beloved.  With present in hand – a pearl bracelet – he made his way to the back entrance, a slight smile on his face.
      “Happy Anniv—“, but the rest never passed his lips. Carrie let out a shriek as she pushed Justin away – the two had been locked in a kiss.  Xavier’s smile faded, and anger painted itself onto his face, the present dropping to the ground.  Without any questioning, Xavier slammed his elbow into Justin’s sternum, forcing him into the wall.  He followed up by slamming his head into the wall, his other hand choking and pinning Justin.
      “What the bloody hell,” he asked calmly, his cold, grey eyes staring straight into Justin’s soul, “Do you think you’re doing?”  He hadn’t forgotten Carrie, though.  Xavier saw the expression on her face as they kissed, and she surely wasn’t doing anything about it before Xavier unexpectedly appeared.  He shot her a look and pinned her to the wall, next to Justin.  “Do not,” he hissed, “Toy with me.”
      Without allowing Justin so much as an apology, he dropped Carrie, threw open the back door, and hurled his fiancé’s new lover out into the yard. “Run,” he spat, glaring at the pitiful person he once declared his ‘friend’. “Fear, for the next time you see my face, it will be the last.”  He slammed the door shut, locked it, and turned to Carrie.
     “I’ll give you the pleasure,” he smirked, “Of explaining all this to me.”  Foolishly brave, she crossed her arms, scoffed, and shot Xavier a look of disgust.  “I’ve nothing to explain to you,” she whimpered.  Ignoring any remarks from him, she grabbed her purse and ran into their room; Xavier followed, still unnervingly calm.
     “I’m leaving you,” she cried, throwing a few bits of clothing into a small plastic bag. “You’re not the Xavier I loved.  I’m going to join Justin in California.”  As she pulled away a blouse of hers, she uncovered a Walther PP9 and scoffed. “You love these weapons more than me.” Carrie examined it and threw it behind her, hoping it would hit Xavier unexpectedly.  But the dexterous assassin simply caught it in his left and sighed. “Run then,” he scoffed. “Your fate will be the same as his.”
     Carrie turned about; ready to return the threat, her ex-fiancé had disappeared. Figures, she thought, tears streaming down her cheeks.  Packing a few more belongings, she grabbed her car keys and headed for her mother’s house.  She planned to put as much distance between herself and Xavier as possible.



                                                       Chapter 2


     Xavier had retreated to his attic, the only spot in the house Carrie did not know of.  She had always been one to snoop around, and Xavier simply could not have that.  But in this domain of his, a large attic by any standards, he hoarded his secrets – such as a dragon of lore – and kept them from the world.  Guns lined the walls, as did swords, knives, metal wires, and liquids of all sorts – arsenics of all kinds.
     The assassin crossed his arms and stood in the midst of all his friends, weapons that had earned him the title of ‘Dark Angel’ in the underworld – weapons that had earned him the money he basked in.  He never told anyone of his true professions, and he never planned to.  The only circumstance in which he would is if he killed the person as he revealed his life to them.
     He’d gone too far, though.  The life of a gun-for-hire bored him, and had caused him many losses.  All that he had gained from it were material possessions, and he found out the hard way – materialistic obsessions only entertain for a short time.  He would end this now, end this life of secrecy and profound misery.
     His final strike.
     Xavier examined the articles of death on the wall besides him and sighed.  He pulled off his shirt and donned an undershirt with special cushions sewn into the material. The cushions would soften the impact of a bullet, lessening the chance for any external and internal damage.  On top of the shirt he strapped on a simple bulletproof vest.  To dissuade any suspicion, the assassin pulled on his shirt.
     Loading a few guns from the rack, he placed two Beretta’s into a shoulder holster and strapped them on.  Xavier fastened a single knife to his left thigh and a small Walther PP9 on his right.  His next article was a belt, designed to carry extra clips, three grenades, and two remote-detonated mines. The detonator was a pen, secured tightly in the belt so as not to chance an accidental detonation.  The final miscellaneous to be added to his inventory was a sleek, black silencer – he dropped it into a pouch on the back of his belt.
     On the back of his left thigh he secured a single-steel construction sword – the hilt consisted of leather wrapping, and the rest was black tempered steel.  He positioned it so it wouldn’t interfere with his walk, and smirked as it set into perfect setting. Xavier considered throwing an M14 over his back, but decided against it.  He might be walking straight into a war, but he’d rather no one know about it until the very end.
     A walking armory, Xavier climbed down the staircase and made for his car, donning his leather trench coat to conceal whatever weapons he carried.  Carrie had no doubt left for her mother’s – a short drive to Wisconsin and he’d be on her doorstep.  But she was only the prelude to his finale.  Starting the Mirage, he pulled out of the driveway and took off, burning rubber as he kicked into second-gear.

╞╤╧╤╧╤╡








     Roughly six hours later, the assassin pulled off the highway and into the small city of Port Washington.  A dark sky and chill breeze, the pitter-patter of the rain on his windshield warranted a sigh from Xavier as he turned on his windshield wipers. “Fitting weather,” he mumbled under his breath.  Traffic wasn’t all that pleasing either.
     Stuck behind a semi-truck, he caught a glimpse of an alley coming up a few yards ahead.  As the truck began to move, Xavier stepped down to second gear and floored it, pulling into the tight space that cut past traffic.  He assumed it led to another, hopefully less populated street, and it did. Just as he pulled out onto the street, the assassin yanked the handbrake and drifted into the proper lane.  Luckily, there were no authorities nearby.  On top of being a skilled hit man he also possessed incredible prowess in racing – drifting, specifically.
     Xavier had only been to his ex-fiancé’s mother’s house twice, but he remembered it well.  The old, dark green Cape Cod-style house had always revolted him.  Such bad taste, he mused.  As he passed by the house he noticed Carrie’s car and smirked, turning at the next intersection and heading for downtown.  Leaving his car in the parking complex, he made way for Carrie’s house.
     The prelude to his final strike.
     He caught a bus that would take him right to Carrie’s street; not a soul questioned his coat, nor did they glance at him oddly.  He hadn’t taken all the necessary precautions, but he felt that they weren’t necessary.  Xavier wasn’t after anyone of significant importance: no CEO, no political figure, and no company president – just an ordinary girl in an ordinary, crime-abundant city.  No one would care.
     The bus dropped him off a few houses before Carrie’s.  Now he took the precautions necessary, because if he didn’t Carrie would surely spot him out.  The assassin turned away from her street and crossed over to the main intersection – a McDonald’s sat at one of the corners.  Even assassins needed to eat, he thought.
     His strike would be postponed until dark, not wanting to draw attention as gunshots do in mid-day.  To pass the time, he ordered a small meal, paid, and seated himself at a nearby table.  A few minutes later and a waitress delivered – a small cheeseburger, over-cooked – and overly salty – fries, and a flat Coca-Cola.  He let out a sigh of disgust, but dug in anyways – he hadn’t eaten in nearly thirty hours.
     An hour passed, and though he had long been done with his meal, the assassin busied himself with reading the newspaper, paying careful attention to the Classifieds and National News sections.  Any mention of attempted assassination interested him, and any new small-time gun dealer was worth looking into – unmarked guns are invaluable.
     His years of killing had taught him many things, but one he treasured more above all others – patience. Waiting for four days in an RV’s cargo hold, ready for the opportune time to strike – that taught him patience.  Lying motionless under a newlywed couple’s bed for hours, listening to an array of noises – that taught him patience.  Patience is always rewarded, he thought absent-mindedly as he flipped the newspaper page.  The owner of the RV died a painful death, head cleaved as he sat peacefully on the commode; the couple died where they last loved.
     The sun had set and darkness settled in, rooting itself and taking firm hold on the world around him.  The darkness had always welcomed him, always embraced him, and had always guided him.  It wouldn’t fail him now.  He dropped the newspaper and left the McDonald’s.
     Here it comes – the prelude.
     Pulling the PPK from his leg, he screwed the silencer into the barrel and approached the house.  The lights were on in the main room, kitchen, and on the second floor – he had seen Carrie walking through the kitchen a moment before.  In the living room, he saw her mother.  Xavier assumed that her brother was idling away in his room upstairs.
     Creeping around to the back, Xavier studied the outer wall – it was brick, and they seemed sturdy enough to support some weight.  Re-holstering the PPK, he drew his knife and placed it between his teeth as he carefully scaled the brick wall.  The rugged bricks dug into Xavier’s fingertips, but he kept on – the window was only a few feet away.  No light came out through the window, so he assumed no one was in it – but he’d make sure in a moment.
      Transferring over to the lattice, the rickety device creaked as he climbed it.  He pulled up next to the window and carefully examined the room inside.  Xavier couldn’t make out any living forms and took the knife to the window’s out-dated locking system.  With a careful pick of his knife, the window unlocked and the assassin crept through.  
      He landed in a soft roll and quickly pulled out his PPK, knife parallel to the grip and pointing downwards.  Xavier’s eyes darted around the room, checking for anything out of the ordinary.  Satisfied, he strafed towards the door and peeked under it.  He saw no traffic and felt no vibrations from the floor.  The stealthy assassin cracked the door open and proceeded into the brother’s room.
     Germaine – a failure at life, a bum and college drop out – was Carrie’s 22-year old brother.  Xavier had always disliked the disgrace; he abused Carrie verbally, and sometimes physically, and had always gotten on the assassin’s nerves.  He wouldn’t have to worry about him much longer, though.
     As usual, Xavier found him seated at his desk, hunched over and rotting away at his computer.  The worthless youth hadn’t heard the creeping hand of death, and continued to browse various x-rated sites – fitting way to die, Xavier mused.  The assassin crept a few feet closer and then burst into a dash.  Before Germaine could even turn around, death engrossed him as Xavier’s blade sliced across the man’s neck.  Blood spurted out all over the keyboard, and Xavier exited the room as quietly as he had entered, pulling the door shut behind him.
     As he crept out of the room, Xavier heard the faint taps of feet on the stairs.  He took refuge in the bathroom and waited for whoever it was to pass.  The assassin caught a glimpse of who it was and smirked.  It had been Carrie, retreating to her room for the night.  Things couldn’t have been better.  Once he was certain that his ex-fiancé had settled down in her room, he climbed down the stairs as quietly as possible.
     “Carrie, honey, could you grab the phone on your way down?” her mother asked, assuming the footsteps were her daughter’s.  By the sound of it, her mother was still in the living room, no doubt watching a sappy soap-opera.  With gun in hand, he crept up behind the sofa she lounged on, and put his left hand around her neck – passing over high right shoulder, knife in hand – and let the blade hang barely a centimeter from her skin.
     “Do not,” he whispered, putting the gun to her head, “Scream.  Get up, slowly, and walk upstairs.”  She did as she was told and slowly stood from the sofa.  Xavier followed her closely as she climbed the stairs, stopping at the top and turning her head slightly. “Enter Carrie’s room,” he said, pulling the knife away from her throat and putting the tip to her back, “And be natural about it.”  Xavier slouched slightly, hiding behind her figure – he moved the gun to the base of her neck, pointing upwards towards her skull.  She knocked on the door twice, turned the handle and opened the door.
     Her daughter was relaxing on the bed, TV turned on, and soft music playing in the background. “Anything wrong, mom?” she asked, slightly chipper.  She offered her mother a smile, but the grin quickly turned to a face of terror as Xavier moved the gun to the right side of her mother’s head and pulled the trigger.
     She fell to the floor, quite dead, and Carrie screamed.  Xavier stood behind the sprawled course, smirking, his eyes locked on the girl.  Before she could even make a pathetic attempt to escape, the assassin shot her three times in the chest.  His frustrations had been laid to rest, and all that was left was escape.
     He unscrewed the silencer and dropped it back into its pouch.  The assassin carefully placed the gun in the mother’s right hand – a clear sign of suicide.  The blade he used to kill Carrie’s brother he placed in her left.  A homicidal suicide, he mused. The police should have fun with that.  Without disturbing the room any further, he made his way for the exit – the same he had used as an entrance.  
     As he walked off, he tossed the latex gloves he had slipped on before the whole ordeal.  Leaving no trace was part of his job – he was a ghost, an ethereal murderer, a reaper.  No one would ever realize that it was murder, cold-blooded revenge.  Xavier preferred things that way – he had never been suspected, and he never planned to.
     There was only one more hindrance he needed to deal with – the final strike.
     It was time to head for California.

╞╤╧╤╧╤╡


     The trip took him roughly a day and a half, but the weary Xavier enjoyed the break.  He might enjoy – no, adore – his work, but it still wore him out.
     The busy city of San Francisco cheered him up, though.  He had always loved the West Coast, and visited whenever he had the chance.  The assassin might even have to stay for a few days.  But vacation and luxury weren’t his major concern at the moment – he needed to locate Justin and he needed to do it soon.  If he knew his friend, he’d know where to find him.
     Xavier made his way to the docks, surveying the area.  Several fishermen sat about the benches, and some tended to their boats, but Justin was nowhere to be seen.  However, his boat was.  Xavier smirked and pulled back onto the main road, heading back towards downtown.  He left the Mirage in a parking garage, throwing the gatekeeper a fifty-dollar bill, a generous forty-dollar tip.
The trench coat added to the heat, but he couldn’t exactly parade around with guns and knives strapped to him.  Focusing on other matters besides the heat, he boarded a trolley that would drop him off a mere block away from the docks.  Not wanting to draw any attention, he took to examining the boats and engaging in general conversation with the sailors.
     “Tad warm for coats, ain’t it?” an older sailor asked as Xavier examined his boat.  The assassin copped a smile and feigned interest in sailing.  He hinted at a sailor of renowned prowess, naming him as a ‘Justin something’.  “Oh, Justin,” he squeaked. “His boat’s down o’er yonder.” The assassin nodded, took note of where the old hag pointed, and walked off.
     “I’d like to slit your throat, old man,” he mumbled as he walked off, scoffing, “and watch the dust come out.”  Xavier hurried off towards the boat the old man noted as Justin’s, and slipped a hand inconspicuously inside his coat.
     He fingered the grip and trigger, grinning with satisfaction at the familiar feel of the powerful gun.  It would certainly serve him well in his final run.  As he neared Justin’s boat, his once best friend stepped out of the yacht and chanced a glance at his impending death.  Xavier took a half-step forward and smirked.  Justin felt his heart hit rock bottom and ran, dropping the cloth he had in his hands.
     The assassin broke into full sprint, chasing the coward down as he trapped himself at a dead-end pier.  Xavier stopped up several yards back, leaving Justin with no escape but the ocean.  They both knew, however, that Justin wouldn’t leave his life in the sea’s hands.
     “You really can’t get away with this,” Justin panted frantically, trying not to hyperventilate.  He may have been brave enough to take another man’s woman to his bed, but he certainly couldn’t face death.  “See I’ve already called the police!”
     As if Xavier cared.
     Savoring the moment and making Justin eat away at himself internally, anxiously awaiting his move, Xavier dug into his left pant-pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.  He placed the filter to his lips and lit up, taking a long drag of the wondrous cancer-stick.  A faint wail of the sirens came into earshot.
     A thunderclap cracked in the sky above, and a light drizzle soon became a heavy downpour.  He took one final drag of the intoxicating stick and threw it to the side.  As the cigarette left his hand, he drew his PP9 swiftly and fired three rounds.  Following a vertical pattern, the first struck Justin’s sternum, the second struck his esophagus, and the last struck his forehead.  Just as the final bullet struck, the cigarette landed.
     As Justin fell off the pier and into the ocean, the faint sirens became a blaring noise.  A gruff voice over a speakerphone blared out from behind the warehouse that connected the pier to the streets.  The assassin sighed and ran into the building.  Escaping this would truly be his greatest feat.


╞╤╧╤╧╤╡

     Outside the warehouse, police cars crowded together to barricade the assassin in – they all heard of his prowess, skill, and efficiency.  What could a single man do against such a heavy squadron, a helicopter, and a SWAT team?  Not very much, they realized – or hoped.
     No sign of life came from the warehouse, but they all knew very well that Xavier moved within the walls of the warehouse, planning an escape.  Things would not be settled that day peacefully.
     There would be bloodshed.
     And there would be lots.

╞╤╧╤╧╤╡

     The assassin sighed as he readied himself, arming both Berettas.  He highly doubted that he would leave this place with his life, and maybe that was his fate, but he would certainly try.  There were still other things to live for, and if Xavier escaped with his life intact, he promised himself to shed this skin and start anew.  No more murdering.
     “Come out with your hands behind your head!” the man yelled into the speakerphone.  Xavier rolled his eyes and glanced out a grimy window and made a quick estimate of how many were out there.  Not enough, he mused, smirking.  He pulled out one of his remote-detonation mines and crept over to a broken window.  Xavier volleyed the mine out and it landed on the hood of one of the police cruisers.  One of the cops yelled, and the others followed suit, wondering whether to ruin or duck.
     Too late, though, Xavier thought.  He pushed down on the detonator and winced slightly as a large boom! erupted from outside the doors.  The smoke and confusion was his signal to move, and so he did.  Armed with two Beretta 92G SD’s, Xavier shot down any police officer he made out through the dust and confusion.  The helicopter above hovered low to blow the smoke away.
     His cover blown, Xavier threw them another one as he fired several rounds into the hood and gas tank of a police car several yards away.  The vehicle exploded into flames, engulfing the helicopter.  The massive aircraft pulled up before any serious damage was done though.
     The officers fired off random shots, some trailing off in an entirely wrong direction, while some whizzed past Xavier’s own head.  One of the officers he had downed dropped an M4 Carbine, which the assassin quickly wielded as his own.  The Beretta, he realized wouldn’t cut it for the rest of this mission, and so he holstered the trusty gun.
     Just as he took aim for several clustered officers, the gunner from the helicopter sent down a hailstorm of metal and several bullets ricocheted off the pavement.  Thinking he avoided the mess, Xavier fired at the cluster of men-in-blue.  Two fell, one with a head-shot and the other a leg-crippler.  But he wasn’t safely out of the helicopter’s range.  The man fired down again, and this time the bullet hit home.  It clipped Xavier in the left shoulder, driving him down to one knee.
     With his good arm, he pulled out a grenade and yanked the pin free with his teeth.  He tossed the deadly object towards the helicopter and hoped his aim was as true as it used to be.  He fired off two rounds from the M4 and the second hit home.  The grenade exploded to the side of the helicopter and struck the gunner.  The blast damaged the propellers slightly, but the beast still flew.
     Rolling behind a large collection of crates and waste, Xavier pulled out his second grenade and waited for the opportune time to toss it.  He peered around the edge of the crates and saw the officers advancing.  It was now or never, and as he tossed the grenade, he pulled the rifle around and fired a shot at it – a much easier target than a flying grenade, he chuckled inwardly.  Every one of the officers fell to the ground, dead or dying.
     But one snuck around the edge of the building, and fired off several rounds at the assassin.  One flew by without inflicting any damage, but the other grazed his neck, leaving a long trail of red.  Xavier disposed of him quickly.
     Before reinforcements arrived, Xavier had to deal with the helicopter, or he really wouldn’t make it out alive.  Considering the fact that the aircraft was already damaged, he didn’t find it a threat.  The skilled shooter let forth a volley of bullets at the area he assumed the gas tank was, and his guess was correct.  The massive mechanical beast burst in mid-air, going down in flames.
     Not wanting to stick around for the after-party, Xavier dashed off towards the main road and hopped into a flat-bed truck that happened to be passing by.  The driver hadn’t noticed, and if he did, he made no action to investigate.  He simply continued driving down towards the highway.  Xavier couldn’t have picked a better ride to hitch.
     But his relaxed state was short lived as sirens blared behind them.  Truly aggravated, Xavier searched for a way to leave them behind, but saw none.  He did, however, notice a Kawasaki Ninja clamped down on the truck-bed.  Those hotwiring books finally proved useful.
     He powered up the bike and unfastened it.  Kicking it into gear, he rolled off the truck and hit the gas.  The sirens were behind him, and he had no time to lose, and no room for imperfection.  Pulling ahead of the truck, he used the man’s vehicle as a sort of shield as he prepared his final escape.  Pulling out his last remote-detonation mine and the detonator that went with it, he slowed down to the side of the truck and allowed the police to catch up.  Before they reached an uncomfortable distance, Xavier tossed the mine backwards and watched as it flew at the car.  Just as it hit the windshield, the assassin tapped the detonator and whipped his hand out, only his middle finger extended.
     The car burst into flames as it exploded in the street, taking out two police cars behind it.  He revved the engine and drove off, exiting at the first off-ramp.  He left the bike on the side of the road and hitched a ride on the nearest bus.  He had left his precious car behind, but ever prepared, he left no evidence behind.  The assassin pulled out the pen-detonator he had used for the mines and twisted the writing utensil.  No ball-point came out; nothing at all happened.
     It just disposed of the evidence.

╞╤╧╤╧╤╡

     A deafening explosion and the sound of collapse filled the air around the garage where Xavier had left his car.  In order to destroy any evidence that might pin-point his identity, he had to destroy his beloved car.
     Two-million dollars down the drain, he groaned.
     Several other chars went down with the explosion, and as police rushed to the scene, only one thought crossed their minds.
     He’s good.

╞╤╧╤╧╤╡

     Safely over one-hundred miles away, Xavier purchased a plane ticket to Vienna.  He had no particular reason for choosing the city, besides the fact its beauty had awed and inspired many, but he needed to flee the states for some time, and what better place to visit?  The assassin – ex-assassin, rather – decided he needed a vacation.  Touring Europe was the best vacation he had in mind.
     Before passing through the sensors, Xavier visited the restroom and dumped every ounce of weaponry he had on him into or on the toilet.  With his money, it’s not as if he would never see them again.  While he was there, he dressed his wounds and thanked God – or whoever watched upon him, if anyone – that the bullet in his shoulder had made it out the opposite end.  In most cases, that proved to be a problem, but the wound would heal and with proper care, albeit quick, he would be fine.
     Boarding the plane, he managed to snag a decent seat by the window.  The flight would take longer than normal due to the fact that he needed to travel across Asia, but he was in no hurry.  If anything, he needed the rest, and needed it badly.  A waitress walked by and smiled. “May I get you anything to drink before we take off, sir?” she asked, a broad smile on her cheery face.
     “Whiskey,” he asked, offering a slight smile in return.  He provided an ID with the name of Lucian Kane, 31 years old and registered as a driver in Tampa, Florida.  The waitress nodded and produced a bottle of whiskey.  “Bottle or shot?” she asked, pulling out a shot glass.  “Bottle,” he nodded.  She left the drink and walked off.
     As the plane took off, Xavier mused back on the events that had transpired and wondered – what would become of him?  That, he realized, going bottoms up on his second shot, was a question for another day.
     The assassin left it at that.