"Here he comes," Jackson said, pretending to read the newspaper that was splayed across the steering wheel in an effort to appear as inconspicuous as possible.
As inconspicuous as one can look parked in the middle of nowhere at 5:00 a.m., that is.
"Thank God, my back is killing me," his younger brother Elliot moaned from the backseat. "Do we have to do this now? You know I'm not a morning person."
"I wouldn't have woken up at three in the morning, so we could wait out here for two hours if it weren't absolutely necessary. Trust me; this is the only time we'll catch him alone. It'll be too damned complicated otherwise."
That was true; Jackson had been watching Christopher McPhee, a wealthy business man with political ambitions that were too grand for some people's liking, for over a month now. Other than his morning jog, the man was never alone; always surrounded by friends, family, brownnosers, you name it. This had to be nice and clean, no brash message needed to be sent, no witnesses required. He and his brother needed to get in and get out.
Jackson sat there, reading his paper and drinking his coffee as the target drew closer. Occasionally, he'd glance up, but if the jogger was concerned by his presence, he didn't give any indication. In fact, they never even made eye contact.
It was always better that way.
"Wait till he passes," Jackson ordered through tensed lips and when McPhee ran by, Elliot rose from the back seat, rolled down the window and fired. The mark never knew what hit him. It was a merciful killing.
Elliot was spectacular at what he did. No other marksmen ever fired a shot so true. If he weren't such a shitty planner, without a mind for details, he could have been a one man operation. But the truth was, Elliot was horribly disorganized, not to mention excitable and that's where Jackson came into play; he was the schemer and always managed the operations. One could say Jackson set up the pins, Elliot knocked them down.
That's what McPhee was; a pin and Elliot had knocked him down in his usual efficient manner.
Jackson started the car and slowly drove away. As he expected, there wasn't another living soul around. When the hours passed and McPhee didn't return home, people would come searching for him but that didn't matter. By that point, Jackson and Elliot would be long gone. They would disappear; just like they always did.
He looked in his rear view mirror one last time. McPhee's body lay on the ground, unmoving. There was no need to go back and check for a pulse; what little was left of the former business mans' head told Jackson that the job was done.
"Where are we off to now?" Elliot asked after returning his drab olive Dakota T-76 Longbow, an awesome weapon if Jackson did say so himself, to its' case.
"Kittery, Maine," Jackson replied, tossing a manila folder into the backseat. "This is the next target."
There was silence from the backseat as Jackson listened to pages being turned, "Who would want to kill this guy? He's about as dangerous as Mother Teresa," Elliot finally asked.
"The facts are, somebody wants him dead and somebody has already given us a large deposit to make sure the deed gets done. The who and the why, are irrelevant. Besides, it's June; I hear Maine is beautiful this time of year."
Jackson meant it; unlike the stagnant air and stifling heat that this rinky-dink town of Tolland, Connecticut offered, Kittery, Maine and the Odome Point Inn that waited, promised fresh ocean breezes and a breath taking view of the ocean. Other than the whole murder thing, it would be a relaxing weekend.
"So when are we leaving?" Elliot asked.
"Now," Jackson answered.
"But we haven't packed!"
"Whatever we need, we'll buy when we get there," Jackson reasoned. "The room has been reserved and the supplies are ready. If we hurry, we can be there by 8:00."
It was Friday and Jackson knew that if they waited any longer, they would become a part of the herd that flooded into Maine and New Hampshire every weekend from Memorial Day until Labor Day. There were times when the highway turned into a parking lot as people waited hours just to pay a $1.00 toll.
There was nothing in life Jackson found more tedious than sitting in traffic.
He'd sooner die…..
Author's note: Okay, this story will showcase a darker side of Jackson. He is in no way related to the Jackson from my previous (or current) stories. Always the professional, he will stop at nothing to get the job done. As you can imagine, when he gets to the hotel and finds that his reservation has been screwed up, all hell will break loose. I pity the two people who were mistakenly giving his room.
I hope you enjoy. Thanks in advance for taking the time to read and/or review.