JUNE 14-GUN

“Nice bandana.” The older man said puffing on his cigar unmoving in the plush leather arm chair he was reclining in. The huge tan chair barely enveloped his girth.

“Might want to put it over your face though no? Thought the idea was to ‘conceal’ ones identity. Looking to make a name for yourself Bucko?”

The young assassin twitched ever so slightly at his target’s words. He hoped Calloway didn’t notice the slight movement.

“Nothing to say? Hmm. Guess you figured I’d be scared, afraid, or,” the heavyset man shivered overdramatically “Maybe even terror stricken. Bad comb over Bucko. Sorry to end you when you are dressed so; well poorly. What’s that style called anyway?” Calloway muttered past the fat cigar between his perfect teeth. “Post-apocalyptic sheik? Doesn’t suit you. Should have your handler, what’s his name Rodinski? You should have him dress you better Bucko.”

The assassin took a step closer to Calloway, and still the big man seemed unmoved by his current situation. The man should be afraid the kid thought, shouldn’t he? Every other target he’d eliminated had been so what was Calloway’s deal? The fat man wasn’t even armed. Rodinski had not given him any reason to believe that the man was anything other than a standard mark.

“Hmm double barrel, stainless steel Garbinti, hollow point rounds I’m sure’’, how unfortunate you won’t get a single shot off Bucko.”

The gunman felt like he should say something, shake the weapon at the insolent fat man, something; but he was rooted in place. Rodinski, his handler and mentor, had not prepared him for this. He could feel sweat trickling down his spine and into his eyes. He wished now that he had put the bandana on his head. At least then the comb over would be hidden and the salty droplets would not be forcing his eyes shut.

“Discipline Bucko,” Calloway droned. “Do not blink. Life ends in a blink,” and the big man finally moved. The assassin never saw it. He felt himself driven back against the bulkhead like door and gasped at the smell of gun powder loosed from the sawed off double barrel shotgun. He’d taken both barrels in the chest. “Should have lost the gloves and bandana Bucko and went with the body armor.” Calloway said sighing as he leveraged his bulk out of the chair. After reloading he set the shotgun aside, leaned down picked up and relit the cigar before calling and aide to remove the assassin’s body. “Stupid kid, stupid Rodinski; you just can’t teach these young ones to perfect a trade anymore.”