The hit. A short story by Charles Roberts

They were outside the court building, police with sub-machine guns and rifles surrounded and were on top of the building and were on high alert as the van drew to a stop at the front of the court building, and the side door slid open.  The Mafia boss, dressed in a suit which cost as much as his armed guard’s monthly wage and shoes which cost as much as the average car, stepped out, smiling, into the early morning sun.  The gold rings on his fingers and thirty thousand dollar watch glinted as the sun struck them.  It had taken the Inspector five years of hard work to track him down and eventually catch him, this time red handed with his hands in the till, or should that be weapon in hand.

Everything happened so fast after that.  No one heard anything, but the back of the Mafia bosses head disappeared in a fountain of blood and brains, as he dropped to the ground.  Everyone within a ten foot radius behind him was spattered with gore, blood ran down the side of the van as everybody threw themselves onto the ground fearing another shot, for that is what it must have been.

The Inspector was the first one on his feet, his weapon drawn and looking round.  ‘Where the fuck did that come from?’  He called, the police recovered quickly and surrounded the body and the inspector, weapons raised in readiness.  They could see a small hole the centre of the forehead, but everything behind the ears was splattered on the van, the police and any by-stander who had been unfortunate enough to have been behind the police guards.

A policeman who had been behind the Mafia boss had been hit in the upper leg with the seven point six two bullet fragment lodged in his femur and was rushed to the nearest hospital as another ambulance pulled up for the body.  Police slowly cleared the streets as the van was removed to the police station for examination and forensic inspection.

‘I want every building in this area searched, including the roof-tops.  This was an assassination and I want the person or persons responsible found and brought to justice.’ The inspector called, ‘they must have been working for someone, you just don’t get an anonymous shooter they must have a name.  Whether it was another Mafia family, or one of the drug barons he was tied up with, someone must know.

I’ll not leave one stone unturned until I find out who did this, if we can’t bring this bastard to justice then we’ll bloody well nail the hit-man who did this and his fucking employers.  Five bloody years down the fucking drain, bastards! Don’t just stand there playing with yourselves search the area now, and make sure you check the rooftops to see where the shot came from.

And which bloody idiot decided to bring him in the front door instead of the back where it would have been safer?’ 

‘That came from the top boss.’