Connie perched on the roof of the 7th-story BFD Goodritch building. Her armpits were moist and her silk blouse stuck to her skin. At least a cool autumn breeze took the edge off a bit. She got into position and scanned the street below for a silver Cadillac. There were three of them parked in a line but the one she was interested in had a smashed tail light which made it easier to distinguish.

Through the scope of her Steyr SSG 69 sniper rifle, she drew a bead on its driver and took a deep breath.

And squeezed the trigger.

The rifle kicked, glass shattered, and blood splattered. The driver’s side door fell open and and her target tumbled onto the asphalt in a heap.

Soon, a crowd began to gather and Connie could hear sirens in the distance.

Next, the drivers of other two Cadillacs started their engines.

Connie broke into a sweat and nearly threw up. What the hell?

Quickly, she grabbed her binoculars, praying to God that her eyes decieved her, but no. Not this time.

The Cadillac with the smashed tail light was just pulling away from the curb.

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