How to Cook a Marshmallow
By: Timothy Law
The marshmallow in the dark suit and bowler walked confidently between the marble columns, seemingly not a care in the world. From the church steeple Dan peered through his scope and swore.
"Marvelous," he growled under his breath.
Ten years as a contract killer and the bosses had him lining up yet another Market Broker.
"I wonder how much you've managed to lose for Frankie and his brotherhood," wondered Dan, but truth be told he didn't really care.
The target climbed into an SUV with a number plate that read $M1L1NG.
Dan considered taking the shot there and then but there were too many witnesses, the closest being a brunette in the passenger seat. Dan witnessed the pair kiss before he dismantled his weapon.
Dan spent that night with pen light in hand examining the neighboring building's kitchen gas tanks located conveniently near the big air conditioning vents that sucked the fresh air in to help all those investment bankers keep their cool. It took all night to rig something up but when the units burst to life the next morning the air had an odd tinge to it.
By nine o'clock when Dan guessed the first broker would go for a cigarette the contract killer was five blocks away watching from afar.
Dan looked across the crystal waters, the dock empty as usual. The red phone box where he made all his calls sprang to life destroying the stillness. Dan opened the red door with the fading paint and picked up the receiver. He answered knowing that the call was for him.
"The gander is cooked," Dan stated with the confidence of a job done well. "I will expect my usual fee within the week."