Fourth Shot

The Fourth Shot by Sijey Robles

Neighborhood dogs howled and barked at nothingness while streetlights flickered in the streets. On my right hand was a bag of rice and lechon while on my left was a dainty box. Suddenly, a wave of sharp pain radiated in my right shoulder as I climbed up the stairs to my house. It's long and slender make made my back ache a little more as the pain slapped my rear each time I took a step.

As I took a deep breath then put on a smile on my exhausted face, I knocked on the old, narrow door.

"Papa?" a small voice answered me. "Baby, Papa's got a pasalubong for you!" I said in glee as she struggled to open our door, making a scratching sound on the bamboo flooring.

"Oh! It's a doll! I love you, Papa!" she excitedly said as she straddled me and showered me with kisses as I sat on our chair.

"Yes. But first, dinner! I bought your favorite lechon! Look!" I said excit‐edly while reaching for the small, plastic table. "But, Papa, put your gun down first."

The hot, humid air along with the stench of rotten meat scraps and mag‐got-infested pig skulls did not seem to bother Kirk Campos as he walked over puddles of questionable liquids and mud in the poorest wet market of the city. Flashing his brightest smile to the impoverished citizens, he reaches out to a crying child, then held her in his arms.

He seemed to have a small talk with the people, casually wrinkling his nose at the stench. Just then, my cellphone rang. "Did you see him?" "Yes, sir. He's got four bodyguards with him today," I said as I scanned

the area.

"I'll take it that you know what to do." "Yes, sir." I replied. "I want a clean job. Don't mess up." Before I could even reply, she ended the call. I then tucked my phone in the pocket of my jeans then put on my mask. As I prepared the M24, I took a deep breath and made sure that I'm not going to mess this up.

The target was on the move. I shifted a little to match the distance and slipped my index finger on the trigger ‐ touching it, feeling its scratchy surface. "Papa! The water is dripping on our roof again! It's raining again." "Papa, look! Our neighbor gave us their leftovers." "Papa, I'm hungry." "I'm cold, Papa" "Papa, where is Mama?" A deafening shriek bellowed across the street as Kirk Campos fell on his face with blood staining his neatly ironed shirt and his left arm under his chest. Chaos descended in the market. Panic and terror came before the citizens as they grabbed their children as they ran for their lives. Guards checked Campos' pulse then uttered something on their radio.

After the area went under distress, I returned the sniper rifle in the bag and silently jogged down the building. Taking off my mask and my shirt, I placed them on a corner then burned them. Along the exit door was an old man wearing a loose, brown bonnet and raggedy clothes. Seeing as he was, I peeled my gloves off and gave it to him. He gratefully looked at me then wore it with shaking hands.

Blending in with the crowd, I ran to the thick line of trees, tiptoed down the canals, and tucked my gun safely under a safe buried in the canal.

"Papa! Come on! Put down your gun so we can have dinner," Erika says as she clasped my face with both her small hands.

Before I could put my gun down, our door came crashing down followed by armed men and four gunshots.