The Hard Kill

Ahhhh.

The people formerly known as "kill leaders" have been eliminated. What a glorious feeling... making two cute but cocky boys gargle my super soaker water.

That's what you get for being chumps.

I first met my targets Monday night, at the bar the leader lives on top of, directly next to both of their places to work. I had a few pints, fell off of my inconspicuous-rocker, and was busted (with help from our mutual buddy, the bartender, who blew both of our covers). I was politely shot in the foot by the non-team leader (who was on his "safe block" and unable to be killed on the spot), and put on hold for 24 hours.

Tonight, I brought my former partner-in-crime and our friend from L.A., and planted them as obvious assassins to act as decoys-- but to my disappointment, Dos Lobos was no where to be seen. I sent the boys off to party downtown, and resumed surveillance across the street.

...And to my amusement, my target was staked out, stalking around on the rooftop of Potbelly's. He set his obscenely large water gun (surely compensating in size for something else) on the ledge, took a swig of beer, and peered over all corners of the building.

This was going to be difficult.

From snooping around before, I knew there was only one entrance-- the front-- which was being hawk eyed by Mr. Big Gun. I went back to my former hiding spot behind the bar and accessed the height of the roof. It wasn't going to be easy, but I'm a tree climber, damn it... surely a twelve foot wall couldn't stop me.

I borrowed a patio table from the bar, then used two garbage cans to hop up to a ledge.

And like a typical ski-masked idiot scaling a really high wall, I immediately fell off the ledge, into the garbage can, and with an obnoxious (and painful) crash, thudded to the ground, and rolled a few feet in front of the bar door.

God DAMN that hurt.

I dusted the crud off of myself, and grabbed a crate-- hoisting myself back on the ledge, propped the crate up and gracefully hopped onto the roof of the bar.

...And noticed I was on the wrong fucking roof.

Fortunately the buildings were close together, and I was able to hop up to the next roof with ease. I crept over to the corner I had seen my target lounging a few minutes earlier, and there he was, next to a small collection of water balloons, staring at his front door like a dumbass.

I wasn't about to get hit again, and didn't want to fuck around. I sprinted over to his corner, and shot him square in the back of his shirt.

I ripped off my ski mask and beamed at him. He glared back and shook his head in disbelief.

"How'd you get up here??" he asked, the dread of telling his punk ass teammate he'd been killed swelling in his voice.

"I'm stealth." I replied, trying to shove the completely NON-stealth events that had occurred multiple times in the past five minutes...and the past two days out of my mind.

I shot him another huge smile as he fumbled for his ID card.

I asked to be let out his front door, as I had scuffed myself up slightly from the climb up to two rooftops. He kindly obliged, and even offered a hand as I clumsily flopped through his window. I apologized for killing him, as he seemed super pissed about his recent death, and bummed about fact that his partner will be kicking him in the nuts for the next week in return for getting soaked on his own damn rooftop.

Surely he hates me, for telling him I wasn't his assassin two days earlier, for annihilating his team, and for bitch slapping their ass out of Kill Leaderdom.

As I sit here nursing my twisted ankle, heating pad on my back, staring at his ID card...

....I'm pretty sure it was worth it.

But next time i see you at Flounders, "Larry"-- beer's on me.

XOXO Maryanne