Midnight approaches and silence reigns in the leafy back garden of a detached house in suburban New York. In a dark corner, light glistens off the silver suppressor of a black M9 pistol in the grip of a gloved hand, and eyes intently stare through a back window into the living room of the police safe house.
In the sparsely lit living room, a scruffy middle-aged police officer sits with Frank – a despicable and overweight hoodlum who’s turned prime state’s witness against his long-time employers and associates. They laugh extremely loudly as they watch The Big Bang Theory on the equally loud television. Another much younger officer stands by the back window, alert. He glances through the window into the garden as he’s done repeatedly over the past three hours, waiting anxiously for his shift to be over. Suddenly, there is movement from above and the young officer instantly looks up.
‘Chill out, kid, it’s the missus,’ Frank says, with a strong Brooklyn accent.
‘I think we woke her,’ the young officer says.
‘Fuck that,’ Frank retorts. ‘She’ll fall back asleep any moment. She can sleep through anything.’ He turns to the older officer beside him on the couch and smiles suggestively as he says, ‘Trust me.’
Frank and the older officer laugh hysterically, and the younger officer forces a smile as he pulls out a cigarette and lighter.
‘Not in here,’ the older officer orders, in an almost identical accent to Frank.
The younger officer nods and diligently walks the couple steps to the back door. He taps in a six-digit code into the alarm control panel by the door and pushes it open. He steps through the door into the back garden, and just before the sturdy door closes behind him, a gloved hand stops it and slowly pushes it open. Jay Matthews – a steely-eyed athletically built man in his late twenties, dressed in black – walks through the door wielding the suppressed M9 pistol. He walks intently towards Frank and the older officer, leaving the younger officer sprawled out unconscious just outside the door.
Frank and the older officers are completely focused on the television, and their boisterous laughter drowns out Jay’s footsteps as he approaches. Frank opens his mouth widely to burst into laughter and Jay shoots him in the mouth. He is dead instantly and slumps lifeless, but Jay shoots him twice more in the chest.
The older officer is motionless but unafraid as he watches Jay calmly pull out a black rose and place it on Frank’s rotund belly.
‘Sorry bout the fucking delay,’ the officer whispers, and gestures to the unconscious younger officer. ‘That fucking boy scout didn’t gimme a chance, was by the door all night. You fucking killed him, right?’
Jay aims the pistol at the officer’s head.
‘Hey! Hey!’ the officer chides, and slaps his bulletproof vest. ‘In the vest! And take a couple steps back. You can’t always trust this NYPD issued shit.’
Jay doesn’t respond.
‘Come on,’ the officer chides. ‘Make it quick. I think the …’
Jay shoots the officer between the eyes, killing him instantly. He stares intently at the lifeless officer; his orders explicitly said to kill everyone in the house except the officer, but fuck that, it had to be done. Suddenly, footsteps approach from behind.
A writer. A 27 years old Nigerian born Londoner. And also a foodie.