The Consultant

The alarm went off at 1:00am.  I hate red-eyes.  If I dont' get up and get coffee, my patience will be in short supply.  Not good in my line of work.  A short fuse doesn't keep me anonymous.

I'm tired of living out of a suitcase.  But, with my limited job experience, who'd hire me?  And to do what?

Why did I take this job?  I hate early morning flights.  I don't like intercontinental travel.  I may be the best woman in the field, but I'm tired of it.  At least I'll get some time to take in some sights this time.  I've always wanted to vacation in the British Isles.

Yeah, I need a cab to the airport.  Yes, call me when it arrives.

 

"Calling all passengers for flight #864 with service to Heathrow.  We will begin boarding now."

There's my flight.  At least my client got me seating on the upper deck.  Next time I travel across the Atlantic, I should require a cruise ticket instead.  At least I'd get a break for a while.

 

"Hi, I'm Greg."

Oh great, a chatty neighbor.  "I'm Brenda."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a consultant."

"Really?  Image?"

"Um, not exactly.  Look, I'm sorry, I didn't sleep well and have a meeting right after I land..."

"Oh sure, no problem.  I'll make sure no one bothers you."

Somehow that's not comforting.  "Thanks."  Where the heck did I put my sleep mask and headphones?!

 

I hate the waiting part.  Waiting for the perfect shot.  Waiting for bystanders to move aside.  Waiting to make sure I'm still the best, most accurate assassin in the world.  Maybe I'll go to Fiji for a vacation on this commission.

The End

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