Helping Jeanny [4]
It's not that I'm trying to be a saint. But as flirty as Jeanny the striptease seems, this D.A. Jennifer is the complete opposite—stern, serious, and, to be honest, not too attractive to me. Maybe it's because she's still shaken from the shooting. Or maybe I'm just not into her. Whatever the reason, I don't even consider seducing her.
In the morning, Jennifer is even more tense. She flinches when I pat her shoulder.
"Are you okay?" I ask, watching her closely.
She sighs, then nods vaguely.
"The police are already outside," I inform her.
The department had agreed to provide her with protection. Last night, I spoke with the head of the department to ensure he personally handpicked the officers, making sure everyone knew each other. Just a precaution—so the assassin couldn't disguise himself as one of them. Since Jennifer was a D.A., the request was granted without hesitation.
Jennifer stands, grabbing her things. As we walk out of my apartment, I remind her, "Have you canceled the press conference?"
She nods. "The judge also agreed to make the trial a closed hearing," she adds.
Good. She's following precautions. If she stays away from strangers, the assassin won't have any easy opportunities to strike.
The guy must be panicking right now. His first attempt failed, and I'm sure his deadline is today—before the court reading.
We step outside the apartment building in silence, both lost in our own thoughts.
Just as Jennifer reaches the police car, she turns to me.
"Aren't you coming?" she asks.
I shake my head. "I have something else to do," I reply with an apologetic smile.
She shrugs, then smiles. "Thank you for everything you've done," she says sincerely.
"Sure," I reply simply.
The "something" I have to do is finding the assassin before he makes his next move.
If his target weren't someone I knew, I honestly wouldn't have cared.
The courthouse has metal detectors at every entrance, so the assassin has two options: either he has a plastic gun, or he has another way inside.
The latter seems more likely.
But after an hour of searching, I still can't find a way inside without leaving my own gun behind.
Is he really using a plastic gun? No way. Those things cost a fortune.
I'm not bragging, but judging by his skills yesterday, he wasn't better than me. And if even I can't afford a plastic gun, there's no way he has one.
That leaves only one possibility—he needs to be physically close to Jennifer to get a clear shot.
Which means he'll have to get past all those cops.
No professional assassin would take a risk like that.
Unless he's not a professional.
Could this be a personal hit? Revenge?
But yesterday's execution was too precise to be amateur work. If I hadn't been there, he would have succeeded. Jennifer survived only because I happened to see him first.
Just as I'm deep in thought, someone shouts above me.
"Hey! Watch out, man!"
I look up. A window-cleaning gondola dangles a few meters above me.
Shit!
I quickly move aside just as a heavy piece of equipment nearly crushes me.
And then it clicks.
"Is today your company's regular schedule to clean this building?" I call up to the man in the gondola.
He frowns at me.
"I don't know, man. I'm just a freelancer. Got a call this morning to clean this building," he answers.
"How many of you are cleaning today?"
"Five. I mean, six, counting me," he says. "I'm the only one riding the gondola because of my injury. The others are using sky ropes as usual."
Shit.
I glance at my watch. 9:15 AM.
Jennifer's trial starts at 9:30.
She told me it was on the fifth floor, but I don't know which side of the building.
More importantly, I didn't bring my rifle for a long-range shot.
Desperate for a solution, I ask, "Can I ride up with you to the rooftop?"
The man looks at me in confusion. "What? What's—"
I don't have time for this. I press his sleeping point, knocking him out instantly.
Once he slumps over, I step into the gondola and ride it up to the rooftop.
As soon as I get there, I scan the area.
Five cleaners.
Two on the north wall. Two on the east. One on the west.
If the assassin is working alone, he'll be on his own.
West side. Fifth floor.
I peek over the edge.
The so-called cleaner is moving too slowly. Instead of cleaning, he's staring into the window, scanning the inside of the room.
His feet are planted on a tiny ledge, secured by a harness and rope.
I check my watch. 9:30. The trial is starting now.
I reach for my gun and take aim.
Please don't let me be wrong. If I am, then somewhere else on this building, the real assassin is about to put a bullet through Jennifer's head.
But then, I see it.
The man lowers his cleaning tools and reaches for something strapped to his ankle.
A gun. Of course.
The moment he raises his weapon, I shoot his hand.
He jerks in pain, but he doesn't lose the gun. He's good—he quickly regains control and fires back.
I duck behind the rooftop wall.
No return shots.
I peek again—he's climbing toward the rooftop.
I fire again, this time hitting his right shoulder.
That does it. His gun falls from his grip, clattering far below.
He glares at me, pure rage in his eyes.
I sigh. Another enemy. I really hate making enemies.
With one final shot, I hit him in the left chest.
Then, I grab my hunting knife and slice through the rope securing him to the building.
For a split second, his body remains suspended in the air.
Then, he plummets.
A speeding SUV has no time to stop.
The impact is immediate.
Sirens blare in the distance—someone must have seen the fall.
I don't stick around.
Slipping through the rooftop door, I disappear into the crowd before the cops can even figure out what happened.