Roger Anson had all always had the most peculiar of jobs; pickpocket, amateur scammer and other illegal professions. His current profession was no exception.
He had three clients to serve, three targets and three huge paycheques to be obtained.
The first, a divorcee squabble, simple in and out mission. The second, a mother angry at her son for stealing her pet corgi and ruining the family business, a distraction.
And the third, was a complete mystery. He wasn't sure of some of most details, like the target’s name or the objective of the mission.
As anonymous as his hiring procedure is, some clients like to keep things even more secretive.
5th Street is overflowing with commuters at 8:30 in the morning. Perfect. Target, Louis Kline wouldn't see him coming until too late.
Roger eased down the street and pulled out the target’s car description from the panel underneath the dashboard. Grey 2003 Honda Accord in good condition. Red haired driver.
Licence plate number, GK5 7S1.
A grey car moved slowly past me on his right. Roger changed lanes and followed it from a distance. The car parks in front of an office building and the driver steps out.
Tall, middle aged with red hair. Exactly like the description.
Anson waits for him to walk far enough away from the car, then makes his move. He execrates suddenly and zooms down the street, hitting the rear end of the car.
Roger can just make out the shocked look on Mr. Kline's face before he turns the corner and he is gone from sight.
Once Roger has driven to the approximate area, between 7th avenue an Parks Street; he looks around for his second target. Roger spots him in front of the local coffee, on a phone call.
Perfect, he thinks. Just the circumstances his client asked for.
Roger steps out of the car and reaches in to grab a crucial element of his plan; a fresh cup of hot coffee that he managed to show restraint from drinking it.
Roger Anson walks up the street. Target is still on the phone, talking animatedly, his hands waving around to prove a point.
R keeps his eyes upon him and the coffee cup gripped firmly in his hand.
He's only thirty feet ahead of him, his back to me. He walks faster, but still nonchalantly. Target is now twenty feet ahead. Fifteen. Ten. Five. Then two…
Roger is beside him, now or never. He drops the coffee cup right on the table in front of the target. The target blinks and his phone falls to the ground with a loud smash.
Anson bends down to pick up the now empty cup and help the target clean himself up. Meanwhile, Roger also reaches to his pocket and steals his wallet, like his client asked him to.
Roger straightens Up and tell his target for the fifth time now that he's very sorry. Then he walks away, the black leather wallet swinging from his coffee-stained fingers.
After a week of observing the daily routine of his final target, Roger believes that around 3:30 in the afternoon is the best time to strike, just as the target is coming home from work.
Roger scrounges through the large white envelope to find a description of the target. He pulls out the piece of paper and read it over again. Female, brown hair, medium height.
Since he has an hour to go until it would be reasonable to go set up in front of target’s house, he spends it at the coffee shop,
doing one of Roger’s favourite pastimes; people watching with a notebook and pen.
He's done this since high school, observe a person for just fifteen minutes. In that time period, he manges to guess most of the simple details of stranger’s lives; their age, job, etc.
After his allotted hour is up, Roger Anson leaves the coffee shop and sets off back to work.
The target’s street is quiet, its inhabitants away still or sheltering inside from the blazing summer heat.
Roger Anson parks half a block down from house 4576 and waits, checking his watch every minute or so.
Ten minutes after 3:30, a blue car drives up to street name 4567. Roger sits upwards in his seat, but he has to wait until she goes inside the house, then he can do the job.
But wait… what is that shadowy figure? Creeping up behind the target, clearly heading to rob his target. “But, that's my job!” Roger wanted to scream.
He gets out of the car, slowly and silently and creep towards the house. Target hasn't noticed what's creeping behind her. He walks closer. Roger is close to his target now, only ten feet away.
The shadowy figure sees him, then veers off to walk down a different street.
Roger’s target looks at him like she hasn't seen him before now. An intense moral debate is going on inside his head right now; should he stay and finish the job or bail and come back later?
She looks at Roger with a mix of shock and thankfulness on her face. “Wow, do you just hang around town and save people like a some sort of vigilante?”
He hesitates and answers, “I guess.”
Well, he missed that job opportunity. Should he finish it now or come back later this week. Roger come back. One day…