The thought, while a little sick, comforted me as I removed the magazine and cleared the rifle, making sure I was ready to go. Concealing the rifle and my backup weapon, a Glock 19 pistol, in a electric keyboard case, I shouldered the heavy bag along with a small bag of other supplies and checked the way I looked in the mirror. My purple hair was concealed under a black wig and baseball cap, while my pants and outfit made me look like any of the other thousand struggling musicians in the city. As opposed to Mark, I couldn't use any sort of makeup, I was going to be sweating too much, but my skin tone was nondescript anyway.
Leaving the strike base, I hiked the near mile over to my shooting position, a cheap hotel that was often used by Petrokias' lower priced whores who would bring their johns over for the cheap hourly rates. I rented a room for five hours, laying down an additional fifty bucks to ensure the clerk at the desk wouldn't bother me.
"What's in the case?" the clerk asked as I scribbled an illegible muck of a name in the register.
"Piano and a CD player," I said, tugging at the thin leather gloves I had been wearing since unlocking the strike base. It was another one of Mark's rules, and one I had learned to work with. "I have an audition next week. Need to practice."
"Here?" the clerk asked. "Why in the hell would you want to practice at this dump?"
I shrugged. "It's better and quieter than where I live," I said. "Music is okay, right?"
The clerk shrugged. "As long as you don't mind a thumping headboard back beat, I don't care," he said, handing me the key. "Here you are, room five fifteen, just like you asked. Has a western view so you can get your sunset and everything. Hope you're inspired."
"Thanks," I said, picking up my case. I trudged up the five flights of stairs, glad that working out with Mark got me in such great physical condition. The girl who'd met Mark Snow over a year ago wouldn't have made it, not with the thirty pounds of stuff on my back. As it was, my legs were still a bit pumped up when I got to the fifth floor, which was the top floor. Mark had chosen it for two reasons. First, the top floor had the least amount of visibility to surrounding buildings. Secondly, I could escape both up and down. The cheap hotel was so close to its neighbors that I could leap from rooftop to rooftop for close to two blocks to make my escape. It was my preferred method of egress, actually. Going back down five flights of stairs and out the front or the most likely malfunctioning fire door would be too dangerous in terms of being spotted, especially since I planned on carrying the Glock with me.
Setting my case down, I went out of the room and over to the stairs to the roof, quickly checking the access. The door was locked, but I was able to pick it quickly, leaving me with a clear path. I went back to my room and locked the door, taking out the CD player. The main purpose of the player wasn't to give me background music to play piano to, but rather was an hour long mix of synthesizer heavy music from the eighties, which was enjoying a resurgence in certain hipster circles in the city recently. Anyone who listened would think I was playing along with the tracks. It would also hopefully, if someone was a total idiot, mask the rifle shot as well, since a lot of the tracks also had a lot of snare drum in them as well. I wouldn't notice, since I would be wearing heavy hearing protection for the shot itself.
That ready, I set up my sniper shot. Petrokias was one of the more predictable members of the Confederation, having dinner and drinks at the same one of his so called "gentleman's clubs" every night starting at seven. He had created "Pollux and Castor" to cater to his more wealthy clientèle, along with some of the best Cretian cuisine in the state. A very deep fondness for the Greek dish moussaka had him eating at Pollux and Castor five or six nights a week. He always took the balcony table, where he could look over his ill begotten empire and enjoy the finest Greek wines.
Looking out the window, I could see the building. Taking out my rifle, I looked through the scope, and even through the late afternoon glare, I could see the small white "reserved" tag on the table. I looked around the room for something to use for a rifle rest since I didn't want to stick the muzzle out the window. Finally, I decided to use the two chairs that were in the room. The taller one, a mostly straight backed wooden affair that looked like it came out of someone's old dining room set, had little knobs on each side of the back that created a rest I could wedge the barrel against. With the heavy weight of the piano itself sitting on the seat, it was a very stable rest. The other chair was a shade too tall for me to sit straight in, but by reversing it and leaning into it, my upper body was also supported for the shot. I was ready, I just had to wait for Petrokias to arrive for dinner.