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The Vengeful Sniper

A two bedroom apartment suited Denny Attish even though he was living alone. He had one bedroom for sleeping and one as an office and workshop. The living room and dining room were small, but big enough for his needs. He watched television and read books in the living room. He ate in the dining room because the kitchen was too small for even a two-chair table. It was little more than an alcove off the dining room.

The building manager had the whole place painted refrigerator white after the previous tenants moved out. That suited Denny because he preferred to add colour to his environment by hanging many pictures and framed posters of famous artworks. He had been working toward this situation for almost three years, since his beloved Diane had been killed.

He finally acquired a position which he could fill while working at home, on line. He had state-of-the-art hardware and software that enabled him to do the kind of mechanical drafting for which he was well trained. The Kingman Corporation chose to save on office space by designing a system wherein only the senior engineers had to be in the office. Support staff and drafting teams were able to work from home. That suited Denny Attish’s needs perfectly.

There was a sofa-bed in the office room as well as his computer equipment and workbench, if friends or relatives wanted to sleep over. The bathroom was surprisingly spacious, with the oversized tub separate from the glassed-in shower stall. It could be accessed from the living room, and through a separate door from the master bedroom.

Each day, after finishing his assignments, Attish went to the workbench he’d built to suit his specific needs. It had a hinged top that he could pull down from the back wall and cover the projects he had underway on the bench-top. He didn’t want anyone, even close friends and relatives to see his personal project. When he was alone at home, the workbench was exposed. It revealed a variety of mechanical parts, steel pipes, nuts, bolts, screws and gleaming billet steel tools.

He used a magnifying lamp through which he peered at the small hunting pellets which he was modifying. He drilled tiny holes in the point of the pellets. Into these holes he inserted sharply pointed needles of the type used in sewing machines. He cut them in half and used just the hard, sharp-pointed end projecting out of the nose of the pellet. He hid these along with the other materials on the workbench. It was better that no one, not even close friends and girlfriends had any idea what he was doing.

Gradually, the mechanism he was building began to take shape. It was what used to be called a ‘zip gun’. It was uniquely powered by CO2 capsules. It was fitted to a mount that enabled Attish to keep it in his sleeve, out of sight. The sharp pointed hunting pellets were treated with Beta-selinene cyclase. Anyone pricked by the chemically treated needle point would soon become miserably ill and quite possibly die a painful, lengthy death.

When all was ready, Denny Attish parked his white minivan outside the home of Sergeant Gordon Lawrence. He was the police officer who had so severely beaten Dennis’ late girlfriend while raping her that she was in a coma for three weeks before she passed away. He was never suspected of the murder/rape by his collegues.

Sergeant Lawrence exited his house with his wife and daughter. They walked past the minivan towards their car without a glance at the van. Dennis released a pellet with its treated needle projecting out of its nose. It shot out with hiss and struck its policeman target on the side of his neck at the Carotid Artery. Gordon Lawrence first slapped at it, thinking it was an insect bite. He felt the pellet and pulled it out and looked at it. Before he could realize what it was, he staggered and fell to the sidewalk.

He began to twitch and convulse, vomited and wet himself. His wife shrieked and his daughter began shouting ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.’ Satisfied, Dennis started the minivan and drove away, unnoticed by the frantic woman and her daughter. He glanced in his right-side mirror and saw Mrs. Lawrence frantically punching 911 into her cellphone.

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