A Lonely Night in Lima
The perfect time for revenge
The dusky streets of Lima were lit by a few flickering streetlights and the faint glow of the moon as it struggled to break through the bilious clouds. The smell of unwashed clothing and filthy bodies hung like a thick mist.
Devon Martin thought that it was the perfect night for a murder.
Devon had perched himself on the roof of a tall apartment building, well above the gloom and odour below. He scanned the buildings dotted along the street, searching. His eyes locked onto a small bar, the Contador, and he could make out several silhouettes through the lit window. Devon strained his eyes, but he couldn’t be sure that he had found his man.
When the dark blanket of silence was suddenly slashed by shouts, and the door of the Contador burst open, Devon knew. He didn’t need to see the white blotches on the man’s face to know that his quarry was near. Hello, Wheel.
At that moment, he became aware of the cold, metallic touch of the sniper gun that he had pitched high up on his lonely rooftop.
Loneliness didn’t bother Devon. They had become fast friends ever since the man known as Wheel had entered his life.
Wheel stumbled out of the Contador amidst a flurry of blows. Then, another man was on top of him, relentlessly pelting Wheel’s face in an effort to engrave it into the pavement. This wasn’t the Wheel Devon knew. This wasn’t the cold, unshakeable man who had introduced Devon to his friend loneliness. No one simply beat Wheel to death. That just wasn’t the way of things.
Devon’s thoughts were confirmed in a blur of quick movement. Wheel’s hand struck out like a cobra and the large man on top of him instantly lost his vigour and his lifeless body rolled off. Wheel hauled himself to his feet and the moonlight glinted briefly on the bloodstained knife that he gripped in his unmoving right hand. Wheel gave the stiff form of the man sprawled on the ground a pitiful look, before adjusting his jacket and starting briskly down the street.
Devon’s body reacted before his brain could catch up. He shifted slightly where he crouched and deftly caressed the trigger of his sniper.
At that moment, two gunshots rang out. One across the black Lima sky, and another in Devon’s mind.
His insides clenched as he saw his mother crumple to the floor.
He heard again the surprised gasp that would be the last sound to emit from her lips.
He felt again the spindly fingers of loneliness slowly and inevitably reaching around his throat, closing off his air supply.
He saw again the life devoid of meaning that he had envisioned the moment his brain had registered that his mother wouldn’t be coming back.
Realisation flooded sharply into Devon’s brain as he broke free of the reverie. He saw Wheel lying on the ground far below. Devon looked from the body to his own hand, still resting calmly on the trigger of his gun, and he knew that the deed was done.
Quickly, Devon packed up the gun and hoisted the case strap over his shoulder.
No one’s more lonely than the dead man, thought Devon. Not even me.
Silence returned to the dusky streets of Lima as a pool of blood slowly expanded around the head of the man known only as Wheel.
