He was the homeless man on broad street and the delivery man down the street was his partner but the girl across the street, whistling the alarm was the bait.
They had spent most of the day roaming around the downtown area and exploring every alley behind every store and scrounged around for the perfect spot.
The whistler watched and listened for the slow and heavy boot steps of the NSA guards that were in charge of this one particular zone. Since Marshall Law had been activated across the United States the NSA National Security Agency had been tasked to provide urban security in the top two hundred cities across America there had been terrible violence across the nation.
These top tier urban centers contained over fifty percent of the citizen population and were now considered nationalized urban security zones. You could not leave and you could not enter these Marshall Law zones without the newly created NSA Internal Passport which had a price tag of $50,000 each unless you worked for the government.
The afternoon rain had stopped but the street lamps were still on even as the sun was starting to break through the lower clouds. As the rain drifted off the streets they also became full of people again, walking, always walking. The NSA had found the perfect way to squeeze the population and control everything as limited transportation, no internet connectivity, food and power rationing and constant NSA patrolling disturbed the little peace that was left in America.
The homeless man had made no noise but sat with his legs crossed on top of the barber shop building, his head cocked to the right, listening for the girl whistling. He looked the other way and noticed his delivery man partner reaching inside his delivery bag as he briefly closed his eyes as the sun breaking down on the streets now creating that hot steam and the birds chattered.
The homeless man half hidden behind the barber shop roof wall and still sitting in an unnatural angle reached down and picked up his rifle and felt the weight as his finger found the trigger and tipped the safety latch off. He lifted the rifle and began to swing it around to take aim as he leaned back and secured his rifle into the firing position.
One more whistle and he would lift the rifle and take aim as the NSA guards would have appeared in the killing spot that had been prearranged and practiced.
The shot would not be lethal but the knock-out drug would take less than three seconds to down the NSA Colonel that had been accused of a young girls rape only seven days before. He had dragged off the black teenage girl into the woods by the park and settled on her down by the waters edge. He had left her flapping and crying, thrashing and bleeding as she desperately cried out for help. The NSA Colonel denied all the charges but with her legs still straining against his assault a young man only twenty yards away had used his fathers old camera and clicked three clear pictures.
The delivery man would fire three shots from his pistol, just enough to scatter the other NSA guards and the whistling girl would pull her own pistol and fire off another three shots to further confuse the NSA guards.
It would take less than twenty seconds for the delivery man and the whistling girl to pull the NSA Colonel through the front door of the friendship laundry mat and out the back door to a waiting delivery van.
Before he could pull the trigger, she whispered in his ear.
Fear flashed through him, he had been all alone on the roof top.
Evie, the whistling girl took the first shot, most likely from a NSA sniper, she fell with her chest exploding but you could see the surprise on her face, a terrified surprise.
She continued to whisper and told him to place the rifle down and she came round to face him and pointed her Luger Pistol squarely between his eyes as he untangled his legs and placed his rifle on the roof top.
The delivery man was teetering from two close pistol shots and he was leaning heavily against the lamp post that was still wet with rain and now his blood.
It took the experts only seconds to destroy their entire plan, less time then it took to light a cigarette which the whispering lady did while holding her gun against his chest.
She wasn't whispering now, all the shots had been fired and the NSA Colonel was on his radio phone and the streets filled with government transports.
In her normal voice "Let me see; you must be the sniper?"
As the crumbling ash fell from her cigarette, she pulled the trigger.
Like all of her race, what's one more dead black man.
As he lay there bleeding; his blood was red,
"We punish liars and wretched patriots." as she looked down upon him.
He could tell, it was no more important than killing a chicken for dinner.
He had been a stupid child, his father had warned him about the illuminated elites in a centralized government. Unnaturally distant from the truth, they controlled everything and every human being.
He had told his father "not to worry" by Christmas Marshall Law would be lifted as the President promised, but Putin and his Russian Armies entered Alaska and Canada only three days ago.
The stupid child.
Fiction
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