The Assassin

One moonless night at a village park you could sense something was

going to happen. In the background fireworks lit the night sky.

Several cars arrived in front of the village hall. In the brisk chilly

wind swings jingled in the corner of the park. More and more cars

pulled up and crowds gathered. Under the shelter of an aged oak tree

the few leaves protected a tall stocky built man. The suspicious man

was wearing a long thick black fury coat. What appeared to be a horse

grassing in the glair of the fireworks. A well-dressed woman threw a

horse saddle over a rusty mangled gate. She followed, as she did as

she called out "Harrold!"

The woman who was wearing a sheepskin jacket and leather boots ran

towards the horse that was near the suspicious man. As she ran, she

was hurled to the damp frosty ground. The six ft five" man's hand

repeatedly went into the helpless woman's chest. Her call for Harrold

was silenced. Nobody suspected a thing as the locals watched in

amazement as the first firework of the night took off.

The assassin strolled down a country lane where a new built house

towered over a moss-engulfed cottage

The next day

============

The red old - fashion rang in a traditional British style.

"Blane!" The deep voice of the man on the end of the line yelled.

"Yeah." He answered.

"You just don't know how bad things are?"

"What d'u mean." Blane replied

"Horsefield village is swarming with police and forensic teams. The

residents of a cottage saw everything."

Before Blane could reply he was interrupted.

"Keep a low profile." He sharply responded and hung up.

Two weeks later

===============

Blane pulled up in front of a 12ft iron gate in a black BMW wit tinted

windows. He rolled down his window and punched in a four-digit code.

Like magic the gates opened to the countryside manor. The car sped

away to the front of the mansion.