The red dot

 
Man, late thirties, grey coat, walks down a park alley. Looks gloomy, searches with eyes somebody from the crowd. "A good Christian, uh?". Voice from behind. The man does not turn around, heads towards the nearest bench and sits. The voice continues, "I know what it is, some people would call it cheating but in 19th century there was even a club, the club of S." The man opens a small pack of cigarettes and looks for a light in his pockets with no success. A hand from the right offers a burning match stick. The man swallows the first portion and chokes. "The money ?" the voice is slow. "The money and the description", the man drops the pack with cigarettes which falls down on the grass near the bench. "Anything else?" the voice picks up the pack, "I can do it so that ends fast or I can give some last days trouble, body food for the thought." "Do not care, sudden is fine", the men stands up and walks down the alley. As he walks he puts up discreet headphones and turns on the player. Another voice, gentle, warm. Recorded. The man laughs at the stopped tears and turns off the player. The crowd is getting dispersed, occasional cyclists fly by. A green mown on the left. The man turns and stops in front of the mown. A single tree with few reddish leaves. The man looks through the branches and sees a small red dot crawling down the zenith. The sun is getting speed. A little girl rushes towards the man from the alley, stands before him and looks up his white shirt. "Amy, come here", the mother is nevertheless patient. Amy picks up her small finger, points to his shirt and says, "My brother bought me this laser pointer as a present for my birthday". The man looks down and sees the free play of a small red dot moving towards the left mid part of his chest. "Tell your brother to buy you a blue one next ... ". The remote crack scares a young crow on the tree. The small dot rapidly grows into huge saturated red splash, the men kneels slowly and falls aside. "Amy, I told you to come here", the mother is not patient anymore. Amy takes the player that has just fallen off of the coat's pocket and puts on the headphones. "Mom, mom, who is this lady and why is she crying?". Amy's mother, rushing, grabs her hand and throws the player on the mown. They walk away, the mother stops the girl from turning her head. The sun goes down, rays reflected from the reddish leaves of the tree blend with the splash on the man's shirt.

"Triple red", the voice, 400 meters away, in abandoned shed, lights the last cigarette from the pack, smiles and tosses a silver coin. "They had to be two, one for each eye". Carefully disassembles the Parker-Hale rifle into the briefcase. A mobile phone rings. Woman's voice, not crying this time. "Why not", the man's voice puts the phone in his pocket and walks out from the shed in a casual manner.