His gaze wandered shiftily from person to person, seeking out any possible fallacies that would foil his plan. Mother pushing baby in a stroller. Stray dog sniffing at a lamppost. A gaggle of pre-teens debating the correct way to purchase a subway ticket. All seemed fine. Oh, shoot—a police car. He drew back into the shadows and held his breath until it passed, watching it loop all the way around Columbus Circle and heading back into the busy, endless world of possibilities that is New York City. Sighing freely, he stalked back into the main area and stood discreetly beside the railing of a subway entrance. A police car would not do. The law would certainly be a roadblock to what he had planned. Gently, he fingered the pocket of his bulky, floor-length trench coat.
Thank goodness for the winter season. All around him, New Yorkers bustled around, almost all bundled up in coats similar to his. Admittedly, no one else had one that was nearly as hulking as his—but then again, no one was paying any attention to the lone man dressed in an oversized trench coat standing next to a subway entrance. He accidentally met the gaze of a muscular, though short, wrestler-type and quickly pulled the brim of his hat down to cover his face. There was no way that random passerby could possibly know of his agenda just by looking at his face. Still, his heart pounded and he shrank against the wall. The sun traveled too quickly across the sky as he surreptitiously scanned the faces of the crowd, searching for the perfect one.
Foot traffic gradually died down as another day wound to a close. Surprisingly, the night life in such a central part in New York was somewhat of a letdown. He had expected more. He had expected people to start filling up the shops and bars, even on a Tuesday night. After, this was New York. It was going to be much harder now. His selection had been severely narrowed. He had waited too long.
Unconsciously, he nervously fiddled again with his pocket, unbuttoning then rebuttoning it so much that its contents were almost revealed. This was his first time attempting something of this nature. He didn’t believe in any specific god, but he prayed to anyone who was listening that things would run smoothly. He doubted that anyone heard him. If he were God, he definitely wouldn’t care to make things easier for him anyways. From some points of view, it was downright despicable what he was about to do. He unsuccessfully tried to shrug it off.
Suddenly, the perfect target appeared. She was a young woman in her early twenties with a thick waterfall of hair of the deepest, richest auburn he’d ever seen. Though night had fallen and the temperature had considerably dropped, there was still a liveliness in her eyes that brought warmth straight into his chest. His heart exploded with something that he could not name, and he decided to take immediate action. She was the one. It was time.
In one swift motion, he slipped out from behind the railings of the subway entrance and grabbed her roughly by the arm. She screamed loudly. Even the tone of her voice at such an elevated pitch was lovely. He hoped she would forgive him for what he was about to do.
He said in a low voice, “Scream again and I’ll cut your throat.”
Still she shrieked, twisting this way and that to get free. He gently but firmly closed a hand around her neck, holding her in place. She flailed even harder and managed to wriggle free from his grip, but tripped from the sheer force of pulling away. As she lay sobbing on the ground, he descended upon her, a grim look clouding his face. She cringed on the dirty gum-stained cement as he reached into the pocket of his trench coat. Through the curtain of wild red hair splayed across her face, she saw him pull out something sort of black machinery and point it directly at her face.
His hand shook as he held the camera and recorder. Voice trembling and a big, forced smile plastered on his face, he choked out the words, “Congratulations! You’ve just been Punk’d!”
She fainted.
Yeah, he was definitely quitting this job.