“You come highly recommended, but why do they call you The Chemist?” the man in the Valentino suit asked around his cigar. “I don’t want no poison. This guy, Danny, needs to go out in a way where there can’t be no open-casket funeral. You understand me?”
The man across from him nodded a head covered with neatly-trimmed, close-cropped gray hair. His eyes were bright and unblinking.
“I will be using a shaped charge that I developed myself. It’s a proprietary blend that has four times the explosive power of C-4, so I call it C-16. They’ll have to use a ShopVac to pick up the pieces.” The man in the Valentino suit smiled broadly and slid a thick stack of bank notes across the table to The Chemist.
“Good. This should cover all of the expenses. You’ll get the rest when the job is done, long as you don’t get caught.”
“I’ll be miles away when it happens.”
Cal followed the UPS van across the bridge and onto the island. He parked on the street, three or four houses behind it and waited. He saw floppy packages, probably containing clothes, and boxes of pet supplies being delivered to three houses. However, a substantial-looking box went to the fourth house. It was big enough for a computer or a gaming system and the UPS driver’s muscles flexed to heft it. As soon as the UPS driver rolled down the street towards his next delivery, Cal exited his car. He walked erect with his head held high, knowing that his best disguise was looking like he belonged.
When he reached the porch, he nudged the box with his foot, feeling its promising weight. He didn’t want to take a risk just for the sake of books or kitty litter, so he pulled out a razor and split the tape securing the top of the box. He bent to pull back the box flaps which were sticking for some reason. It was the last thing Cal ever did.
The explosion shook Danny’s house so violently that he thought it was an earthquake. The passage to his front door was an impassable pile of rubble, so he retreated to his bedroom, grabbed his go-bag, and slipped out the back door. Danny made his way to the bus stop as the sound of sirens filled the space behind him. His lawyer almost spit out his coffee as he saw Danny slip in through his back door.
“I just heard on the radio about a huge explosion at your address that killed the homeowner!”
“Must have been a package bomb and a goddamned porch pirate opened a surprise meant for me,” Danny mused. “How am I supposed to stay safe?” His lawyer smiled.
“Now we have the perfect safety net for you. Everybody thinks you’re dead. Let’s make it official and your troubles will be over.”
Literature in Small Doses 