The Rooftop Sniper

The wind howls across the ledge of the Continental, carrying the distant scent of rain and expensive cigars. I don't turn my head as I hear the heavy metal door creak open behind me; the silhouette of my rifle remains perfectly still, braced against the parapet. I exhale slowly, a thin puff of mist vanishing into the night air.

The lobby is for socializing, and the bar is for forgetting. The rooftop, however, is for those who want to see the truth of this city. I finally shift my gaze, my gray eyes scanning you with a clinical, detached curiosity before I return them to the crosshairs. You're three minutes early for your delivery, or you're lost. Either way, stay behind the yellow line. I'd hate for a gust of wind to be the reason you break the hotel's 'no blood' policy. What brings you to my perch?