Thomas Church hated sunny days.  He hated slathering on the sunblock like he was some sort of tourist staring slack jawed at garbage trinkets at a souvenir shop.  He’d spent most of his life in Miami but, due to his Irish heritage if he didn’t take precautions he’d blister quickly.  In his line of work there was no time for that and so the sunblock was a necessity. 

	There were other reason’s he hated sunny days that were obvious for his line of work.  They made the tar roofs he tended to lay on unbearably hot and to top it all off the rays could give away his position.  However, if he wanted to work he’d have to contend with sunny days, especially in South Florida.

	So it was on this particularly sunny and humid day that Thomas found himself on top of the four story apartment building overlooking Juan’s Panadaria.  He looked down at the bustling street below.  The sea of local faces had lessened as the day wore on, most of who were at work or school.  Yet for the past hour, in spite of the hustle and bustle a lone car sat silently in front of the bakery. It belonged to Alejandro McCool. 

	McCool was tan due to his Cuban mother and was a man defined by estimation.  He was swarthy and most people guessed his weight was in the ballpark of four hundred pounds on a good day.  His wealth was vast and approximated due to what it was he owned on the books and what it was he hid off the coast.  It was rumored that when he was with a woman it had all of the appearance of a lion mauling a puppy.  Suffice it to say nobody was exact about the man save for the fact that when he was around you knew it.

	Thomas had eyed him through the window of the bakery as he chatted with a woman, named Liz who was darker than he was but a quarter of his size.  He watched as that spoke and ate.  There was no laughter between them.  Everything action and word was forced.  Occasionally the woman would look away while McCool spoke, the crumbs spraying in her general direction.   As they spoke Thomas prepared.

	Quietly he pieced his rifle together.  Sweat dripped off his brow as he felt the pieces snap into place.  He looked down the barrel before putting the scope in place.  At this range he didn’t need it but, when he was told to use every piece he didn’t argue the point.  Finally Thomas loaded the rifle with a single bullet and waited some more.

	It wasn’t long before the couple finished eating and made their way to the front door.  Thomas watched them and quickly shouldered the rifle and slowly tracked the target through the bakery.  Time slowed down as he watched the target, his gun at the ready.  He flipped up the cover on his scope and peered through it following the target’s movement.  

	Thomas’ breathing slowed to a crawl.  His heart matched the pace of the target as it drew closer to the doorway.  His finger gently caressed the trigger as he began to count it down.  The heat no longer mattered, neither did the sun.  He couldn’t feel anything until the target reached the door way and he’d counted to zero.  Then with a loud crack the recoiled against his shoulder.  The bullet screamed toward the target and when it struck, it exploded like a watermelon that had been left in the sun for entirely too long.
	 
	The world below exploded with confusion and screaming as Thomas made his way off of the roof, down a back fire escape, into a gangway where he got into a waiting Celica and drove off.  Two hours later the car was in flames a few miles away and Thomas was in a McDonald’s waiting for his number to be called when his phone rang.  He answered it. 

	“You stupid bastard,” shouted McCool, “You’re lucky I don’t make you pay for my dry cleaning!”

	“It’s not my fault you like to play on clay.  Don’t dive for every ball that comes your way.”

	“Just … watch your serve next time.”

	The girl at the counter called his number and Thomas retrieved his sandwich.  “I will,” he said and hung up the phone then tossed it into a nearby trashcan.