Black and White                                                                            

            The man was black and white from head to toe. He waited at the street corner for the light to change, muttering quietly to himself. No one approached him  Finally, a gigantically obese man with masses of facial hair walked up to him. “Hey, buddy,” the fat man wheezed, flecks of spit flying from his mouth as he spoke, “Can you do the wall thing?” The man did his best imitation of a mime trapped in a glass box, which wasn’t very good.

            Thee black and white man’s head turned almost imperceptibly toward the fat man, sizing him up. “I ain’t a mime,” he whispered dangerously.

            “Hey! You aren’t s’posed ta talk!”

            “I told ya, buddy, I ain’t a mime. Leave me alone.”

            Rolling his eyes, the fat man waddled away. The Not-a-Mime turned his gaze back toward the crosswalk. Finding that the light had changed, he strolled across the street, white-gloved hands in his pockets. Glancing around furtively, he snuck out of the crowd of people and into a small, nondescript doorway.

            The light was dim, the only light fixture stuttering. The Not-a-Mime knocked twice on the door, paused, then knocked three more times. A panel slid open. “Who is it?” a challenging voice asked.

            “You know damn well who it is. Open the door.” The door opened, and he stepped through.

            The man on the other side was tiny, and dressed similarly to the Not-a-Mime. “Well, then, Eagle,” he said, “here’s your assignment.” Eagle, for that was indeed his name, took the offered piece of paper, and read it quickly; then, with a nod, he left.

            An hour or so later, Eagle snuck silently down the back streets and alleys of the town. Stealth really mattered around here; hordes of cops patrolled the area. Eagle, however, moved with the measured calm of a professional. His feet created not a noise on the street, and his mime-like clothing blended surprisingly well with his surroundings. Moving into an alleyway, he drew out the piece of paper he’d been given. The target house was on this block, number 54.  Slinking out along the sides of the houses to get a look around, he identified which house was number 54. Moving up to the back of that house, he examined the back door. There was a deadbolt, but it wasn’t set. The lock was of a simple sort, no protection at all against the skilled hands of Eagle. Eagle pulled a paper clip out of his pocket, bent it out straight, and used that to pick the lock, which opened with hardly a sound. Taking care to oil the door’s hinges to make sure it opened silently, Eagle crept into the house.

            It didn’t take Eagle long to find his target, since the man snored to wake the dead. Eagle reached out and gently touched the sleeping man on the shoulder. Waking up, the man stared up at Eagle in groggy confusion. “A mime?”

            Eagle’s gunshot splattered the man’s brain across the room. “I ain’t a mime.”