He was about to open the door when he saw it.
He had worked late in the office. It was dark in the open air carpark behind the building. It had been the briefest of moments, but he had registered the transaction in the few seconds that he stood watching. He recognise one of the men, a well-known politician. He was on the TV news regularly. He didn’t know the other, the man handing over a fat envelope. He shouldn’t have unlocked the car. He should have stayed silent, ducked down even; but he didn’t. The ‘blip’ of his car when he pressed the button on the remote made the men swing around. He had been seen. Acting as casually as possible, he climbed in, started the engine and drove out of the carpark.
That was yesterday.
He knows he had witnessed something he really shouldn’t have. There was nothing he could do about that. This night he had stayed even later. He looked down at the carpark from time to time, watching it empty. He was prepared to be the last to leave; to satisfy himself that he wouldn’t be followed. It was all he could do. It was very late when he went up to the third floor window to check. There were only two cars left; his and one other. A large, black, shiny saloon with tinted windows. He recognised it. It was the car the men had stood by the night before. As he watched, a door flew open and a man dressed in dark clothing jumped out. He stood looking up for a moment, then marched quickly towards the building.
The witness realised that he’d been seen. He raced out to the lifts. He was already on the top floor. He opened the door to the roof and ran up the stairs. He came out onto a vast, flat roof that covered the building. There was nowhere to hide! As he stood there in the quiet of the night, he heard the whine of the lift coming up. He had nowhere to run. He walked to the far edge and looked down. He heard the sound of the lift stop. He stood frozen until the man appeared. He had a gun; it was pointed at him. He looked back down again. He would never survive the fall. The man was moving closer, walking slowly, arm straight out, holding the gun. He knew that either the fall or a bullet would kill him.
The man was now in front of him, with the barrel pressed against his chest. He looked apologetic when he said, “I’m sorry about this. I’m sure you realise, I have no choice.” He thrust the gun forward and the other toppled backwards over the edge.
As he bounced in the safety net, the director shouts “Cut!”