A night at the ballpark

He watched his prey as he ate his peanuts. His son sipped a $4.50 coca-cola and munched on popcorn. Occasionally dazzling bursts of flashbulbs emerged from the sea of bodies that surrounded them. Covertly, his fingers slipped to the inside of his coat where his .45 bereta lay inside a hidden pocket. Briefly his mind contemplated what would happen to his son after it was over. He hoped he would be returned safely and that no one would recognize him later. Then he thought of his own legacy, how he would save the purity of the game, save the world itself from the encroaching evil. His act would be a beacon in the dark. So too was the moon above the ballpark, as it shown down on them, crevices and all. Despite its imperfections it was beautiful, much like what he was undertaking. It wouldn't be clean or easy, but nothing worth doing ever is. Soon the inning would end. Soon number 25 would return to his position in left field. Soon it would be over. Across the stadium a group of fans urged others to join in the wave.