Kickback

Two soft clicks, muffled by black synth-leather gloves. He opens the case gingerly, the gray plastic lid lifting up on well oiled hinges. The various electromechanical pieces of his tool of the trade lay before him. A cynic would probably ask him why he didn't switch to some of the more modern options available in this day and age. Of course, that would only happen if someone actually managed to see him with it.
click...
He attached the brown padded stock to the anachronistic reciever.
click...
The reciever clicked into the precision machined barrel.
He was never seen. As far as anyone was concerned, unless you asked for his services, you don't even know he exists. Sure, they've probably said some of his other names, but when somebody wakes up dead, you usually don't get to ask them if it was really the boogeyman that got them. He checked the time on his HUD. Twelve fifty three. The target always had a late lunch at this cafe, sat in the same chair, drank the same awful recaf, despite definitely having the finances to do otherwise. His client knew that. The target was fifty three solar years old, local politician. Client said he was the one behind the water shortages on this shipyard, skimming the budget to line his pockets, and forcing the workers to source their own hydration due to his crooked activities. Twelve fifty four. He was exactly 2,359 meters away from his target, in a flop-house motel for transient workers. 
Calculating trajectory...
Trajectory calculated: 3 ricochets to target, 97.3% chance of successful impact.
Not good enough. He tweaked the magnetic ricochet settings on the weapon.
Recalculating... Complete: 99.2% chance of successful impact.
Better. Now for his mark to take a seat. He recieved a notification. The bug he placed on the seat sync'ed with bug on the recaf machine, telling him his target was there. Security footage would corroborate this assessment, but his target alway sat in the camera blind-spot. He knew he was doing wrong, and tried to hide from any prying eyes whenever possible. The weight sensor he placed in the chair confirmed his target had his coffee. 
Time for work
click...
The only thing anyone else in the room would have noticed was a quick disturbance in the air at the end of his weapon. The small slug of nanobots, dispersed thin enough to appear as dust in the air, travelled through the ventilation, bouncing around three corners before arriving squarely at his target's coffee mug. The nanobots entered the target's mouth at the same time as his coffee. He would be none the wiser, at most feeling like he accidentally aspirated some hot recaf. His work was done. His target had sealed his fate with that sip. The bug would get washed away with the next cleaning sweep, and he was never here. 
click
Barrel from reciever
click
Reciever from stock
click, click
Case closed. Over the next two hours, the nanobots would make their way via the target's blood stream to his brain. He had a cocktail party in 6 hours, to celebrate the shipyard's record profits with the company executives who constructed their vessels on this station. The nanobots would engage upon detecting sufficient blood alcohol in the brain, causing a massive stroke from blood clotting. It would appear the target was poisoned by someone at this party. Shortly following this, documents would leak to the public networks detailing various nefarious dealings between the different shipyard executives and politicians, all damning evidence against everyone. Of course, none of these executives were the ones who actually poisoned the politician. It was the boogeyman. But they would never figure that out. The nanomachines would dissapate before the autopsy ever took place, leaving behind various heavy metals and toxic materials. Open and shut case. The police would 'solve' the murder, the detective would get a nice bonus, and the people would get their water for a little bit longer. Then he'd get another contract. The more things change, the more they stay the same. All for a little kickback.