Oliva Austin

The Wrong Family

Harris looked down at his dying , gasping brother and sighed to himself. ‘Don’t die too quickly Gordon,’ he murmured as he crouched and opened his brother’s tuxedo jacket with the end of the silencer attached to his compact 9mm. He reached several fingers into the right side pocket. The jacket was quickly soaking up blood and the twill undershirt was already mostly saturated. The shirt pleats formed channels for the blood. Red rivers leading straight to the cummerbund, where the blood ran horizontally to the sides and fed the growing pool of crimson under Gordon’s body. The small bullet wound to his chest still pumped out blood and Harris really wanted to avoid getting too much of it on himself. ‘I intentionally missed your heart to prolong your death you know big brother. No need to waste the opportunity to watch you suffer,’ he sneered, his hands finally locating his target. He carefully slid the little black notebook out from the satin lined pocket. He stood, smirked, and placed the book in his trouser pocket before taking a handful of seconds to admire his handiwork. ‘Twenty thousand dollars may not be much to you Doctor, but it’ll certainly buy me some serious breathing space’.