Hit

"... then the lights went out. Ouch!" Tom held his head as the paramedic dealt with the wound.

"The alarm ..."

"... didn't go off. They came out of nowhere."

Brian crunched over glass as he examined the scene. Splintered wood, the air filled with cordite and blood, the body riddled with bullets, barely recognizable as Adolpho Roganasi.

"How did they know we were keeping him here?" Tom shrugged and a wave of nausea hit.

"Your questions will have to wait. This man needs to go to hospital." The paramedic was lifting Tom into the carry chair.

"Ill see you down there." Brian continued his examination of the crime scene. There were shell casings everywhere. Automatic weapons. Several assailants. This was a professional hit. But how did they know where to find him? Then he heard it, 'Nowhere to run'. Who had let Roganasi keep his phone? Wiping the blood from the screen he read 'Unknown Number.'

"Hello." The phone went dead. Brian checked the call log. Adolpho had called his mother half hour before the hit. What sort of man was he if he couldn't trust his own mother? A very dead one.

191 words