Armani slipped in through the open back door of the large white house on the corner where Maine street and Giovanni avenue met. The washing room he found himself in was dark and as quiet as the deceased. Despite the silence Armani could hear the sound of sirens in his minds ear. The cops were coming, and his brother was somewhere in the building, gathering as many valuables as possible. Armani had to warn him.
Armani crept through the house, his heart in his throat. He was not supposed to be there, he was simply supposed to drive his brother home when the stealing was done. That was safe, this was not.
The sound of voices drew Armani through the open planned living area of the house to the door of a bedroom. There Armani stopped and listened, his hand halfway reaching to the iron casted knob of the door.
“Please don’t,” an unfamiliar male voice pleaded.
“It’s nothing personal,” The voice of Armani’s brother Donte said.
Ice flowed through Armani’s veins. Donte had already been discovered.
Armani’s body moved on its own, so one moment he was standing in the hallway and the next he had already turned the door knob and swung the door open.
Before him stood an unexpected scene. His brother was standing over a kneeling man that looked vaguely familiar, with a gun in his hand. Both men looked to Armani, but Armani only met the eyes of Donte.
Donte’s eyes were wide. He nearly lowered the gun purely at the sight of Armani before steeling himself and steadying his aim.
“What are you doing here?” Donte asked, a scowl on his face.
Armani’s mouth opened once or twice without sound before his voice came back to him. “Cops. Cops are coming.”
Donte swore words bad enough to make Armani cringe. The man in front of him visibly sagged with relief.
“It was you wasn’t it?” Donte said glaring at the man in front of him. “Too bad for you, they won’t make it in time to save you.”
Armani’s breathing hitched. “You’re not really going to shoot him, are you?”
It sounded pathetic, like a question coming from a child in front of adults.
“Don’t you recognize who this man is Armani?” Donte asked, glancing at Armani through the corner of his eye.
Armani looked the man who kneeled on the floor over. He was in his black and white striped pajamas, and the wisp of grey hear on his head stood at ends. Those were the only details Armani could see in the bad lighting of the room. Armani shook his head.
“It’s the bastard from the news. He’s the one that raped Old man Fisher’s daughter. Bet she wasn’t the only women he’s abused either.”
“Wasn’t he arrested?” Armani asked.
“The rich always find a way to get free,” Donte sneered. His finger twitched over the trigger, not pressing it just yet.
“So, you’ll just kill him?” Armani asked. Silence fell over them. Donte pulled in a deep breath before glancing to Armani again and responding, his tone level.
“I will, but not if you don’t agree. If you say it’s wrong, then I leave him and the two of us run. If you agree, I shoot.”
Armani could only stare, flabbergasted at his older brother looking towards him for direction. The man on the floor looked to Armani now – his eyes pleading his case.
What the news had said came back to Armani, bit by bit. The man was bad. He had hurt more than one girl – yet no one had managed to stop him yet. He was here in a grand house instead of a prison cell.
Armani took a moment to look between the man and his brother. If the man came up on the news again, would Armani be able to live with himself?
Armani turned to his brother and shrugged.
“Kill him, and let’s go. The cops are coming,” Armani managed. He turned around. While his judgement was given, he was unable to watch and instead he was already halfway back to the back door when the shot rang out. His hands shook, and his body had gone colder than it had ever been before.
When Donte caught up, he glanced over Armani once before sticking out his hand – oddly clean of blood for a murder – and demanded the keys.
“I’m driving,” Donte ordered. “Keep up and I’ll get you a milkshake on our way home.”
Word count: 750