Lying down on his stomach, his face resting on the burning sand, all he could see, beside the dune’s slope and the cloudless sky were the silhouettes of the two guys who had brought him that far into the desert.

He had been uncounscious for most of the ride, and had absolutely no clue about how they had dragged him to this spot, and now, between the shooting pain in his lower back and the buzzing in his ears from the close-range shot, he didn’t really care.

Fuck, Tommy! Sometimes, I really think you don’t deserve to wear my name! I mean, COME ON!?!

That was the old man talking. Up to that point, he hadn’t even suspected that they were blood related, but it seemed now that his death was some kind of rite of passage for the hitman’s offspring.

But Dad… I told you I wasn’t good at this whole business of yours…

Daddy obviously wasn’t impressed with his son’s doubts regarding the family business.

Do you think that’s what I dreamt of doing as a child, Tom? No.. Not at all, but I followed Grandpa, and I learnt, one hit at a time… I’m not mad because you missed your aim, and shot that fucker in the butt instead of the chest. But what have I told you about choosing locations?

Only then, did he notice the foot hanging out of the sand, a couple of feet away.

The desert is wide, never use the same spot twice.

Tommy’s Dad gave a pat on the youngest’s shoulder.

Damn right, son! See? You’re listening… You just have to work a bit harder. It’s not as if we were bad people, we’re just freeing the world off scumbags like Mr Two-Ass-Holes here. Understand? Now, let me finish the job.

Via Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge.