“Vasily Kosov is Dead” was published in Wilde Times

In the cramped and dirty hotel room, Vasily tried to get used to the sagging bed underneath him while Hart paced back and forth in front of the door.

“I don’t need a guard,” grumbled Vasily. His voice was slurred, his Russian accent more distinct now as he put less effort into speaking English and more into extending his last moments of life. He was an old man, but tenaciously grasped at fleeting life with straining lungs and heart.

“What happened back there?” asked Hart.

“We got careless. We made a mistake. We were outnumbered,” said Vasily. “Take your pick.”

“And when did you start using the hollow points?” asked Hart.

“When I realised that I couldn’t shoot worth a damn anymore,” Vasily chuckled to himself. “I didn’t think you would notice.”

“I noticed.”