That’s when he pointed the gun at Harvey’s head. The businessman moved a little to the side, a gesture that did nothing to stop the bile from Harvey’s throat or the shaking in his knees. At the same time, Harvey had to respect his sense of cleanliness as blood spatter was a bitch to get out of Italian silk. The robber was obviously attuned to every movement and quickly shifted focus to the other man. Harvey quickly shuffled his legs, and the robber moved forward to press the gun to Harvey’s temple.
Go figure, Harvey thought. Turns out I have a hero complex.
“Don’t go playing hero, Stick Man, or I’ll blow your brains out all over your friend there.”
Looking out at the bank manager, the robber shouted another threat. This one so full of different variations of the f-word, Harvey wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Had he majored in English literature, Harvey might have been struck by the flexibility of the word. However, given the circumstances, it was just obnoxious, so Harvey started substituting colors for each expletive in an effort to calm himself down.
“Get your fat, (green) (brown) behind that desk before I…show more content… In his thirties, well-groomed, he was a classic amalgam of corporate clichés. His eyes were angry, not terrified, and the telltale twitching of his fingers said more about him than it did the situation. Harvey had the feeling that if ever asked about the robbery, the businessman would more likely bemoan the inconvenience of being a hostage rather than the fear of being shot. Coupled with the impression Harvey had received of him when he screamed, Harvey was coming to the idea that the businessman was a lot of stupid bluster, which meant that he didn’t know anything about anything, but liked to pretend he did anyway. Because Harvey could practically hear the chains and cogs creaking inside the man’s head, Harvey decided he need to do something, even if that meant dying in the
