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The rain fell heavily against her windscreen as she drove up onto her driveway. It was dark. Like a thick and heavy mantle was cast over the skyline. The porch lights fell onto the pavement, illuminating the particular orbit where it would forever be stationed. Streets were vacant, and the night was at its darkest.
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She got out of the car and made a mad dash for the front door. Almost immediately upon opening the door was a wave of heat emanating from within. The warmth was embracing and her face was first to feel the sensations of this change in temperature. Heaven. Once inside, she couldn't be bother with turning on the light switch. Exhaustion was the order of the evening. She removed her drenched coat and hung it onto the coat hanger and tossed her gun and badge on the living room table. Her stomach gave out a depressingly low growl to remind her of her pending priorities. She walked towards the kitchen refrigerator and suddenly stumbled over something heavy.
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Her forehead barely missed making contact with the corner of the kitchen table as she managed grab a hold of the fridge handle to steady herself, opening it slightly. She turned to identify what godforsaken piece of furniture gave her a preview of a montage of her life flashing before her eyes. Her eyes adjusted and she took closer look. It was a body. Senses were heightened. Suddenly the table lamp went on, and there pointed at her was a barrel of a gun.
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Holding the gun from the shadows was what looked like the figure of a man. His eyes met hers. They were dark, cold and calculating. His face was covered with bruises and a steady stream of blood was flowing from his left temple down across his face. Like an injured wolf caught in the headlights, his gaze was steady and eyes had a small glint about them. A million scenarios played through her mind on how this would play out within seconds. Could she make a dash for her piece? It was right across the room. Too far. Get some cover? Then what? Where would she go? Where could she go? Her foot moved. She suddenly heard the hammer being pulled back and froze.
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"Who are you?" she asked.
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He didn't respond. He leaned back onto the chair expressionless and remained silent for what seemed to be an eternity.
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"Are you going to kill me?" she clenched her hands.
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"If I wanted you dead, I'd have done it when you walked to the car this morning, and be gone by the time your body hit the sidewalk."
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A chill went down her spine. Her lips were dry and she swallowed hard.
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"Why are you here?" She felt her voice shake.
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"To talk." He began. He kicked a chair towards her. "Sit."
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The telephone rang. It seemed to have been ringing for quite some time now, but it felt so distant. The man was long gone. She couldn't believe what he told her. Neighbourhood dogs howled through the night, the rain seemed to have settled and the refrigerator gave out a low long buzz.
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________
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[MARCUS]
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Riverside. Truly a den of criminals. Often dubbed as 'The River', it was the one part of the city that only the damned few dared venture. Oddly, it had a certain charm to it. Tall old buildings lined up along the narrow road on each side of the street all over the region. Like a labyrinth. The road takes you places. Some places worth avoiding. In the end, the rain washes everything away. Like a river.
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The ceiling fan cast long shadows onto the wall as the blades slowly turned, blowing a slow current of cool air. It was just past midnight. The rain had stopped completely. He could hear music coming from the night club below his balcony just across the street on the first floor. The "Mad Crow" they called it. A piano. A saxophone. He couldn't help but let out a grin. The name must have been a joke. There were pleasant arrangements of musical notes that blended nicely into the night. A strange crow indeed.
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The telephone gave out a ring and went silent. A job. One that needed a more 'independent' intervention. He wore his firearm in a shoulder holster, hidden beneath his black leather jacket and a short blade latched onto the hip of his dark grey jeans. He went down the flight of stairs from his apartment on the third floor and started for his destination. This life was a long lane that had no turning.
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As he walked past an alley just a stone throw away from his apartment building he heard a man yelling. He slowed his pace. A woman was on the ground. The man kicked her and cursed.
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"You're useless!" He yelled as he grabbed her hair and pushed her head against the ground. "All you need to do is earn money." He slapped her. "Find me some more customers." She lay on the ground motionless as he walked away.
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A working girl. They were a common feature in the river, everyone tries to draw from it, but many drown in it. This was none of his business. There are no heroes in the river. Chivalry was uncommon and out of place. Besides, he had a job to do.
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It took him about an hour to reach his destination. It was around the shadier parts of town, if there was such a thing in this place, by an old abandoned stage theatre. The building was worn down and sealed with wooden planks nailed across the doors and windows, and the yellow tape that once glowed to caution the public against the danger of entering the building now lost its colour and flattered against the wind devoid of purpose.
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Sure enough his contact was there leaning on his vehicle. He spent an extra five minutes surveying their surrounding to make sure that they were alone before putting on his mask that covered his face till his ears, and had a large smiley face. Thus, giving him the alias-
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"Smiley!" The man called out to him as soon as he caught sight of him approaching and leaned off of the car.
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"Jones." He responded. "What do you need?"
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Jones was a man in his late forties and of average height. Though putting on some weight, you could tell that he was as fit as an ox.
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"There's a new bunch of hooligans that've been roaming these streets." He pulled out a cigarette from his jacket. "The person of interest is a guy called Tondo." He lit his cigarette, puffed out some smoke and once more reached into his jacket to pull out an envelope. God knows what else he could fit in there.
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"His people have been reeking mayhem up and down the hallways of this place." He began flipping through the pages. "Now my job is simple, to keep whatever sanity is left of this forsaken town intact. And the last thing I need is another blood bath between rival gangs and crime families. It's bad for business." He put the file back in the envelope and handed it to him.
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"How many are we talking about?"
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"Just one. Well, among a few other associates of course. My intel says that he's got about 10 guys always on him." He drew his cigarette and blew. "I only need you to bring in the main guy, his associates are collateral. Here's half of your payment." He tossed a brown paper bag over to him. "The rest comes after the job."
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He got the bag and began walking away.
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"One more thing Smiley." He called out to him. "I suggest you hurry up in getting this job done. Mr. Chen is itching to get a piece of this guy. One of Tondo's pals popped Chen's collector at a local bar. Clueless idiot. Now Chen's furious and he's out for blood. I'd prefer the guy responsible were dead, but if you can bring him in alive, there would be one happy Chen in this town."
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Trolley Chen. He was one of three people that had Riverside beneath their fingernails, and anyone who came to the river knew not to piss off any of them. Clearly someone didn't get the memo.
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"Chen has given us two days to find this bastard before he starts putting out bounties for anyone remotely associated to the death." Jones continued. "So, I need you to handle this before it becomes the assassin Olympics out there."
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