When Trouble Finds Trouble (Reserved)

[Helene]

Flick.


The flame rose from the cheap plastic lighter, dancing freely in the dank wind that blew through the alleyway. She lifted the light to the edge of her cigarette, the white paper holding in the rancid tobacco quickly started to disappear as she inhaled the toxins. As swiftly as she lit the roll, she let it fall beside her, clutched between two fingers.


She shook the black locks from her face, deep blue eyes fixated on the rat a few inches to her right, nibbling on a rotten apple core. “Bastard,” she mutters, lifting her cigarette to her lips for another drag, blowing the smoke towards the rodent.


It was a quarter past midnight and her guy was late. But that was to be expected. He never wanted to be the first to arrive to a deal, for fear of being caught. She wore large, black combat boots that cupped quite loosely around each foot, the laces hardly tight enough to keep the shoe from falling off. Kicking one of her feet up against the brick wall she had been leaning against, she inhaled the poison again, holding it for a bit longer than before, exhaling into the chilled air.


Her leather jacket hugged her frail frame tightly; the black jeans did the same. She felt her ass pocket begin to vibrate, causing her to flinch a bit. Adjusting her stance, she pulls the old flip phone out – ‘Guy’ – read on the top screen. She takes another drag before answering, exhaling as she speaks “Here.”


The phone snaps shut and she places it back in the pocket, her figure still angled against the wall. A dark, dirty Cadillac slowly crept into the small corridor, the lights turned off. She didn’t bother to look. She knew it was him. As the car rolled to a stop with the passenger side just centimeters from her toes, the window began to lower, a dark-complexioned man in the seat. Without a word, she exchanged the twenties in her pocket for a small bag of powder, taking a drag of her cigarette in the midst of it. The window rolled up and the car rolled off.


She placed the bag into her jacket, her eyes vacant, staring ahead of her at the graffiti on the wall. With the last hit of her cigarette, she tosses it in front of her, pushing herself off the brick, one boot landing on the burning butt of her roll. She moved to her right, stepping over the body of the dead rodent, a piece of apple hanging from its lips.


“Poor bastard.”


Out of the alley she went, making her way to her favorite bar.

 

[Redrobinwing]

Crap.





The clunk of boots against hard concrete was the only sound that echoed through the street. The occasional sound of shoe splashing against puddle was a reminder of the rain that had recently finished pouring. A young man hurried through a dark, damp street. He looked behind him, and only saw the dimness of the night, lit up by street lamps. He kept running, though, and even quickened his pace. A few moments of running passed with little other noise, before a silenced gun shot sounded from behind. "Crap..." He muttered to himself. They were getting closer, and as he looked behind him, it was apparent that they'd catch up soon if he didn't hide. Another shot sounded, and Aiden stumbled. He gritted his teeth in pain and gripped his left bicep. It stung horribly, and his hand was beginning to feel rather wet. He released his grip on his arm and looked at his hand, seeing the dark crimson liquid that covered it. Another look behind revealed that they were getting very close, and so he had little time to recover from the injury. The sound of boots hitting concrete was heard again as Aiden turned into an alley, and headed for the only place that seemed to be open: a rundown, old bar.