Scene: An Abandoned Alleyway Leading to a Doorway - 1. Scene: An Abandoned Alleyway Leading to a Doorway

I watched the dame scurry down the infested colon that calls itself Dante Bello’s inviting doorstep. Dear God, what was that broad thinking, dolled up like that? Sure, going to a known mob boss’ costume party decked out to the nines and then sneaking off is a great way to snoop anonymously. But going to said party dressed up as Minnie Mouse? Way too bright. Way too recognizable, even from a distance. Reconnaissance was certainly not this dame’s favorite pastime.

I struck a cheap match against the one dry spot on the concrete wall. Perhaps some unfortunate painting had been hung here as penance for its crimes against artistic decency, covering the patch of wall against a recent rainstorm. Maybe it was simply too vibrant and beautiful to belong in such a place like this. Much like the dame, I wagered.

The weak flame touched the tip of my Marlboro, and from where I was standing, that spot of orange-red was the only indicator that I existed. I took deep breaths in to get the flame to stay on my cig, and contemplated letting the dying light burn the tips of my fingers, just to get some feeling back in them. Damn these long, cold October nights. Well, at the very least, my insides would be warm in just a few short moments. Maybe my thoughts would become warm, too.

The dame still wasn’t getting the hint. The sound of the match being struck, the firefly glow of the lit cigarette, the stench of nicotine and misery. All there, all signs that she was being watched, and still she looked and acted all the part of the invisible woman. Give Dante Bello’s men a moment with her, and they’d give her the bandages to go with the look.

“Where you going?” I asked.

The dame, or perhaps I should say “doe,” yelped as if she’d been caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. But in this instance, the cookie jar had apparently been housing a gun, and it was far too late for her daddy to stop her from grabbing it. Shit, so the dame really had been intending to paint the walls red. Not much good it would do her, given Dante Bello’s men’s caliber and the fact that the small pistol she held in her hand was shivering like an abandoned basset hound in the rain. She’d fire into a wall before being pelted with cold, copper kisses.

I stepped out of the shadows, as if that would prove to her that I meant no harm. I raised my hands, just to be sure.

“W-Who are you?” she asked when she should have demanded. Already, she was sounding unsure, both of my intentions, and of herself.

“I’m just a man trying to answer some questions, doll,” I replied, mouth full of half-lies, tobacco, and fear. I wasn’t so far gone that a gun pointed at me with intent wasn’t going to fill me with a little dread. Probably why I lasted so long. “Like where you’re going with such a toy.”

She held her stance, which meant the gun was still pointed at my heart, not that I would believe she knew where it was.

“You think this little pop gun shoots out peanuts?” she said.

“It might as well, where you’re going.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I mean a little lamb is about to waltz into a wolf’s den, and she has no idea what that means for her. That she thinks she’s going to get a private audience with the alpha of the pack, when in fact she’s just going to wind up as hors d’oeuvres for a party of twelve.”

She finally pointed the gun away from me. Another reason why she was looking to get made. Word of advice, baby girl? Never give your enemy an inch.

“You look a little too grungy to be my knight in shining armor.”

I took a big drag of my Marlboro, letting that sweet, toxic nectar fill my lungs, blew out a little more of my soul, and pointed my cig at her.

“And you look a little too serious to be Minnie Mouse.”

She cocked her head.

“What do you know of Dante Bello.”

Finally, that determination was showing up. But what could I tell her that she didn’t already know? That the man was outwardly flawless? An Italian Adonis, always fit in a deluxe, pristine white suit? Spoke in a gravel authority that only came with years of harsh experience, tainted with sacrifice (whether his or someone else’s)? Reeked of imported cologne that cost more per pint than what most nations make in a year? I played one of his callgirls once who said even his piss tasted like sweet gold.

Or that the man had a rap sheet longer than the line to get into the Playboy Mansion. Extortion, money laundering, bribery, sex trafficking, drug pedaling, murder. It would make for the most morbid game of bingo ever. One where only he wins. The man only gets away with it all because of his extensive use of weaker men…like the ones this dame was about to walk in on.

But yeah, I could already tell just by looking at her. This dame didn’t know any of that about Dante Bello. It’d all be news to her. If knowing all that didn’t make her turn tail and run, then she was worth sticking my neck out for. And besides, I didn’t need her getting a lucky shot out and ending the gutless prick’s life.

Not when I still needed him alive. At least until dawn.