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I stared at the gun clutched between my fingers. It was heavy and gangly but it felt so natural. My finger fit perfectly against the trigger, and despite having the safety on, I could simply imagine what it would be like to fire.
The taxi cab driver looked at me fearfully in the rear view mirror but there was nothing he could do. Nothing substantial.
He pulled the car to a stop, against the curb of Frenchwarf street. I thanked him polietly, paid and stepped out.
The heavens were heavy with rain that was yet to fall. The serene scene moon yawned at me. The night was nippy but the gun felt warm.
I tucked it into my shoulder holster and started walking. The magazine clips balancing out the weight comfortably.
Turning into the alleyway behind La Pieta - the resturant - I knew what I would find. Like the Virgin Mary cradling Jesus, there she would be cradling her lover. The irony was astounding.
As the mouth of the alleway opened, I stepped in, fingertips itching to find a trigger.
But she wasn't there, and someone had already beat me to it.
Bleeding out, I locked gazes with a fresh corpse. Three bullet holes drilled into him, and a knife wound gashed over his head. I was shocked in my bones.
This wasn't how this was supposed to play out.
I was supposed to kill him.
Like saving grace, the moon bore her face upon the scene. No longer hidden by the shadows, I saw the goons who had done this.
All burly and heavy set.
I made a run for it. Darting out of alleyway like a rat fleaing from the big bad cats. My legs pumped as I tried to catch the attention of the police.
I heard the sirens in the distance and I prayed they would come this way.
But as I was darting down Sixth and Northumberland, I felt my coat snag on something. And the dread set in.
