Yellow

One

The rain was dripping down my face as I was looking around sensing trouble.

I walked through the alley, avoiding the trash laying on the ground alongside the few homeless.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, I grabbed the arm, flipped it over my head and slammed the person on the ground. His face was covered in scars, glistening by the rain en the light from outside.

"Who are you?", I had asked him.

He tried to stand up, but I was still holding onto his arm and every time he even twitched, I turned that arm around just a bit more.

"I asked you a question," I said while twisting the arm a bit further.

He groaned and looked around the alley. Then his scarred face turned towards me and disgust was filled all over.

He kept looking me straight in the eye until he lifted his leg so fast towards my stomach that I almost had no time to react. He hit me which slammed me into a wall covered in old graffiti. He tried to slam me with his massive hands, but I duck and fired a shot from beneath.

I put my arms around him and threw him against the wall. Leaving him moaning, but scrambling up again. I kicked him hard in the chest, grabbed his collar and held him up. The knife in my right pocket had found itself in my right hand, slightly stabbing the side of the man's neck.

"Make a move and it'll be your last," I whispered. "Now tell me, mysterious man. Where the hell do you come from?"

The man swallowed and took a breath.

"From around town, I work here."

I grinned and put a bit more pressure on the knife.

"Where exactly?"

The man's face turned dirty again as he finally gave away some valid information.

"I'm from the southern parts of London. I'm the muscles you see."

"I see," I growled, "who hired you?"

"I'm not that kind of a muscle guy, I work for an organisation. I've never met the boss."

I put the knife in just a bit deeper.

"I don't believe that shit," I whispered calmly, "you better give me a name or my ugly face will be the last thing you see on earth."

The man's eyes turned not angry, but afraid. His nostrils widened and his heart started beating faster.

"Either way I'm a dead man," the man said, "and you know it."

I grinned. "I'd give you some head start," I pronounced with bitter sweetness in my voice.

"I am Daniel Gobbens. And it is called the Salvator."

I frowned and thought of a way the names sounded familiar to me, but they didn't.

"Why the hell Salvator?" The man's face gave away a hint of madness in it.

"You'll find out yourself."

I felt myself fill with rage as a roared and slit the man's throat with the knife I was holding in my hand. The man fell down, leaving a strain of blood, he was gagging in his blood as his body slowly went numb.

I took out my handkerchief and smeared the bits of blood on the knife and my face away. I put the knife back in my right pocket, the handkerchief back in my back pocket and lifted up the body, dumping it in the nearest garbage container.

I scanned my body on remains of blood and potential injuries and walked the alley out. The bright lights beaming on my face and the cars rushing down the streets. I grinned and turned left, towards my favourite bar.