Novellus Rome

Part Two

PART TWO

A short, slender figure made her way down the undeniably ominous alleyway under the cover of night. Her sweatshirt hood hid her hair, and her head was down, eyes fixed on the concrete sidewalk. Her feet walked slowly, dropping down on the side and rolling flat so to eliminate stepping noises. She was alert, listening to every breathing sound, ready to flatten against a wall or duck down another side street at second's notice. Atlanta was on the move.
She was aware of the warnings: single, pretty young females shouldn't walk alone at midnight in a city, especially in this part of this city. It wasn't safe, but there was the knife, though Atlanta was afraid to use it. She rested her fingers on the cool hilt to comfort her shaking nerves.
The arms dealer had agreed to meet her where the dirty, dark Southwest Street met with Ash Road. Ash Road was infamous, the part of the city where the dingy apartment buildings rose like villain's towers on both sides of the narrow street and the garbage areas were overflowing with the reeking, rancid smell of death and decay. Atlanta was loath to walk those streets, but she needed a gun, and the arms dealer laid low.
The sky above was no more than a patch of black, lit by neither sun nor stars but utterly cloudless like an eerie, empty hole in the atmosphere. The only light was the oily yellow glow that shone down from the occasional street lamp.
Somewhere on her right, a can bounced across the pavement, followed by a scurrying sound of a raccoon retreating into deeper shadows. Atlanta jumped a little, startled, but calmed herself. "It's nothing," she reassured herself, "nothing. Just a raccoon."
Another noise from behind her came in on her radar, this one more subtle and less accidental—a sound like shoes running, pattering heavily on pavement. Atlanta's fingers gripped the handle of the knife, terrified. She stepped sideways and crouched down in a shadow out of the watery street light, not daring to breathe. For a moment, there was only silence to meet her shivering terror. Then the footsteps picked up again, running unevenly, coming closer and closer. Atlanta closed her eyes tightly, barely able to stifle the scream that threatened to escape from her lips.
"Aw crap," she heard a voice say, and opened her eyes. A man was standing just inside the light, only a few yards away. He was resting all of his weight on his right leg, his left hand gripping the lamppost with white knuckles. His right was pulling away at something wrapped below his left knee. When he got it free, Atlanta could see that it was red with blood. But the second she saw that, she also recognized the face, the light brown hair and steady eyes. Conrad. The fellow from the mall.
Atlanta didn't breathe, watching as he drew a radio from his pocket and spoke into it: "Hey—Jack—I think I'm down for tonight. The dealer messed up my leg with his stupid knife."
For a few seconds the radio made that scratchy, air sound. Then a muffled voice replied over the waves. "You okay, Conrad?"
"Yeh, fine, but I can't really run."
More air sound. Then: "Alright. I'm still tracking his location. We'll get back to this tomorrow. Get medical help—we need you in best shape."
"Uh-huh," Conrad agreed.
"Alright, over and out."
Conrad put the radio back in his pocket, took a moment to glare down the alleyway, and sighed. Then he turned back in the direction from which he had come and limped off down Ash Road towards the bus station, Atlanta watching him with her heart beating faster than a hummingbird's wings. She didn't move, even after he had disappeared around a corner. Somehow she was still afraid that he would return. Or maybe that wasn't why she was afraid. Atlanta shivered at the thought—she was meeting with the arms dealer, probably the same one who Conrad was obviously after.
She heard Conrad's voice in her head: "Are you a CIA agent?" Now, she could hear the nervous sneer in his voice: "No—hell no." Atlanta put her hands on her head, wondering how she could have been so blind to his obvious guilt.
But there was nothing to do but screw up her courage and step back out into the shadowy street. There was nothing to do but walk quieter, breathe lighter, keep both eyes open. Atlanta continued down the dark roadway, wishing that the night was over.
Finally, the Southwest Street sign came into view, sitting cockeyed on top of a metal sign pole. The arrow sign pointing down Ash Road was crooked as well, dipping towards the ground as if to warn those who would dare to brave the street that it wrapped downwards towards hell.
As she flung back her hood, her fingers going once more to the knife, a man melted out of the shadows. Atlanta whipped her head to stare at his scruffy face and scraggly hair falling below the folded bottom of a black beanie. He didn't look like an arms dealer.
"It's a freaking nice evening, huh?" he asked in a high, irritating voice. Instantly his presence reminded Atlanta of that of a whining mosquito. She swallow slowly, releasing the hilt of the knife and lifting both hands open in the air to show that she was harmless. The dealer was eyeing the leather knife pouch, but he nodded. "Keep em up," he ordered. "I got a gun for you?"
"Yes," Atlanta said, trying to hold her voice steady. "Something small."
"I got you a Glock 19," the arms dealer said piercingly, "or a P226."
"I don't know much about guns," Atlanta said.
The arms dealer raised his eyebrows. "What do you want with one, then?"
"I have to avenge my brother," Atlanta said, "take down his killer."
"Hm, Vendetta. Common. Stupid. No deal," said the arms dealer in his high, airy voice. Atlanta's jaw nearly dropped, and it took every bit of restraint in her body to keep her cool. "I'm sorry," she said patiently, "say what now?"
"I don't believe in revenge," said the arms dealer. "Mother Earth will get vengeance when she pleases, we have no right to kill for revenge."
"I can't believe this is happening," Atlanta exclaimed, "just give me the gun, man." He wasn't very intimidating, and Atlanta dropped her hands to her side, fingering the knife again, only now she wrapped her fingers around the handle and lifted it halfway from it's pouch. "Or I'll make you. I came all the way down Ash Road for this."
The arms dealer noticed the movement of her hand, but he grinned, not afraid. "No can do," he said. He crouched down slowly, picking up a gun that had been lying hidden behind his foot. He straightened, pointed it at Atlanta, and loaded it happily. "Skidaddle," he said.
Atlanta looked at him, knowing that whatever she did next would confirm whether or not she was a coward. Turning and running was too easy. But a knife versus a gun—last time she had seen those odds, Indiana Jones hadn't even broken a sweat.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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