Grey

Part 1

        The cool night envelops the quiet alley in darkness. On either side of the backstreet, there are no people in sight, only a car or two driving by from early-morning 3AM shifts. The only visible street lamp flickers on and off, abandoned wiring left to go faulty. The condition of the area is evident in the trash that litters every street. The small town of Las Cruces, New Mexico, hardly gets any attention from big-city maintenance crews. The people are left to their own devices on keeping up their rural homes.

        With one leather-gloved hand on the Glock in my holster, and the other, holding a small bag of cocaine, I calmly watch the hunched, trembling man in front of me. His dark hair is a tangled mess with his skin pale and shiny from perspiration. His bloodshot eyes are wide and darting from fear. His hands lock and interlock in a nervous tick.

        "Listen, I d-don't have the m-money right now, but I c-can get it to you n-next week—" I sigh, cutting off his stuttering words. A familiar expression of regret slips onto his face as I throw the bag of cocaine into the duffel at my side and pull my gun from its holster.

        "Alan, this is the third time you've missed your deadline. Alton has been patient," Alan's head starts to shake, "Unfortunately, his patience has worn too thin." I grab a dull silver silencer from a side pocket in my bag and screw it onto the barrel on my pistol. Alan raises his clammy hands in a surrendering gesture.

        "Don't d-do this." I shrug indifferently as I grip my weapon in both hands, pointing it at his feet.

        "Honestly, I would rather not kill you but orders are orders." His voice rises in hysterics as he pleads for his life and another chance. For a moment, I ponder the option: he has always been able to come up with the money, despite its lateness. Is it necessary to snuff out his pitiful life? A subtle movement in the upper right corner of my vision pulls me from my thoughts. Flickering my eyes up, I manage to meet the glaring gaze of Gonzo, one of Alton's grunts assigned to me, kneeling low on the roof of the building to my right. It's easy to forget his constant vigilance. Switching my gaze back to Alan, I push down every faint notion of doubt, preparing for the inevitable.

        I drawl, "Too little, too late, Alan," aiming the gun at his head. His feet swivel in an effort to run but I quickly pull the trigger and watch as his body falls to the ground with a thud. Rolling my shoulders back to relieve their tension, I unscrew the silencer and stuff it, my Glock and its holster into my duffel. Grabbing it by the straps, I begin walking toward my ride, an old Chevy Impala provided to me when I joined Alton's cartel; it was a reluctantly-received gift but he had insisted. No doubt, it had been only to have a favor over my head. I hear a mumbled conversation through a walkie, calling "there's a dead party downtown." Loud footsteps come down the fire escape from the roof and I roll my eyes as I reach my car, throwing my bag in the trunk.

        "What, Gonzo?" I snap, slamming it closed and heading to the driver's side. He scoffs as he opens the passenger's side door.

        "Alton is going to be pissed, Aria, that's what."

        "I did what was required!" I exclaim as I jump into the driver's seat, sliding the keys into the ignition and turning the car on. I turn a nob on the dashboard and allow heat to flood the vehicle. Shaking his head, Gonzo slides into the seat beside me, quickly changing the direction of his air vents.

        "So what if I hesitated?" I mutter, gripping the stick shift and putting the car into drive, "I have a conscience, Gonzo, but that doesn't mean I won't accomplish the job." He stays quiet as I back out into the empty street and begin driving towards I-25 North.

        "I'm not an idiot," I continue, taking advantage of his silence, "I won't disappoint him." My gaze moves to the side and rearview mirrors every few seconds, watching for any suspicious vehicles.

"Hesitating leads to letting our clients go," Gonzo finally responds, "If that happens, our whole operation will crumble. Alton won't risk it. If you don't get your shit together, he won't hesitate to hurt you or your brother." I grip the steering wheel tightly, knuckles taut from the pressure. I keep my glare on the road ahead, ignoring the man beside me. Dios Mío, four hours until Santa Fe with this bastard.

                                                                                               * * *

        As soon as I park the car, yanking the key out of the ignition, I make haste to reach my apartment. We all live in a complex owned by Alton; he can easily keep control and vigilance this way. Just as I'm reaching the stairs that will take me to the second floor, Gonzo's voice cuts through the night's silence.

        "You need to go check in with Alton." I falter in my step but continue to walk and make my way up the stairs. I am exhausted and pissed and need to be home with my little brother.

        "Alton can wait until morning," I begin, exasperation evident in my voice, but he cuts me off.

        "Alexis is with Alton right now." I freeze mid-step, turn right around and pass Gonzo without a glance. Why the hell is Alexis with Alton? He'd promised. I walk briskly to the apartments in section A, climbing the steps to Alton's floor. Fearful thoughts racing through my mind, I knock on the first suite to my left, where Alton conducts business.

        A gruff voice responds with, "Enter," and opens the door. I ignore the three armed guards posted in the entrance hall, and make my way through the apartment. I pass by incredulously expensive, stolen paintings from Europe, depicting angels and demons in battle, naked nymphs in forests, and the voluptuous Venus being bathed. A crystallized chandelier is the hanging centerpiece to Alton's lounge area, leather sofas in a semicircle facing an ornamented fireplace. A beautifully hand carved digeridoo hangs at the back wall, along with painted masks and a sword with a handle intricately decorated in gold and silver. I stand at his office door, and rap at it with my knuckles.

        "Come in," a smug voice calls. Stepping inside, my eyes immediately settle on my brother's tense form. He seems to be unharmed from what I can see. My gaze then glides over to Alton's irritating face. Leaning back in his leather chair, arms crossed over his chest, he beckons me forward with a nod. Alexis glances at me as I approach the desk while Alton lets out a chuckle.

        "How did it go with Alan?" My jaw ticks in annoyance at his obvious game.

        "He's done. Didn't have the money in time," I reply, keeping my stare locked with his. He brushes his fingers to his shoulder, scuffing off invisible dirt.

        "And his body?"

        "Disposed of." Alton stands from his chair and comes to lean on his desk in front of me. His long dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail, unlike his usual, unrestrained style. His Gucci leather jacket glistens in the lamp light, a note to his obvious riches.

        "Why is my brother here?" Alton raises an eyebrow at my curt tone but smirks nonetheless.

        "It's time for him to start pulling his weight around here." Alexis refuses to meet my questioning gaze and continues to stare down at the floor. Protective anger floods my senses as I step forward to meet Alton's arrogant expression.

        "Absolutely not."