Darkened Alleys

By Philip J. Simmons

Nine o’clock sharp. Come alone, at the church.

Don’t forget the forgery.

-Antonio

The bumpy road grated beneath my tires as I pulled off the interstate. The cold of the A/C raised goosebumps along my bare arms and penetrated my leather gloves. My car, a modified Model-S Tesla with hidden compartments and an extended battery, slowed to merge with the North Omaha traffic.

My meeting with Antonio was in a few minutes, but I had to pick up something first. I parked in front of a small brick house, exited my car, and entered the home.

My contact and friend, Alexander, looked up from a table covered with papers. “James, I just finished,” he said, passing me a file folder. As I opened it, he asked, “Good enough to save your wife?”

I inspected the documents. “They’ll do, Alexander.”

“She’ll be all right, you know. I’d be more worried about the kidnappers, knowing who trained Trinity.”

“Usually I’d agree, but this is Antonio. He’s ruthless and smart. That’s why I refused to work with him last month.” I dropped my voice almost to a whisper. “I know he’s murdered people, but there’s never any evidence.”

“If anyone can survive this, it’s you two. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I’ll need it.”

Stepping out into the humid evening air felt like walking through a mess of wet curtains hanging to dry. I practically held my breath as I walked to my car and placed the file on top of a locked briefcase inside one of the vehicle’s secret compartments. Satisfied, I got in and drove off.

The two wings of the church formed a secluded alleyway behind it. It was a familiar location for meeting the people Trinity and I encountered in our work.

 What if Antonio doesn’t accept the forgeries? Will Trinity be here? What if she is hurt? Can I get both of us out alive?

I shook my head. I needed to focus; worrying wouldn’t save Trinity. I needed to stick to my plan.

I parked across from the alley and exited the car. I opened the trunk and removed the briefcase and file from their secret compartment. Walking toward the alley, I felt my shoulders stiffen with tension.

A street lamp blinked on. In the dim light, I saw Antonio standing in the middle of the alley, with five figures lurking in the shadows behind him.

“James, I trust you brought the release papers?” he asked.

“Where’s Trinity?” Negotiating had never been my strong suit.

“I wouldn’t have taken her if you had just agreed to forge the papers last month.”

“I refused for a reason. I don’t work for you.” I tossed the file at him.

Antonio picked up the file, but kept his eyes on mine. “Keep talking back, and you might not see her again.”

I shifted my feet to a defensive position. “Is that a threat?”

“Consider that”—he grinned like a shark—“professional advice.”

I held my stance as Antonio removed a forgery from the file and held it up to the lamplight. Four of the shadowy figures moved to surround me. I tightened my grip around the briefcase’s worn leather handle. The comforting pressure grounded me, helping me prepare for what I assumed would be a difficult fight.

“Are you going to tell me where she is?” I demanded, lowering my tone.

“No, and you know why.” Antonio took out a lighter and lit the forgery. “Give me the flawless copy, for her sake. I know you have one.” My heart started racing. It isn’t good enough. I glanced at the briefcase, a new plan taking form in my mind.

“If you don’t stop threatening my wife, there’s no way you’ll get the finished forgery. I’m the only person who knows where it is.” I hoped my deception would work, but I needed more time. Unfortunately, the four figures around me suggested that wouldn’t happen.

Antonio glanced at his men, pointed at me, and shouted, “What are you waiting for? Get the briefcase!”

The two on my left charged. I rotated, swinging the briefcase at the first attacker’s temple. He crumpled, but the second man slammed his fist into my head, making my vision blur. I stumbled back and threw the briefcase behind me, tripping another henchman.

“Raoul, grab the briefcase, then kill the girl. We have what we want.”

Kill the girl? Trinity was here? She knew this alley—these shadows. If only I could find her, we could get away.

“The briefcase is worthless,” I said, ducking a punch. “There were two forgeries in the file, but only one was finished. You burnt them both.”

“I don’t appreciate lies,” Antonio said, stepping away from the fight. He turned to leave. “Kill them both.”

The man on the left punched toward my chest with brass knuckles, and I lunged to dodge it. Using that momentum, I kicked the guy going for the briefcase in the chest. He stumbled back as I jumped away to avoid another fist.

A kick to my right leg threw me off balance, and another thug knocked me down. Someone aimed a kick at my head, but I grabbed his foot and twisted. The man screamed, and a sickening crack echoed through the alley.

I stood, only to be tackled by a slender figure just as a gunshot rang out.

We landed on the ground. I struggled to breathe under the weight of the person who’d tackled me.

“James,” the figure grunted.

“Trinity!” Suddenly, the pressure on my chest wasn’t oppressive, but comforting.

Grabbing her hand, I whispered, “You’re all right?”

“No, they hit my leg. We have to go!”

“I’ve got you,” I said, lifting her and running away from the gunfire, my eardrums ringing. We reached the car and I helped her into the passenger seat.

Slamming on the gas, we peeled away. As we drove, I grabbed her smooth hand for the first time in a month and knew things would be okay.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Philip J. Simmons is a roller-coaster enthusiast with a love for stories that is rarely satisfied. Whether through film scores or writing he enjoys journeying through different fantasy and sci-fi worlds. When he isn’t reading or listening to John Powell’s How To Train Your Dragon film scores, Philip loves to play piano at his church, workout, and ballroom dance with his best friend.