"Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech."
The car's brakes howled to a stop at the center of the intersection. Ganash Street and Wirxley Avenue, 12:32 a.m, right on time. The noise of the car seemed to overpower the red brick apartment building to the right and the row of shops to the left quaked in fear, and the rumble of the '72 Charger. The car, the night: Black. Perfect, Jason thought. A black alley cat ran in front of the car and Jason floored the gas without hitting the clutch. The alley cat fled, just like the buildings seemed to. Power, Jason thought as the door of the cadillac flew open. A black booted Sears Tower of a man stepped out. His gorilla sized black leather jacket puffed with primate muscle. Black is good, black is quiet, Jason thought when he bought the jacket. His 9MM Browning was the loud one. His Charger wasn't too quiet, either.
But now everything was still. Jason looked at shops, the lights were off under the red and blue awnings. The curved half moons that decorated the bottoms fluttered in the wind, and so did the smell of dog shit.
Dog shit had brought him here, to this brothel of humanity, Hackenslash, the home of Liberty Cities most notorious gangsters. Jason looked down at the man hole two steps in front of him. He could hear the rumble of sewage flow through the veins of the city, soon some of that sewage would be in the belly of the homeless person behind the second shop on the street. He could hear him digging through the yesterday's in the dumpster, and he could hear the rat's shrieks to the invasion of privacy.
He walked towards the shops: the florist, the barber, the massage parlor. More like, the cocaine dealer, the small arms runner, and the whore house, and in that order: You couldn't make a penny in this neighborhood without death or addiction. Hell, you couldn't make anything in this world without them, he thought.
He walked past the massage parlor and got to the fourth shop, a chinese restaurant. In between the shops, there was a small cove that sheltered another homeless man. He walked towards him and was about to kick him square between the dirt on his teeth, when he realized it was a woman with a baby. He stood for a second before turning back towards the restaurant. The stillness was interrupted by lights that still glowed through the drawn curtains. A christmas bell dangled from it's wooden door, offsetting the metal guard rails against the window. Alarms, perfect, Jason thought, as he pulled a knife from his pocket and slipped it through the red ribbon loop. He slipped the knife out with a whisp and the bell fell to the ground. From inside, he could hear a man stand up and walk towards the door.
Jason turned back towards the cove. He ran his finger nails along the brick wall, feeling the gritty sand grind into his subunquis, before he rounded the corner and stood above the woman. The woman woke up startled and almost screamed before Jason pulled out his gun and put a finger to his lips. He looked back towards the street and motioned again to the lady with his finger towards his lips. The woman looked back toward her baby and started to cry.
The door of the chinese restaurant opened to the street and out poked the head of a Jon Gotti wannabe: a fat headed, white-tee'd, mustache of a man. There was no doubt he could hear the woman crying. He had already started walking towards the noise when Jason popped one in his head.
