Shadow Ballet- Betrayal

2

This time there were no trees to hide the moonlight. Jerry was on a quiet one-way alley, at the entrance of an apartment building. He had got out of the building in a fuss. He checked his wallet and the bulge in his waistband, where he held his weapon, and then he started walking swiftly toward the corner at the end of the street. A street name sign on the corner. Albany Ave.
Jerry wished he never turned the corner, but it was too late to go back. He continued without glancing at two police officers walking across the street. Jerry crouched, pretending to tie his shoe. His hair covering almost half of his face helped, and he knew that.
Officers walked away, and Jerry kept going. However, it did not last for long, because Jerry spotted another man across the street. A strange man with a brown overcoat and bowler hat. He leaned against the wall, playing with something in his hands and waiting for Jerry to get closer.
Fuck. While getting closer, Jerry noticed the light of a lamppost glinted off the object in his hand. The object that the man played was nothing but a gun. Jerry could recognize one from miles away.
Jerry turned and entered the first side street, which was too quiet and narrow. He stopped under a lamppost near the corner. It was meaningless. Another man sitting on the fire-escape stairs in a black leather jacket smirked at Jerry, smoking his cigarette.
Jerry turned his head toward the other side of the street. It was the only way he could get away. A third man was there, approaching him. This one was entirely different from the others. He looked like a drunkard with his long gray hair, neglected long beard and dirty clothes. It was hard to believe he is with the other two.
The wind sighed through Jerry's hair. He almost felt it in slow motion, thoughts scratching his head. Running away was an option, but it did not sound like him. Cowardness was not a fundamental part of his nature. Besides, he had already got a plan. He would throw the round lid of the bin next to him toward the man sitting on the fire escape stairs, distracting him. That would give him extra time to draw his gun. He would jump on his feet, and Jerry could shoot him down before his cigarette falls. Then probably he would take care of the drunkard too, and the other... and...
I am screwed.
The man with the cigarette sucked hard, and the tip glowed red. He tossed it, and then all of them started to come toward Jerry. As soon as the smoke fell, Jerry had already got that the plan would not work. All three of them drew their guns. Their faces became even more pronounced under the light.
Jerry looked at their figures one by one. They were not familiar. He planned to stall for time, talking while he was preparing to draw his gun on the sly. “Tell him, no matter who he is. I will come even from hell, and I will find him!”
As Jerry was about to draw his gun, gunfire with silencer sounded, and one of the guys shot Jerry in the stomach. Another bullet hit Jerry's belly, too, and he collapsed, groaning with pain.
One of the men came closer and looked at Jerry, who lied there flat on his face, writhing in pain. A victorious expression fixed firmly upon his face, enjoying the moment. He chuckled. “You are pretty confident for a dead man! You are a wanted man, boy. You wouldn't survive the night.” he said and threw a hard kick in his ribs. Jerry moaned, holding his stomach in pain. The grunts and panting bespoke his pain and his unbearable suffering. His hair fell in scruffy strands across his face as the crimson stain beneath him grew on the ground.
All of them started to kick him. Jerry's moans were echoing through the dark streets as his pouring blood was painting the asphalt. Jerry's vision began getting darker. Heavy... His eyelashes got heavier and heavier... His body jerked with every blow that he received, and it felt even more deeply how his breath was leaving him. The last thing Jerry saw before his eyes closed was the brown car ahead of the street.
A few echoing voices felt like they were whispered right in Jerry's ear.
“Dick It is your turn tonight. He is all yours!”
***
 
The brown car that Jerry saw before he closed his eyes was pulled over on a well-lit main street. There was a grocery store nearby. A mature brown-haired man in a dark green overcoat got out from the car. He seemed very self-confident and comfortable with the event that he had witnessed only a few minutes ago. He spat on the ground, and then he went into the telephone booth next to the grocery store. After he put the handset on his ear, compressing it with his shoulder, he dialed the number.
In the meantime, he stared at the police station across from the street. That was the common station of the narcotic and homicide departments. After what he had done a little while ago, this place might not be the right place to make a phone call. When he realized that the other person on the end of the line picked up the phone he talked. “It's done, sir. No one will be the wiser!”
The person on the end of the line hung up the phone on him without saying anything. The guy in overcoat came out of the telephone booth and lit a cigarette. His hand in his pocket, he crossed the street.
A young police officer who was on guard in front of the police station holding a rifle watched him insistently. He did not take his eyes off him. As the man approached, the young officer gripped the rifle in his hand tighter with every step of his. They caught each other's eyes. The man in green overcoat finally reached the station's entrance, and young policeman lowered his rifle. “Welcome, Detective Dawson!”
“Good evening! Is my partner here?”
“Detective Wilson is out!”
“Okay, have a nice night, Harry.” He smiled and walked in.