A lane in the dark / Pulp Fiction

The pistol had two bullets. The man had the pistol.
He saw a movement in the shadows, down the lane. Rechecking the reserve, he set his eyes on the prey.

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A quiet lantern-lit pavement. Pools of muddy water swirled around the drains.
The breath smelled of calmness, of hatred and of urgency.
Kitchen knife was all that he had, all that he needed.
Muffled footsteps reached his ears.
The shadows enveloped him.
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“Sorry” He smiled

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The car screeched through the wet road. The driver stepped on the gas. Trees, posts and houses flew past him. Signboards tripped into lawns. The road had become narrow. The door thudded shut. He dived into the lane, briefly pausing to feel his pocket.
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The drizzle stopped. She walked briskly past the signboards that led her to the G-lane. The roads had become wet. The night-sky was unusually bright. Moonlight descended into the lane.

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The knife tipped off into the lawns as the brakes screeched again.

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The shot was fired at a closer range. Clouds roared again. The water swept the blood into the drains. A brief moment of lightning shone her bloody freckles. More rain

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The knife was stuck in his stomach. The screeching brakes alarmed him. The cries of pain were indistinguishable with the growing drizzles. The knife was disengaged from the torso. The pistol was removed from his hands. He looked at the .45 ACP. Two bullets.

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The shot was fired. The victim had his hands on the pocket. She was smiling at him in ecstasy. He gazed at her absent-mindedly.

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