Elliot needed his fix and he was broke. But, he had a gun…and an easy mark…

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Elliot followed the mark in the Armani business suit carrying the expensive briefcase, strolling casually down the busy street.  He needed his fix: this was his ticket.

He stayed back so he wouldn’t be noticed until too late.

When the guy turned into a side alley, Elliot thought, smugly, He’s making it almost too easy.

The alley was a dead-end.  If he hurried, he’d catch him before he got inside the one real door there.  Even if he did, it led to a stairwell that only went up, and he’d catch him before he got to one of the upper floors.

The other door there didn’t lead anywhere.  He’d once opened it out of curiosity, and there was only an old brick wall behind it.  Whatever had been there, somebody had decided it wasn’t needed and had built the wall, leaving the door in place.

He turned into the alley to see the man open one of the doors and disappear.

Musta got my doors mixed, he thought.

He could’ve sworn the one the man went into was the one with the brick wall.  He went over and opened it quietly, expecting to see a flight of stairs and instead peered into what seemed to be a large, dimly lit storage room.  The mark was nowhere in sight.

Baffled, he stepped across the alley and opened the other door.  A flight of stairs.  He shrugged.  Somebody must’ve removed the wall.

He went back, stealing into the room, silently closing the door behind him.  It was dim but not dark. The man had to be there.  Maybe he’d gone through to another room.

He looked around.  No other doors.  He scratched his head.  What the Hell? Where was the guy?  He heard a sound from the back.

Ha! he thought. Gotcha!

Staying in the shadows, he crept stealthily to the back pulling out his snub nosed .32…and his head exploded, sending him into darkness.

Gradually, he came to, his head full of pain.

Muthafucker musta seen me, he thought groggily as his mind cleared.

He sat up, his hand hitting his gun lying beside him.

Fool didn’t even take my piece.

But he knew he had to leave before the guy came back with cops.  He stood, and his heart began to pound.

The storage room was gone. There was a tall, wrought iron gate before him, and staring malevolently out at him, were an assortment of hellish, slobbering, obviously hungry, creatures.

He swallowed hard and backed slowly away, glad the gate had a prominent padlock on it.  He heard a click.  The gate slowly began to open, the creatures poured out.

Elliot turned and ran.

As the sound of his shrieks and gunfire died away, the clock in the tower inside the gate began to strike.  Then, except for sounds of chewing and crunching, all was silent.

The man in the Armani suit smiled as he watched from a window in the tower.  Again, his pets had been well fed.

 

End

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