Excerpt: Downa Fifteen

I will be standing on the corner of East and Broadway, if you’re man enough to come. She had hissed into the phone an hour before to the man that had been supplier to her before. He had been hesitant, as anyone in his line of business should be, afraid that she was a cop. Too bad he didn’t realize she was, but lucky for him, she was looking for something different – not at all interested in his illegal activities. There’s a light across the street from the corner, I will meet you where the shadows are greatest. Bring no back up. It had taken the man, a few years her senior, only a moment to recognize her sultry voice on the phone – the hiss in her commands being the ultimate reminder. The Tempest had been one of the many names she had held during her dark days, the Scarlet Tempest, the Watchful Tempest – given for the note with an eye left at every crime scene. This man, The Juggler, had been her supplier for as long as she could remember. When she had stopped, when she had regained control of herself for a time being, she had stopped being in contact with him. Of course, his immediate thought had been that her career had gotten the best of her and she had either died, killed herself or the cops had gotten her – none of which occurred.

Pausing at the end of the alley way she tightened the belt on her black leather jacket and pushed up the collar, on her hands were skin tight leather gloves that formed every curve of her slender hand. She wore black skinny jeans and black heels that clicked eerily along the concrete, the menacing sound bouncing off of the damp brick walls like an auditorium hall. Stepping out onto the sidewalk she looked down at the corner of East and Broadway, pleased to see the figure of a man, dressed in his own shady attire, waiting in the shadows. There was enough ill light infront of the alley he stood by to see the dull contours of his spanish face. “Do you have the goods?” She hissed in his ear, coming up behind him without him even knowing.

The man, although he did a good job of hiding it, nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, slowly and cautiously to look at the Watchful Tempest, quickly dousing the cigarette he had just lit after taking one last drag. “Tempest,” he purred the familiar name in a gruff voice, his tone changing so that she would not ever be able to recognize who he was on the street, “it has been far too long.”

“Four years, Juggler, is not nearly a life time.”

The man smirked, white teeth tarnished in yellow grinned at her despite the shadow and his beady eyes sparkled. “Aye, for our life styles it is. I was sure that the fed’s had gotten you.”

Musical laughter that hit an eerie high note escaped the female’s lips and she shook her head, keeping her face in the darkest of the shadows. “The cops get me? My, Juggler, you really have lost your touch.” Reaching into her pocket she pulled a roll of bills and tapped the wad her fingers, focused on his expression as he watched the wad of money. “Let me see what you got, and maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

“Not in the way I’d like, I’m assuming.” The man mumbled and sighed, shaking his head. From his own pocket he pulled a plastic bag and handed it to her; a package of unregistered bullets was their deal. Placing the package in her hands he leaned back onto the wall of the alleyway behind them, lighting another cigarette. Taking a drag he looked over at the small female, marveling at the fact that she could ever take anyone down. His eyes travelled to her shadowed face and the scarlet red rose that she had carefully tucked in her beanie – the same that she would eventually leave at the bedside of her next victim. “Do I get my cash now? I have another deal to go down – you’re not the only high profile killer in Manhattan that I have to keep happy, Scarlet.”

“Be patient,” Evangeline purred dangerously, eyes darting sharply to The Juggler, “I have to look over my merchandise. After all, I have to make sure you’re not slighting me.” Opening the package she slipped a bullet into her gloved palm and moved towards the street light. She did not keep her back fully towards the man in the alley, but did so enough to keep him from seeing her angular face. Rolling the bullets around in her hands she watched the notches on their sides. A look of distaste crossed her face. “These are not the bullets you showed me on the text, Juggler.” Turning back to the man she put the bullet back. “These have a marking, they are traceable. What are you doing, trying to get me captured? Maybe I’ll go find another supplier.”

“No, no!” The man threw down his cigarette and sprung up from his slouched position. “I-I wasn’t slighting you, you see, I just have so much of a demand for untraceable bullets…I was having a hard time snatching you some and…” In a flash he felt the cold sensation of a barrel press to his throat and watched as her pearly eyes looked up into his from beneath her shades. When she spoke, her voice was a menacing whisper in his ear, sultry and dangerous.

“I know you have another package in your pocket, Juggler. I suggest you give it me if you don’t want to be another one of my victims. My trigger finger just my slip.” She could hear the sound of his swallowing thickly, and his uneven breath alerted her of his rising pulse rate. “Are you nervous, Juggler? Afraid I mean it? Than give me the other bullets that you promised me and I’ll give you your life – and your cash.”

Quickly the man dug his hand into his jacket pocket and yanked out another package of bullets. The whites of his eyes were wide and petrified as she backed away, fingering the new package and shoving the old one in his face. Her eyes scanned every inch of the bullets and nodded. “These look good, whose were they?”

“A fed, he was killed in duty. I got there before the medics. You shoot these and all they’ll trace them too is a dead man six feet under.”

Evangeline struggled to keep herself from wincing, that cold heart of hers melting dangerously. Gritting her teeth she clenched her jaw shut and nodded, stuffing the goods in her pocket and unrolling the wad of cash. “Good to know.” As she pulled the wad apart she paused, raising her eyes to look at him. He was apprehensive, his gun hand twitching more from nerves than his drug high and, although she could not see his face clearly, she could see the whites of his eyes dart around her hands, waiting for his cash so he could run. “One more question.” She purred, “After all, you owe me.”

The Juggler took in a rigid breath, “What is it that you want?”

Handing him only half of his well earned money she locked eyes with him from behind her sunglasses. Her slender, glove covered fingers linked around one of her belt loops and she shifted the majority of her weight to one side. When she spoke, her voice was low and mysterious, sending chills up the other man’s arms. “Tell me everything you know about Rhys Damen.”