He stood on the corner, shivering from the cold. The rain poured down, dripping from his face. He could barely make out the bar across the street through the storm. The dimly lit neon sign for Leon's was perhaps the most welcoming sight he'd seen all day.
The boy ran into the alley where the front door stood, limping slightly from the injury he sustained in the fight this morning. Ducking under the awning, he pulled out a wallet and counted the contents. Fifty bucks -- not bad. It was enough for a meal, and that was his main focus.
Flipping through the wallet, his eyes came to rest on the photo ID in the middle. The ID inside the wallet read "Sharon McCain". She was a blue-eyed blond, 5'6", 135 lbs. She lived out of state. The kid rubbed the bruise on his shoulder -- she had apparently taken some classes in self defense. There were some emergency aspirin tucked in a zipper pouch -- hopefully, she wouldn't need these anytime soon.
He opened the door, and headed straight for the bar. He had been out on his own for a year or so now, but things never seemed to get any easier. It was hard enough getting money to eat a decent meal, and he hadn't slept in more than a shabby cot since he left home. His clothes were rags -- his jeans were nothing but threads from the shin down and his leather jacket had several patches sewn on. He was saving up for something decent, but for now he just needed a beer.
The bar tender passed him his usual -- there weren't any cops at the moment, so there was no need for the formalities of a fake ID. As the boy sat on the stool drinking, a loud roar of drunken laughter and cheering issued from the pool table. Some broad had just slaughtered the reigning champ. He paused to look, then turned back to his drink, staring at the murky liquid.
A cheerful, feminine voice sounded out next to him. "So, what did you think?" He jerked his head up to face the person now sitting next to him. She had long, silky red hair and shiny green eyes. She was wearing a black leather dress outfit along with boots and arm-length gloves to match. He'd seen her around several times before, but they'd never spoken. "Well? You saw it, didn't you?"
Her voice snapped him back to reality. "Yeah -- you really cleaned up today, ma'am!" She gave him an amused look. "Ma'am?! I'm not that old!" Indeed, she was only in her early twenties. "C'mon, you know me . . . right?", she said, grinning slyly.
Of course he knew her. Everybody knew Lady Red. She was a "made lady", and one of Tommy Vindeni's gang. She was the leader of the Red Coon Clan -- a "subculture" of Tommy's gang. Tommy had full run of the city now that they'd beaten Venom's gang clean out of Los Angeles. Lady Red was rumored to have single-handedly taken on at least ten of Venom's boys. The boy could hardly believe she was speaking to him.
He stuttered a bit, "Yeah, you're Lady Red -- right?" She grinned, nodding approval. She examined him for a while, then said "Hey, you don't happen to have a "family" -- do you?" She didn't skip a beat when he shook his head. "You know, I'm goin' out with some of the boys tonight. We're lookin' to stir things up a bit. You should come along -- it'll be fun." She handed him a small envelope, sealed with the red raccoon face known as her calling card. A tall, lanky man in a pinstripe suit came stumbling over to them. "Hey, Red --it's time to go," he slurred out the words, clearly drunk.
She whispered to him; "Think about it -- tonight, 9:30, meet us at the park." As they walked out the door, she turned and winked.