A/N: Hey, I'm back! Kind of... See, I found this story in my archives and thought I'd pull it out and post it. If y'all decide it's any good, maybe I'll continue. I say I'm "kind of" back, because I actually haven't written anything in a good while. If someone wants to be my beta reader, let me know, and the next time I write something, it can actually sound...not stupid :-P So, yeah, long introduction. Oh yeah, I don't own anything. "FAN-FICTION" should be self-explanatory...
Under a deserted alleyway's concealing shadow, a small dot burned red. It burned brighter, then curls of smoke flitted forth. The man behind it leaned his back on the brick wall, coolly, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, arms crossed over his chest. His hat was tilted to reveal dark, slicked back hair and the coat of his three-piece suit was pulled off his hip gunholster to remind anyone just who he was.
He fingered the briefcase at his side, just to make sure it was still there. He would need it for tonight. If he lost it, he was a dead man. Literally. There can be no mistakes when you run with the big dogs. Out of his coat, he pulled a flask full of bootlegged liquor and washed down the rising panic that hung in his chest. 'No worries,' he said to himself. Everytime he did this, he got better at it. The first time, he actually threw up.
"'ey," a voice barked, yet whispered at the same time. "You 'ere?" The voice had as thick a New York accent as any.
The man stood up and flicked his cigarette that was nothing more than a butt. "Yeah, Tony, I'm 'ere," he drawled out in his matching accent. "Question is: you got the goods?" The man sauntered forward, breifcase in hand.
Tony scowled. "Whuddya think? Ya think I just hang around 'ere for my health?" He snorted. "Yeah, I got 'em."
"A'right, here's what we're gonna do;" The man stepped closer to the short, pudgy Tony and intimidated him with his height. "On the count of three, we slide the stuff over. One, two, three!" The man slid over his breifcase and Tony slid over an envelope.
As Tony was checking the breifcase, the man asked, "It all there?"
Tony looked satisfied. "Yeah. Easiest job I ever done, too."
The man checked his envelope. Inside was a picture of a man and a woman, and the negative. He nodded in recognition and tucked it away inside his jacket. "Good work."
Tony closed up the breidcase and shrugged. "Don't know what you'd want with a stupid picture, but 'ey, whateveh."
The man smirked. "Business is business." He stuck his hands in his pockets and started forward. "If ya excuse me, I got the wife and kids I gotta attend to." He started walking to the street corner, but was stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a sharp click behind his ear.
"Turn around, real slow-like, and keep dose hands where I can see 'em." The man did as he was told, while Tony kept the gun trained on his head. "Now reach in your pocket, slow, and hand over the picture."
The man was about as indignant a man could be when he is looking down the barrel of a gun. "Now Tony, it was a fair trade..."
"Fair trade, nothin'. You and me both know how much that baby's worth. The boss wants it real bad."
The man eyed up the gun, Tony, and the distance between him and it, in about five seconds. Then, he made his move. He simultaneously ducked and blocked the gun out of the way. A sharp blow on the back of Tony's hand hit a pressure point, causing him to howl and drop the gun. A punch square in Tony's face ended the brawl. The man ran to the curb, put two fingers to his mouth and whistled - one long, two short. The revving of a motor could be heard and not long after, a car arrived. The passenger door was already open, so he dove in and the car took off before he could close the door.
Once he had the chance, the man sat up and smoothed out his disheavled appearance. He gained a whole new person and said in his now cultured English accent, "Bloody ruffian."