Otis took another slug of whiskey and passed the bottle to Sal. He wiped his mouth with the ragged sleeve of his trench coat and belched.
“Shit man, it’s freakin’ dead tonight. Where the hell we gonna get some money?”
Sal shrugged and drained the bottle and threw it over his shoulder into the street as a car passed, the driver leaning out the window cursing him and giving him a one-finger salute.
“Damned if I know. Hell, don’t worry there’ll be a pigeon along eventually. Hang loose.”
Otis turned his head to spit in the gutter and spotted movement down the street.
“Hot damn, check it out, bro.”
A well-dressed man emerged from a café and sauntered down the street at a leisurely pace.
Sal and Otis moved after him closing the distance. The target glanced over his shoulder but seemed unconcerned. He turned down an alley mid way along the block, disappearing from sight.
Otis stopped and looked at Sal.
“What the hell. Is this guy suicidal?”
“Who cares? Let’s go do this thing.”
They entered the alley, weapons drawn. In the murky darkness they couldn’t see a thing, but it was the silence that unnerved them the most.
Sal had a bad feeling and whispered to Otis.
“Where did this idiot get to? I can’t see a…”
They sensed movement above them too late. They were both struck on the head as the dark one descended rapidly. Sal was knocked unconscious in mid sentence.
Otis’s neck exposed, he was drained in seconds. The dark one took his time with Sal and then stepped out of the alley and surveyed the street. It was so easy to feed here in this part of town where the undesirable congregated.
He shifted form and flew off into the night.