Tommy is Bleeding

The balcony was empty, and he was still bleeding. Below him the screen flickered shadows on a scattering of spectators. He felt in his pockets. Out of cigarettes. Damn. His breathing was slowing. His eyes were getting heavy. Oh well.

There Tommy was. At the corner. Under the street light. Like every night.

Except he was bleeding.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. But now it seemed the street was empty except for the slimy puddle of red around him, and the lumps of clothing on the ground around him. He tried to get up but slipped on he fluid he was leaking. He called out to his friends around him, but it seemed they were gone. No, that was them, the piles of clothes. Their bodies collapsed and hidden under their baggy suits and long jackets. predicament as him. But worse. He called out but they

He struggled to remember. They were breaking bottles against the brick wall. Rudy and Phil were having a spitting contest. Paulie and Nick were arguing over who’s new jacket was most expensive.

He managed to sit up in the puddle of blood and while clutching his side with one arm fondled in his jacket pocket for his cigarette packet. He grabbed the last one out with his lips, threw the packet away fumbled for his lighter, snakingly igniting it.

            The spark of the lighter brought back the bangs that occurred a few moments before. The bangs sounded like tires popping, and from a big old Cadillac rolling by the flashes of conflagrating  gun powder pierced the darkness of the street.

            Those bastards.

            Tommy felt in his pocket. The steel had been warmed by his blood, but it was still there. The sirens had started in the distance. Late arrival of the cops as was customary in this neighborhood.

            He hobbled away around the corner. The shadow of the alley concealing him as turned the corner just as the cruisers pulled up.

After a long struggle he had made it up the fire escape to the window. There they were. Celebrating. The Black Daggers. He winced as reached into his pocket to take out his gun, but he lost his balance and fell in the window. After some crude exclamations the Daggers jumped for their weapons, but Tommy took two of them out from his back after his tumble, catching one of their girls in the cross fire. The pop of firing bullets and shrieks of women and breathing and grunting. Finally t was done and Tommy crawled to his feet and surveyed the carnage. Blood spattered walls and one downed, panting, Black Dagger. Tommy limped to where the casualty lay, stood over him, and fired one last shot to his head.

            He stumbled out the apartment door and shoved past the usher into movie theatre across the street. Now his eyes slowly closed, the movie flickering lights across his face.