The Alley

The sounds of our feet hitting the cobblestone streets drown out the whistles of the police officers. We have been running for the last twenty minutes straight. But the police just won’t give up. They just keep pursuing us. But we don’t want to get caught, so we just keep running. And running. And running.
We turn the corner and see the entrance to an alley a few feet up ahead. “Hey,” I yell at Mark, “turn into the alley up ahead. When the police pass us, we can run the other way.”
“Roger that, Joe!” Mark yells back loud enough to hear.
Mark. He never really told me if that was his real name or not, but I’ve got a feeling that it isn’t. He is built for a kid my age and he has a secretive and mysterious side. He also has a dark, murderous glint in his eye. It’s as dark as a starless night, and its creepy.
We turn into the alley to see a lot of  junk to hide behind. Other than the large trash can on the side of the building to our left, nothing belongs there. Trash is overflowing out of the can like water from a waterfall. Cardboard boxes litter what remains of the ground. As we hustle through the mess, we move the cardboard boxes around in the shape of a labyrinth. We continue to hear the police whistles, and hide behind the cardboard boxes. Sweat is pouring down my face as I press against the side of the building. I slide down to a sitting position to catch my breath that slipped away from me in the last twenty minutes.
“Mark” I gasp, “what did you do back there for the cops to start chasing us, huh? Now we’re wanted criminals.”
“I’m not sure Joe, my mind just wasn’t with me at the moment. I was caught up in something I can’t explain. It just happened so fast.”
I start to open my mouth as if I were to forgive him without meaning it when I notice a white piece of paper sticking out of his pocket. “What’s in the pocket Mark?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean Joe” he tells me in a dim-witted way.
“Don’t play stupid with me Mark. What do you have in that d--- pocket of yours?” I snap at him.
He looks at me with a concerned look on his face. Its probably the first he has ever heard me curse at him. He starts to open up his mouth, but then stops. He looks down and shakes his head, “I’m sorry Joe, but I cannot let you see it. It is very dear and personal to me.”
I think about apologizing for snapping at him when I realize that I no longer hear the whistles of the police officers any more. As I start to stand, I hear something skitter across the ground and hit the trash can. I freeze when I register the metallic echo protruding from the trash can.
“Mark, I think its time to go. ” I whisper with an urgent and frightened tone lingering in my voice. “Now.”
He nods in approval and we both stand up, silently, but remain hidden behind the boxes. We creep forward to the middle of the alley where the boxes stop abruptly. I peer around the edge to see the silhouettes of more boxes.  I signal Mark to move up towards the silhouettes. When he signals its clear, I move up passed the shadows of the boxes blocking the path of our line of sight, to see the black figuration of a man standing at attention. I can’t tell which way he is facing, but I can narrow it down to two positions. He’s either looking into the alley, or not. I just hope that he is facing outwards.
Careful about where I step, I creep back to the wall of cardboard boxes Mark is hiding behind. But when I turn behind the wall, there is one thing wrong. He isn’t there.
“----,” I whisper to myself as I see him creep up on the man-shaped silhouette. “He isn’t going to make it past him without my help. Better go help him.”
I recover the ground I retreated as I make my way to the silhouette and Mark. I am five feet away when he strikes. I stand in awe as the man-shaped figure cripples to the ground in an instant. I have never seen anybody strike a man and knock him to the ground and keep him there in one hit. I walk to Mark, look at him, then to the crumbled mess of a man, then back at Mark.
“We should get going” I tell him.
He doesn’t listen. He squats down to take a better look at the man. He examines the body as if he is looking for something. I too, squat down to examine the body. Blood is pouring from his neck as if it were slit with something sharp. His blue overshirt is soaked in his blood. Mark takes the gun from the man’s belt and places it on his own. He stands and walks to the entrance of the alley. He sticks his head out and looks both ways to see if there are any strangers. He signals to me that the coast is clear and I stand, and step away from the dead body of the man. I pursue Mark out of the alley and down the street, wondering why he had killed the man.