Book Alleys Novels & Stories

The kind of place Axel’s men would hate. I increased my pace a bit, pretending to check my watch. I didn't sprint, but I moved with purpose. I reached the alley entrance and, without thinking, turned and plunged into the shadows. The alley was narrower and darker than I expected. The tall brick walls rose on either side, blocking out most of the daylight. The ground was uneven, gravel and some standing water. I moved quickly, my hands brushing the rough brick, the smell hitting my nose. I could hear my own breathing, loud and rough. I was holding my breath, half waiting for the shout of triumph from behind me.

“They all refer to me. That’s why … it’s alright.” The young lord resumed walking, finally dropping the strange subject. After some time, he asked, “How much longer must we walk, benefactor?” “Not long now, young master,” she replied. A few more steps, then Sylvia took a turn. At the end of the alley shrouded in gloom with piles of rotting garbage disposed on either side, was daylight. It was a busy street where people roamed about and shops lined the sides. The smell was also different—roasted meat and baking bread.

The data chip remained hidden, a precious treasure close to her skin. Finally, the night of the third moon arrived. The city, bathed in its cool, ethereal glow, seemed to hold its breath. Anya navigated the twisting streets of District 17, her heart pounding against her ribs. She reached Midnight Alley, a notorious den of thieves and scavengers. The air hung heavy with the smell of stale food and something vaguely chemical.

That was because I rarely needed more than a room or two. Yet Teeshay had used the expressions 'safe-house' and 'room'. Who could have told her that I had a place (or places) outside the Narimac? Lesheya? Unlikely. Pamna? No. Aliona ... Teeshay talked up a storm, and then asked if I minded going by Bookseller's alley. I had no objection. She took me there by way of Long Alley - a place you wouldn't want to be, after dark - and perhaps not even in bright daylight.

You must know I could never betray you'. The alley came up on us before I realized we had turned off the main street. It was narrow, flanked by tall buildings on either side, the kind of passage easy to wander into. My footsteps padded quietly on the cracked concrete as I followed Harry, echoing faintly between the walls. “Harry?” I called, slowing a little as I stared at the end of the alley. It was a dead end, just a grimy wall with faded graffiti and a rusted dumpster nearby. He didn’t respond. I stopped walking and looked around, confused. “Harry, what are we—”

And the default was always Alley 4. I found it between a noodle place with a broken sign and a pharmacy that had burned out a long time ago. A gap in the buildings. No lights. The neon from the main road didn't reach past the first few steps. Into the dark. Wet ground. Old rubbish and rain. Water dripping from something broken above. Back to the wall, brass bar in hand, waiting. Ten minutes. The cold worked in slowly. Fingers went stiff around the bar. Street noise became a low hum behind me.

She turned into an alley. Not a movie alley with a single dramatic light and a perfect, narratively convenient dumpster. A real one—narrow, slick, lined with old brick and the faint smell of garlic and wet cardboard. I hesitated, then followed, heart too loud. The alley bent once around a stack of flattened boxes. When I turned the bend, it was empty. “Lena?” I whispered, and my breath came back to me cold.

I hesitate at the door, then slip out of my jacket to strap on the shoulder holster with the Colt 1911 before slipping back into itand heading out. *** They call Doyers Street Murder Alley. It’s the perfect place for any killing you would want to commit under the cover of gang violence. One block long with a sharp ninety-degree angle in the middle, it runs from Pell Street to the Bowery at Chatham Square and is—according to the cops—the bloodiest intersection in America. There are probably two reasons for this. One is the sharp bend in the street whence comes the nickname, “The Bloody Angle,” a feature that lends itself well to gang ambushes. The other is a pedestrian tunnel that runs under