Passing Through Part 3

Mira's eyes open. Teary, from either her own alcoholic breath or the permeating stink where she lies in a narrow alley, Mira thanks the stars she hasn't been run over when she's at rest on the littered asphalt. Booze sours her mouth, sometimes overcoming the pissy whiffs of her makeshift living quarters. A mid day grogginess, she's acquired a crinkly feeling in her left hand, but suddenly she remembers it's the $20 bill she's been clasping while drifting in and out of a nap. She looks up at the brick wall to see it's the woman in red who had slipped her the 20 to be on the lookout for a male teenager dressed in black.

Mira tosses her ragged blanket off of her scruffy dressed, stick figure to rise up and signal to the finely-figured woman who is wearing all red - to let her know that the young blond man dressed in black - who she was expecting to come - is now in sight. Mira, on her overgrown toenailed, bird feet, clears her throat, but pauses before uttering a chirp. Booze-addled, she widely flaps her arms mimicking a liberating feeling she can fly eight feet up to the window ledge where the woman in red is perched as Mira mirrors the finger over mouth gesture, signaling back to Mira to stay put and remain quiet.

The woman in red then leaps off of the 8 Ball liquor store's singular back alley window ledge and before her tailored red boots touch ground, she reaches into her red jacket's inner pocket and draws her gun. On landing, she aims it at the teen in black who is in the street at the end of the alleyway.

Oblivious to being a target, the teen has already shot off a round with his own target in mind that's in front of Wen's Doughnuts shop.

Tank and the doughnut shop's patron lock eyes with the teen who's pointing a gun at them. The teen, blond, black suit, shaky right hand, "I - I shot a cop!" shouts in disbelief. "Yes, you did," Tank blurts without thinking, Tank's right hand raised defensively as if to shield his large body from bullets, the kid still aims the pistol in his direction. Tank, without thought, moves his hand, closes its digits except for the index finger of which he uses to point at the doughnut shop's lady cashier who has a cell in her hand, obviously calling - Tank shouts out to the gun-toting teen, " Phone! 911!" The teen readjusts his aim and the shop's front window comes crashing down after the kid squeezes off a few warning shots, "Toss the phone out here," he screams at the cashier lady still in the shop. She quickly throws the phone outdoors, the flying phone unhindered where a moment ago the shop used to have a front window. The teen tries to calm himself down, snickers, "Thank you for your cooperation. Have a donut on me."

Tank moves quickly to make use of the brief distraction. Turning his back on the gun-toter, he scans the prone-positioned motionless police officer. Tank, feeling the hot pistol's aim heating his back, crouches down, rummages through the downed officer's pants and belt for keys, radio, and - he leaves the officer's still holstered service pistol untouched. The doughnut patron who taunted him about his weight, slightly convulses where he sits at curbside and snivels, "Whadda' we do? I don' wanna' die!" - "Idiot," Tank resignedly quips, "the kid wasn't after the cop and he certainly ain't gunning for you."

"Hey!" The gun-toting teen yells to win back attention tightening his grip to alleviate the shakes, "What, you think I'm a nobody? You can just turn your back -"

"Die with some dignity, man," Tank taunts the doughnut patron, "Here," and tosses the officer's radio to him. At first fumbling with it, the doughnut patron manages to raise the radio to his lips and shout, "Help, help! Officer down!" - "Idiot," Tank sighs, "you have to press that button there to transmit a message." Before the patron has a chance to properly follow instructions, Tank stands erect and boots him in the face.

"Hey!" The teen, still ten yards distant from them, starts to pull the trigger when - pow! - a portion of his head is blown off. Suddenly the street thickens with traffic. A few cars speedily go around his scrunched down body. Red peeps out from the alleyway between the 8 Ball liquor store and Wen's Doughnuts shop as she re-holsters her gun that's smoky at the barrel, tucks the gun in her red jacket's inner pocket while sliding backward into the alley. Tank never looks back and strolls to the downed officer's squad car. He whispers under his breath, "Red." The doughnut patron shouts, "Bass - urd!" surpassing Tank's stride to the squad car. The doughnut patron then seats himself at the front passenger side and exclaims, "Good idea, it's gotta be safe in a police car!" Tank gets in and starts the engine. "My name's Ralphie, by the way," the doughnut patron says, putting a hand out for Tank to shake. Tank keeps his puffy hands on the steering wheel and mumbles, "Idiot."

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