Felix 'The Rat'
By Baker Street
Felix walked out of the dingy all-night diner down on the east end near the
docks. On the street he was known as Felix ‘The Rat’, for reasons best left
unexplained to our readers.
The streets of the New York City slum-side stank of burnt gasoline, and
decay. The night was dark, semi-overcast, and starless. A cool wind swept
through the streets and alleys. Tall old red-brick and concrete apartment
buildings, ran ramshackle alongside the either side of the road. Iron
fire-escapes and stairs zigzagged across the walls, alongside old plumbing.
Felix could feel the fear bite into the pit of his stomach. They were out
there. They were after him. Somewhere among the darkness and the shadows there
could well be a hired gun waiting for him. Death loomed around each corner. He
swallowed hard, and his mouth was dry. Death. Death in a horrible instant.
His expensive black shoes echoed hollowly of the concrete pavement as he
walked on hurriedly, eager to get off the streets, and under cover. He was
hounded by the fears of his own imminent death. He walked faster still.
He rounded a corner, and voice from out of the dark said; “Hello Felix, nice
night out for a walk…”
Then the Tommy-gun boomed with hollow thunder, as he mowed Felix down. After
the burst of gun-fire, the night was silent once more. The gunman retreated into
the shadows, and the gun-smoke drifted lazily away up the alley.
In the street lay the dead man, formerly known as Felix ‘The Rat’.