Blake ran down the empty streets, his feet pounding the tarmac with loud, heavy steps. Gripping the parcel tightly in his hands, Blake’s mind commanded his legs to move and run with all the speed he could muster, though the strains of fatigue were clearly making their presence felt. Yet he could not stop. Not now. Failure was unthinkable. Incompetence always resulted in a slow, painful death.

Blake skidded to a halt, turning sharply into an alley, pausing to catch his breath. Anyone following him should have been shaken off by now. He felt his heart thumping loudly in his chest, as he heaved deep breaths, among them one of relief. The parcel was safe, and so was he. He would survive the night.

Squatting next to a pile of boxes, Blake sensed no further movement. They weren’t going to get him this easily. Yet his triumph was short-lived, and Blake knew immediately that he had made a mistake. The plainclothes detective stood at the way leading in to the alley, his face obscured by the shadows of the night. He walked in calmly, pulling a small automatic pistol from his pocket.

“I ain’t gonna’ hurt you, kid,” the man said reassuringly, “Just give me what I want, and no one gets hurt.”

Blake stood up. He saw the man grin, catching the sight of an artificial gold tooth glistening in the moonlight. Undeterred, Blake raised his arms slowly, his face a mask of blank emotion. Blake’s eyes scanned the area for any means to escape. There were none.

The plainclothes detective took a few steps nearer, waving his Glock pistol menacingly as a threat, “That’s right. Here we go, nice and easy.”

Blake went nearer, holding out the parcel, feigning to pass it into the detective’s hand. The man merely smiled and held out his left hand in eager anticipation. Then, without any warning, Blake pivoted and lashed out with his foot, kicking the man straight in the abdomen. The man fired a shot in the air as he doubled back, crashing into the cardboard boxes. Seeing his chance, Blake ran. The man regained composure quickly, and aimed his pistol at the back of Blake’s head. He fired. And he didn’t miss.

The man walked over to Blake’s corpse and bent down. He pried the parcel away from Blake’s stiff, lifeless fingers, and lifted the flap. He felt the texture of the white, powdery stuff and held it to his nose, sniffing it. He smiled. He had found what he was looking for. And it would fetch him quite a fortune in the black market. The man then walked off discreetly into the night.

Officer Jack Manning rapped on his superior’s door and walked into the office. The chief was visibly tired, the lines on his face betraying a lack of sleep and clearly, too much stress. On his desk were sprawled several files and documents, and a mug of black coffee.

“Take a seat, Jack,” he said, massaging his temples lightly. “There’s been another shooting. A young kid. They found him shot in the back of the head, at another one of those red-light districts. Here.” The police chief handed Jack a folder containing the case’s details and the victim’s dossier.

“Absolutely no witnesses or evidence at all?” the officer asked as he flipped through the file.

“Nope. These guys are getting smarter all the time. We’ve got one lead, though. The bullet was found to be from a Glock 17 pistol.”

Jack merely nodded, staring in the distance, pondering.

“So, what’s your say? I thought the hottest prospect this police force has seen in decades could grant us some enlightenment.”

“My guess is that it’s another one of those street killings. The usual case. One bunch of hooligans gets offended by another, and proceeds to take out one of its members as reparation. The Mafia, triads and Boston street gangs do it all the time. It’s nothing uncommon, really.”

Manning’s boss nodded warily. “My thoughts exactly. It’s sad, but the young man had no family, no education and was bound to head down that road anyway. The head honchos are still gonna’ demand a report though, so just do a short write-up for me, will you?”

The officer nodded, and was dismissed by his worn out superior with a wave of his hand. Jack Manning walked back to his own desk, and proceeded to type out the report. He later submitted the completed document, and smiled to himself. There, the case was done and over with. And no one else had to know, Officer Jack Manning thought to himself as he grinned, revealing an artificial gold tooth which glinted in the morning light.