Dark Alley

Mike Anka

Description

Dramatic circumstances bring together two people, and there is a spark between them. She is fourteen, homeless, smart, wild, and alive. Meanwhile, he is forty, a veteran, straight and slim, decent but "dead inside," with his life on hold.After some more dire developments, he loses her, but his determination manages to reconnect him with her on her own dangerous and temporary turf - the dark alleys of a sordid downtown hood.With hard work and open minds, they forge out a rewarding father-daughter family of sorts.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
• Date de parution: 29 novembre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781645367512
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Dark Alley
Mike Anka
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-11-29
Dark Alley About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII Chapter XIV Epilogue
About The Author
Mike Anka is a published author in the UK and USA. He is also a gold and silver award winner for two of his screenplays in International Script Competitions (USA).
He is an ex-superbike racer and an active supporter for children and adults with special needs.
Dedication
For Meghan and Bridget
Copyright Information ©
Mike Anka (2019)
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.
Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Ordering Information:
Quantity sales: special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.
Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data
Anka, Mike
Dark Alley: Second Chances
ISBN 9781643783413 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781643783420 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781645367512 (ePub e-book)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019917003
The main category of the book — FICTION / Family Life
www.austinmacauley.com/us
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers LLC
40 Wall Street, 28th Floor
New York, NY 10005
USA
[e-mail]
[phone]
Acknowledgement
Thanks to Jessica Beck for the first professional edit of this book.
Chapter I
The angry screams and dynamic rustle of a physical struggle breaks up the momentary urban peace. The place is the sordid and decrepit corner of Vancouver’s East Hastings dark alley. It is a definite fight for survival for Jessica Poliuk, a fourteen-year-old street kid living on the streets. Swaying her long switchblade with laser accuracy, she takes a chunk out of her assailant’s shoulder.
“You cut me, bitch!” screams out a young man in his early twenties with saggy, baggy, draggy designer jeans, covering his bleeding shoulder with the other hand—a perfect opportunity for Jessica to plant a firm knee into his groin and make him drop his military knife.
An instant later, the second assailant, also a young male in his late teens, kicks Jessica on her back, making her fling forward and crash onto the dirty pavement. The first male, outraged by the sight of blood, pushes himself up and joins his buddy in the kicking, swirling, screaming, knife-swaying scrap with the biting teenage girl.
Jessica Poliuk is no shy chicken—raised on the streets, she learned to fight at a very young age and managed to ‘hang around’ thus far. Swirling quickly to the right, she kicks the second guy’s ankle, making him lose his balance and collapse; his knife aimed at her chest on his way down. Jessica quickly rolls to the left, connecting with the bleeding guy’s shoe. Blood starts gushing out from her left cheek, but she does not stop. Jumping up on her feet, she hits the ‘bleeder’ in the face with the stock of her knife. More blood escapes from the first guy as he places both his hands over his face. Jessica kicks him in the groin again—hard. The guy collapses, screaming in pain as they all stop for a brief moment and listen to the approaching police sirens.
The second guy helps his buddy get up from the dirty street, “Hurry, Jeremy…we’ll get the bitch later…”
A moment later, they set in running, disappearing into the dark alley while cursing and threatening Jessica.
“Yeah, whateva’,” she mumbles and recaptures her breath while wiping the blood off of her face. She quickly gets up and hides behind some empty crates just moments before the police car’s searchlight cuts raw slices of light into the back street. Not seeing any commotion, the cruiser moves along, slowly disappearing down the hood.
Jessica, limping and cursing, holds her stomach with one hand while the other hand helps her support herself on the filthy walls as she heads toward the main street.
Pulling herself into a dark cavity along the alley, she drops down with her back against the wall and makes herself a cocaine line which she snorts eagerly, releasing a deep sigh.
She sits there, curled up in a ball as the cocaine kicks in, helping her aches from all over her body ease off a little. She stares in front of her without focus, but her eyelashes twitch nervously under the surge of her thoughts. The crack of light shining on her dirty face reveals silent tears running down on her pretty face.
Chapter II
Peter Conrad sits at the dining table, his right hand trembling when he reaches for the half-empty whiskey tumbler. He brings it to his lips and drains the glass. This loneliness is wearing him down, nearly killing him.
It is late in the afternoon, and the sun casts reflections off of his shiny tumbler. The living room is tidy and well-kept; trying to conserve times past and dear. The photographs on the center wall of the living room reveal the vivid looks and smiles of himself, his beloved wife, Jenny, and his daughter, Tiffany, sporting a smile which courts eternity.
Peter releases an audible sigh. Getting up from the table, he places the whiskey bottle back in the kitchen cupboard, then gently drops the tumbler into the sink. Walking slowly, as if with no purpose in life left in him, he heads for the bathroom and prepares for a shower. For a moment, he fantasizes that the hot stream of water beating down on his stiff body will wash away this abysmal sorrow eating steadily at his heart with no mercy to spare.
“If I only could change things once…”
As the hot water stream massages his tense shoulders, a frail, almost indistinguishable feeling passes through his aching heart—maybe there is a chance out there somewhere. He shivers vehemently and his mood suddenly changes. A delicate smile develops on his face for a passing moment, almost impossible to notice in the water stream covering his face.
He finishes his shower and grooming, and feeling a bit more cheerful this time, he walks over to his older entertainment center and installs a Bach vinyl on his large digital disc player. A temporary serenity enters his heart, and he knows that it won’t last, but he at least enjoys it for the moment. Sitting down on the living room couch in his bathrobe, he leans back and indulges himself for a few minutes in a transcendental bliss.
It has been almost six years since that terrible accident which left him empty and dead inside and contemplating occasional thoughts of pulling the plug and getting it over with. But something out of his understanding washed over him during his shower yesterday and made him levitate some new thoughts he never thought he was capable of.
Dressing into his dark blue pants and light blue shirt, which made up his chief security officer image at the regional hospital in town, he prepares for his new shift. A touch more cheerful this time, he tidies up the already clean kitchen, adjusts a wrinkle on the bay window drapes, and, finally, grabbing his large bundle of keys, leaves the house.
Chapter III
The early September in Vancouver, British Columbia can be most astonishing on a clear day like today, raising people’s spirits and adding an auspicious vibration to the folks populating the busy city.
Peter Conrad is no exception to the general consensus. All dressed up in his two-tone blue uniform, he locks his house and unlocks his 1964 well-kept black Mustang. Firing up the potent engine, he rolls down the driver’s side window and slowly sets his car in motion. He is in no hurry. Enjoying the sunny day offered by Mother Nature, he allows himself some extra time to drive around a little, sucking in the sunshine. He smiles to passengers at the intersections and tunes his upgraded car stereo to some current, soft rock and roll on his way to the hospital for his afternoon duty.
As he enters the downtown core of the city, nearing the hospital, he approaches the East Hastings area of the town. Out of an instinctive surge, he pulls his car into the back alleys of the neighborhood. As he passes dark alleys crossing his way, he hears and catches glimpses of violence and despair. A distant, frightened cry followed by a gunshot reaches his ears, and a second later, his sunny disposition is gone.
Rolling up his window, he turns his sound system off and silently focuses on his drive—he aims for the hospital’s direction. The sunny Vancouver day is just as beautiful, or even more so, as the sun shifts its position over Grouse Mountain, but Peter Conrad does not see that anymore. A deep but controlled depression sweeps over his heart as he approaches the hospital’s staff parking lot. For some unclear reason, he thinks of his past military years in Afghanistan. Releasing a small sigh, he turns his engine off and grabs a folder resting on his passenger seat.
Getting out from his vehicle, he remotely locks the Mustang and slowly heads for the main entrance of the hospital. He greets a couple of nurses crossing his path after a long shift. He also exchanges a few words with the old janitor washing the main entrance sliding door window.
“How is your day going so far?” he asks Ramon, the Peruvian janitor.
“Very good, muchos grazias , senór Conrad. I wish you, too, a very quiet shift,” he replies, stopping from his window wiping. “Looking sharp today.”
“Thank you, Ramon,” Peter says and enters the main lobby of the hospital, a welcoming place decorated with large living plants and flowe