This doesn’t sound like a conversation I want to be privy to, but if I make my presence known, I may be inviting trouble. I stay rooted next to the dumpster. The foul scent of rotting garbage burns my nostrils and turns my stomach. I keep my focus on the mother cat, afraid if I make any sudden movements, I will not only draw attention to myself, but I’ll get attacked.
Mother cats are vicious when it comes to protecting their young. They will fight to the death for their babies.
“You’re a real fucking piece of shit, you know that?”
“I didn’t touch her. I didn’t know she was one of yours.”
The men scuffle, and a loud grunt sounds, followed by a cough and a wheeze.
“I told you what would happen. Whatever you did to her, I’m about to make it a hundred times more painful for you.”
Curiosity grips me. I peer around the side of the dumpster.
The mother cat hisses but retreats to her hiding space.
Two dark figures are about ten feet away. One man has the other pinned against the back of the opposite building. The larger of the two, the aggressor, pulls something out of his coat pocket. The gleam of his blade shines in the dim light of a pole light. Sharp and ready to inflict damage. His arm swings back, then plunges forward into the gut of the other man.
I watch as he stabs the man once more, both curious and equally horrified.
I lose my balance in my crouched position and fall forward.
Pain slices through me as my palm lands on a piece of glass. My eyes bulge out of my head.
I don’t know which poses the greater threat. The glass digging into my skin, giving me not only a deep cut but possibly an infection, or the man wielding a knife.
I cry out as I pull the glass from my hand, exposing myself. I spring to my feet as the armed man’s steely gaze meets mine from under his hood.
Oh shit.
Time seems to stand still as we stare at each other.
Me—terrified.
Him…I’m not sure.
Then the bastard smiles at me.
His lips turning up like that of the Joker, the villain from Batman. Smug and entertained, his smile widens as he points the bloody tip of his knife at me, then brings it to his mouth as though he’s telling me to stay quiet.
Fight or flight kicks in. I do what any sane person would do. I throw the bag of cat food at him and run the other direction.
My heart pounds in my chest as I run down the dark and dangerous alleyway, dodging boxes and pallets.
I don’t stop or glance back until I’m inside my building.
I take a moment to catch my breath, then peer out at the front entrance. There’s no one following me. At least not that I can see.
Did that really just happen?
I should call the police, but what if that leads the bad guy to me? Or should I say bad guys?
Does minding my own business make me a terrible person? Or does it mean I’m being smart?
Their argument sounded like the other dude did something bad.
My pulse pounds against my temples as I take the stairs to my apartment two at a time. Every so often I peep back to be sure I’m not being followed.
My pulse races, pounding at my temples.
