The pair of weathered buildings in front of me stretched high above; cold and impassive, overshadowing the alley. Despite the hour having passed noon, a draft chilled my bones to the core, raising stenches that sucked what little courage I had left. The gloom made it narrower than it seemed; full of smelly boxes, despised and discarded, piling up on either side of me. The walls were tattooed with old graffiti that cried out for a revolution that died long before it was born. Barely visible, tattered pamphlets, stained by oblivion, torn by time, advertised candidates promising a better life, the satire of sickly socialism.
I don't normally visit the city's neighborhoods. But this day was an exception.
The gloomy alleyway hid a pair of eyes that glittered behind a metal rubbish bin corroded by a leak that trickled down from the upper strata.
Brown liquid dripped from under the dumpster, creating a small river that ran down the narrow alleyway from side to side. A dog barked in the distance. I looked up and a wrinkled woman's face returned a look of contempt before hiding behind a curtain from the second floor.
Crossing my arms, I continued on my way, jumping over obstacles, regretting that I had brought my favorite high heels.
The lowlife wore a black hooded sweatshirt; he was desperately pulling the last millimeters of a stinky cigarette. He gave me a quick up-and-down glance, then his eyes darted back and forth and over my shoulder.
“Did you bring the cash?”
I nodded my head as my sweaty hands instinctively reached down to my purse, clutching at it; my heart was in my throat, preventing it from saying a word.
He urged his head at me, never taking his eyes off my bag.
My hands shook as I tried to open the clasp on the bag, and after a few failed attempts, the latch finally gave way and I could lift the cover. As usual, what I was looking for went to the bottom of the bag, my fingers desperately dug, over and over again, strands of my hair played across my field of vision, after a few seconds that seemed eternal, I found the roll of money that I had previously prepared for the moment; my lungs lit up again and I felt life fill my chest; I squeezed the little roll for a few seconds; I had read somewhere that tensing and stretching the muscles helped in these situations.
The rattle of the stranger's moccasins was not long in coming.
I knew I should not give the money before seeing the goods, but I was in no position to make demands, I wanted to get out of the situation as quickly as possible.
He snatched the roll of money out of my trembling hand and squeezed it for a moment while his fingers skimmed the edges of the notes. His eyes could not hide a peculiar glint as he licked his lips; at last, satisfied, he hid it inside his crotch.
He unzipped his sweatshirt, pulled out a crumpled paper bag, and as soon as my hands felt the distinctive metallic weight, he took off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the shadows without a word.
I took a few seconds to process what had happened, put the parcel in my bag, and retraced my steps.
Outside, the sunlight seemed harsh, blinding, scorching, the complete opposite of the dirty, dark alley. Instinctively I reached into my bag for my sunglasses, my trembling hands stumbled over the paper bag and I gasped as I felt its metallic contents.
Life continued with its hustle and bustle outside as if nothing had happened; the incessant din of blaring horns, the roar of motorbikes, the bustle of people going about their lives, indifferent to what had happened a few seconds before.
A patrol car passed me and my stomach turned over; my knees turned to jelly. I slowed my pace and even though my sense of sanity tells me to look straight ahead, I can't help but glance at them; fortunately, the pair of policemen were chatting distractedly as bits of donuts fell from their mouths.
I continued on my way without attracting attention. A few streets ahead, a man was shouting the news from the evening paper. Horrific crimes were committed twenty hours earlier not far from where I stood. I began to gasp, clutching my chest trying to stop the pounding of my heart, which threatened to break my ribs.
“Are you all right? Miss," a gruff voice came from a face so wrinkled I could barely see his eyes.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I lied.
Fortunately, the Route 20 bus had just stopped at the bus stop, I ran towards it as quickly as possible, leaving behind a world of misery and lost hope.
Safely, at the Café Di Roma, my friend Hilda was having her second cup of coffee.
“You're finally here! I thought you weren't coming. As usual, my friend kept firing off her reprimands. "What the hell is wrong with your cell phone? Why aren't you answering my messages? You're wearing overcoats now? You're paler than usual! I could swear you have a touch of sallowness. Are you feeling okay?”
My mind wanders between the meanings of her words. I sit up with a thump and the chair manifests its displeasure with a creak. My hands were shaking, and no matter how much I wrung them over my clothes, they still felt moist.
The waiter appeared with a cordial smile waiting for my order; my throat was dry and I felt like having something hot, perhaps a chamomile tea.
My order arrived immediately. We stood for a while without saying anything; Hilda, despite her anxiety about knowing what had happened, decided not to rush me. She sipped some of her steaming coffee and glanced at her cell phone for a moment.
My still-cold hands were grateful for the warmth of the cup; fortunately, my stomach did not protest the sips of the bitter liquid.
“I got it," I spat out of the blue.
“You've got what, honey?" she asked distractedly as she examined a pair of high heels in her favorite doorway.
At my lack of response, she furrowed her brow and fixed her gaze directly on mine. Intrigued, her brain made the appropriate connections as she scanned my retinas.
Her eyes widened
“Are you out of your mind?!” Her blast drew the attention of the other customers who were immersed in their conversations.
We noticed the clinking of the cups on the waiter's tray after my friend's sudden outburst.
“Are you out of your mind?" She repeated, a few decibels barely audible
“Your hands are freezing!”
After a series of reprimands on her part, and in addition to the possible alternate outcomes toward what could have been my last moments of existence, I decided to tell her about my experience in the underworld.
“But... How did you manage to get it?”
“The deep web, the underworld of the internet,” I paused to take another sip of my tea; a long sigh escaped my lips. “You can get even the unimaginable”
At first, she shook her head and covered her face with her right hand. Then my friend's face softened, and she was glad that I had been lucky enough to come out of this mishap unscathed. Each of us finished our concoctions, lost in thought. More aware of our own dull but safe lives.
Eventually, I pulled out the paper bag and released it between us. The metal clanked on the glass of the table drawing the attention of the people around us once again.
We both stood mute before the disapproving stares of the highborn diners. Hilda dragged the heavy bag towards herself and hid it under the table.
Her curiosity overrode decorum as she needed to glanced at the contents.
I gasped as she unrolled the mouth of the paper bag. Suddenly, she frowned and then raised her right eyebrow, glanced at me, and reached inside the bag. I opened my eyes wider than usual, imploring her not to pull it out of the bag, my heart stopped as I saw her pull her hand out of the bag.
She twisted her lips and rolled her eyes.
“Mmm, hmmm ... An old pipe wrench with a bent handle. You really do get the unimaginable in the What was it you called it?”
Her laughter rippled through the cafe, shattering not only the harmony but also the patience of several people around us. The customers, shocked at my friend's inevitable scandal, walked away; I closed my eyes and slumped back in my chair as far as I could.
