A Reluctant Rescue
Though the night was warm, the hockey player still had the habit of wearing a light jacket more out of habit than actual necessity. It was a good spot to tuck his cigarettes away rather than putting them in his pocket where they tended to end up crushed to hell and back.
The walk to the hole-in-the-wall diner he had gone to before was a comfortable one; being that the night was quiet he didn’t expect anything less. There was very little traffic to be found on the streets but he supposed the time had a bit of a factor to it. Not many people wandered around at two in the morning.
Like before he had taken time to sit down and enjoy a bottle of beer. At least this time there was a television to entertain himself with, even though it did lose the picture now and then. It provided a bit of a backdrop to his other wise silent surroundings.
When the hour began ticking toward three o’clock he began to prepare for his leave even if the place was open for twenty four hours. He had some things to do in the morning and needed the rest. Downing the last of the second bottle and scooping up the final crumbs of pie, he nodded a thanks to the waitress and left a tip behind before making his way out of the door.
He was just beginning his walk when the noise of a trashcan being knocked over resounded through the alley along with a pained gasp. Something told him to continue on his way, muggings happened all the time and the last thing he wanted was for someone to turn on him because they believed him to be Russian from his accent alone, but he turned to wander down the dimly lit alley and toward the man that was hassling someone. Another lay on the dingy ground among the trash, apparently hurt or unconscious.
Instead of yelling at the guy, he gave a shrill whistle to get his attention.