Wolf was the head of Riding Hood; he ran the drug trade. If you pissed him off, you’d be lucky to get away with just a broken arm. His appearance even matched his twisted name. Dark hair and scars from numerous fights decorated his face. He wore unnerving yellow contacts.
Then there was Red. She wore the same red jacket and the same bright smile. You would often see her staring at the clouds or stopping to pet a stray. She was a gentle soul in a dangerous neighborhood. Often, she would walk to her grandmother’s at the edge of town, taking baked goods and medicine. Wolf noticed this.
Red was making a late visit to her grandmother. Wolf followed from a distance, his yellow eyes gleaming as he watched her skip down the dark, deserted street. She wasn’t startled when he stopped her in an empty alley. She smiled, “Hello, Mr. Wolf.”
“Hey kid,” he said. “What’s in the basket?”
She opened the basket to show him the pile of brownies and snickerdoodles. He kicked the basket, and it slammed against the alley wall, breaking the secret compartment. Baked goods and assorted drugs fell to the dusty concrete. Wolf grinned, “I knew you were transporting drugs for the old lady.” He removed brass knuckles from his pocket. “Sorry I gotta take you both out. This is my territory.”
“I like the color red,” she stated out of the blue. Her eyes bore into the dangerous man. Red slipped her hand into the pocket of her jacket and withdrew a single blade. She twirled the silver weapon around her delicate fingers. Wolf didn’t move, shocked by the cold light that had frozen her once warm eyes.
Her voice was icy. “Do you know how fast blood moves through the body? Don’t try to answer because you’re an idiot,” she said, not taking her eyes from the gleaming silver. “Blood pumps at a speed of 83 gallons per hour. That’s about 6 quarts a minute, about a minute for a round trip to the heart.”
She moved so quickly, Wolf couldn’t keep his eyes on her. Blood and pain covered his arm. Red stood behind him and gazed at the crimson covered blade.
“Such a pretty color,” she whispered before going on. “It’s my trade. I meet with the dealers behind her house; the old lady doesn’t have a clue. Your territory is mine.” She hesitated, then continued, “When a real wolf takes new land, it sends the competition away with mere wounds. I’m not that nice.”
Wolf barely had time to register that it was his blood all over the cold pavement before he fell to his knees. His eyes watched the smiling girl in red.
The next day, Wolf was found dead. Slashes covered his body, and his lifeless brown eyes were wide open in fear. No one noticed the bright yellow eyes of the red-hooded girl skipping down the streets.