why did i only name one character

Little droplets bounced off, scattering into the air, tossed from the foot falls of her seasoned leather boots. Rain waterslided down her burlap trench coat, clustering around [in] the folds then dripping off, like a slow motion bombing raid. The wind blustered her hat off her head, but she tried to catch it, like a drunk dog after a bone, nearly tripping over her own feet. She was unable to catch it as it took wing and spiralled towards her steadily approaching shadow. Her quickly matting hair trailed behind her, shoulder length in a variety of warm colours. Both her hair and attire strangely complimenting each other.

Safe and sound hidden beneath her trench coat, was what the shadows coveted, the camera, uncomfortably hanging from her person, more specifically, the roll of film inside of it to be exact. She wished she had a second pair of arms to cradling the camera. She was afraid of the strap snapping and it becoming a garbled piece of junk after hitting the ground.

She was all holstered up. Each holster having a gun clipped safely in its pocket. She was not making the same mistake she did the last time. Violence was still deplorable to her but she had always seen herself as a sinner and not a saint. Her skirting of her morals became harder to ignore when she realized she carried more guns then a soldier on a battle field. With a few surprises.

It is most likely that her shadows believed she was being sandwiched in this alley. It was more than likely they would try to block her exit off in this alleyway. But not this. Two madmen with their Tommy guns ready step out from the shadows, as the shadows likeliness stepped out into light and it was like a fun house mirror except with the reflection of people trying to kill her. Fuck she said under her breath. Either they were waiting for her or she went down the wrong alley. She was screwed.

One of the men was blocking her off. Her instinct told her to get behind them and run. She almost didn't run she, almost didn't run, sometimes death was better to owing a debt; even worse was having allies. Most her family was killed because her dad could not pay his debt so they killed his family in front of him. Luckily she was at a friends house. She often wondered if she was really the lucky one; coming home to that. Still it haunted her. They haunted her. If only she was there she could have died with them.

It took longer then she thought it would for the audio of bullets to break. What little silence there was as she entered the crowded main street and hopefully lost to any one who would be looking for her. She realized shortly, after her initial “escape”, it was more of a waiting for her situation and less a looking for her. Someone put a gun to her back and told her to come with him, or –

“or what, will you take my family away?” she said defiantly “well someone has already beat you to it.”

his companion she had not yet noticed said “shit that's awful specific” he queried “do you do that often?”

“shut up.”

“your a journalist you've seen the picture.” he said as his voice cracked under his “get shit done” bravado.

She went so white that even a ghost would ask her if she was feeling sick. She followed them without any resistance like a rag doll as they led her from the lightly crowded street to their car. Chewing gum, the shorter one frisked her, for weapons. The larger one took the camera while both madmen talked about the weapons, their “stats”, but notably how many there were.

The larger one said “don't forget to look for hidden weapons.”

“what you think i'm an idiot? of course i won't” he said offended the best he could. “there was not a single weapon she had hidden on her person he didn't find. He winked at her and told his partner that he couldn't find any. Like she said she was carrying more weapons then a soldier.

As she cuffed her, the shorter one puts the key in her left-hand and what felt like a piece of paper, put a bag over her head and then then pushed her into the backseat of a sleek unoriginal god father type vehicle. They both got in their respective sides of the car. The larger one being the driver.

She unlocked her cuffs as silently as she could and looked at the piece of paper. It said

“Wait. You'll know when. This makes us even.” She let out one of the biggest sighs of her entire life. If she should have left her alive or not plagued her waking dreams. But she finally had the answer; she ended up to be just like her father. She should have killed her with the rest of them. She would have wanted it to go down badly if it kept another monster from the streets. Without revenge she had started to feel empty inside.

They drove down sandy roads for a bit then eventually they parked. Then they stopped.

“I got you covered” the shorter of the few said to the larger.

“Is that supposed to comfort me ?” she asked snidely

The duo opened up their doors and stepped out of the car, leaving the doors open, for some cover. The other car preformed the same ritual as this car drove up.

“Do you have the the girl and the film?” a cookie cutter voice asked.

“The film was not part of the deal.” he said affirming the deal “and don't start any of that, the deals changed bull shit.”

There was silence for awhile then the one she thought she could peg as the youngest of the group broke the silence. “well what else is he supposed to say.” he naively asked. Everyone gave out a little bit of a chuckle and quickly pulled themselves back together.

“fuck man its my balls if i don't bring the film back.” the leader of the opposing side of this trade off said.

“want the film as extra? He offered “Well we want Floyd.”

They murmured amongst themselves for a bit then the silence was broken once again.

“you two trade the film for Floyd? He asked confusingly.

He continued as if he were talking to a child “are you s t u p i d”

instead of telling this little yelper dog of a man to shut the fuck up, the other three argued amongst themselves. “Well it must be Christmas, we've got one hell of an alive Floyd in the back of our car all magic like and everything.” he said like a man lost in some ancient text he didn't understand.

As they started to get Floyd out of the back seat, the taller of the two of the captors closes his door and goes to get the journalist. Who shots him, with a flick of the wrist, a gun fires from her wrist holster, and puts a bullet into the taller captures skull. Floyd suffered a similar fate. the shorter of the captors gets back in the car and the two of them drive away.