Adventure of Dallas Fontaine 2

Dallas hits the cab door as the shadow inside snaps a match toward the dash. Jackson’s shots crack through the alley, and the unloading crew ducks for cover in the warehouse gloom.

The match dies in a spray of sparks. In the cab, a man in a dark shirt jerks back, one hand still reaching for the ignition, the other clutching a service card stamped with a wedding route.

Jackson shifts left, keeping the warehouse mouth covered. Murderbone snarls at the cab wheel, body tense, ready to bolt if the driver makes a move.

On the ground beside the crate, the routing papers fan out in the diesel stink. They point straight to the wedding site, with detour times, staff codes, and a final note about the guest entrance.

The alley narrows around the truth, Alder March is using the delivery to clear the wedding grounds and isolate Dallas before the vows ever happen.

Dallas hooks the driver’s wrist, twists once, and the service card comes free into his palm. The stamp on it matches the wedding route paperwork scattered at his boots.

Jackson keeps the bay covered as the truck cab rocks from inside. Murderbone shifts to the wheel well, low and ready, eyes locked on the driver’s hand.

The papers on the ground show a second path, a service detour that dumps straight beside the guest entrance. The wet concrete glints under the warehouse light.

Inside the truck, a shape shifts hard against the window, and the driver goes pale as the cab door starts to rattle from the other side.

Dallas fires once. The driver drops out of sight in the cab, and the truck goes still except for the rattle of the door.

Blood spatters the window and the passenger side frame. Jackson freezes at the alley mouth, then raises his weapon toward the cab.

The passenger is still in there.

Dallas keeps his revolver trained on the movement inside, arm locked, voice flat.

Murderbone plants himself by the wheel well, low and rigid, blocking the gap to the cab.

The shape behind the window jerks back from the blood, and the truck cab door hangs open on a warning creak.

Dallas lowers the barrel a fraction, not in mercy, just to make the words land clean.

Inside the truck, something scrapes metal, then goes still. The driver’s blood slicks the window while the open door creaks wider on its hinge.

A dark shape unfolds from the passenger side, slow and disciplined, one hand rising where Dallas can see it. Not rushing, not pleading, just choosing to be counted.

Jackson shifts his aim toward the cab interior. Murderbone stays glued to the wheel well, eyes locked on the passenger door seam. The truck’s cab light flickers over fresh scuffs on the threshold and the dockside transfer code taped to the dash.

Dallas drops the muzzle to the passenger’s hips and gives the threat a cold, level shape.

The Passenger freezes in the cab light, both hands higher now, his weight shifting toward the open door but not past it.

Jackson keeps the lane covered, eyes flicking once to the blood on the frame, then back to the man’s hands.

Murderbone stays low at the wheel well, a silent block of muscle between Dallas and the cab interior.

Dallas shifts his revolver from threat to command, and the cab seems to shrink around the choice. The passenger swallows hard, then nods once, like a man deciding which risk is less fatal.

The passenger steps down, one shoe finding the alley gravel, then the other. Jackson angles his weapon toward the open cab, while Murderbone shifts to block the gap behind the man.

He backs away from the truck with both hands up, stopping where Dallas can see every inch of him. The driver lies motionless inside, and the blood on the window catches the light like a fresh stamp.

The passenger’s surrender lands, but it does not calm him. He stares past Dallas toward the wedding route papers on the crate, then toward the street beyond the alley, waiting for the next name to matter.