It was of an angel, washed in purples and blues, rising above what looked like the chaos of the streets.  Fallen non descriptive people were scattered on the painted street, seemingly dead.  Flames licked the periphery of the streets, and seemed to rise up and hold the scenes in its grasp of it’s flaming hand.

            “As the angel watches, the phoenix rises…,” read Jayden, hunched down, reading the small script at the bottom of the painting, written in Spanish. 

            “Look what we have here….,” said a dark voice from the mouth of the alley, the voice sounding louder because of the echo.  Bette looked up, seeing that they were up against a well, literally.  How could she have been so stupid, to walk into a dead end, with no way out?  She groaned to herself, knowing how bad this situation looked.  Three young teen males were walking down the alley, a swagger that only meant that they knew they had them caught.

            “This is your idea of an adventure, right?” asked Jayden in a shaky voice, the fear showing in her tone.

            “We’re in trouble here,” said Bette, her hands shaking at her side.  They were caught, no weapons, and in a place like this, they could scream, and no one would come to their rescue.

            “Trouble?  Why would you think that, huh?” the lead boy said with a sneer.  His hand flicking out, a knife seemed to materialize there.  “I think you came to the wrong end of town, now hand over the purses, and maybe we won’t hurt you… much,” he added, his cohorts laughing behind him.

            As he reached for Jayden’s purse, the teen at the end of the alley, who seemed to be guarding it, playing the watch dog, let out a loud yelp and disappeared from view.

            The lead boy turned, motioning to his second in command to go see what was going on.  Before he could get to the look out’s side, someone stepped into the light of the alley way’s mouth, a quick hard punch snapped his head back and he collapsed into a heap at the attackers feet.

            “Délo para arriba, Jesús,” said the voice.  Deep and sultry, sure of themselves.  “No hacer que te lastima.”

            “Well, if it isn’t el granuja,” said the boy with a loud laugh, holding the knife out and waving in a ‘bring it on’ gesture to the person at the end of the ally.  The sight of the knife didn’t seem to phase the person at the end of the alley.  Instead, they stepped towards him.

            “I’ll put you down, Jesus, you won’t get back up, not this time, not on my streets,” threatened the voice, Bette finally realized who it was as they stepped closer, Rosita Navarro. 

            Rosita shook her head, stepping up to Jesus, sweeping his arm away from her as he tried to jab the knife into her ribs with a yell.  Catching his arm, pulling his weight into her, slamming an elbow into his nose.  Still holding his arm, she pivoted and crushed him into the wall face first, twisting his knife hand behind him.  The clatter of  metal on pavement rang through the alley, along with the screams of pain that Jesus was emitting.   Jayden heard a sickening pop, then a crunch as Rosita raised a sneaker clad foot into his right knee, sending him onto his knees. 

            “Rosita!” yelled Bette.  But Rosita didn’t hear her, she was saying something in Spanish to Jesus, her voice hard and cold as she threw him onto the ground into a babbling heap. 

            “Get out of here, Porter, NOW!” ordered Rosita.  Bette didn’t move, but Jayden grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the alley and into the bright cascading sunlight.  Just as they turned the corner, rushing towards Bette’s car, and hopefully, safety, a gun shot rang out, echoing through the silent street.