Small Kindness (A Christmas Story)



It felt like snow. Illya Kuryakin was always good at predicting that; for a moment he shivered from the chill in the air as he hopped up the stairs to the door of the darkened brownstone. Identical to the other such buildings that lined this quiet city street, this one served a different purpose.
A paper sack was tucked under his arm as he inserted a key into the lock, and stepping inside; he cautiously drew his gun from its holster.
Minutes later he emerged, having ensured all was secure, and holding a small penlight, he flashed twice as a signal before returning it to his pocket.
Two figures emerged the black sedan parked across the street; a man and a woman, and quickly they crossed to the house and entered it.
The curtains drawn, Kuryakin turned on a lamp, finally shedding light on their surroundings.
"This is better than the last safe house we stayed in," he said, making a beeline for the kitchen.
"I saw a small grocer that was still open when we passed, just a block away. Most places do stay open until five, so maybe I might just get lucky. It's worth a shot."
"Shot? Do not say that word my friend, you do not wish to bring any problems down on us." Illya was being his usual fatalistic self.
The lights were still on in the little grocery story, and Napoleon snapped his fingers, pleased at his luck. He opened the door, and a little brass bell, not unlike the one at Del Floria's tinkled its welcome.
Nodding his greeting to the older man behind the counter, he spoke to the man.
"You're Not closing yet are you? " Solo asked just to be polite, hoping the answer wouldn't be yes.