Vigilante

Creeping through the silent streets Hood pulled far over his face Relishing in tonight’s take He has fresh, warm blood on his hands He isn’t shaking, completely composed He feels the weight of jewelry in his fingers Looks up as another approaches They exchange pleasantries and goods From the roof another watches the trade He slowly makes his way down to the ground Startled, the hoods pull weapons Too late, they’re full of holes The man ignores the cargo Justice is his reward