Chestnut Hill is located at the upper end of Philadelphia. Its tree-lined streets and quaint little shops were far removed from the gritty mean streets of North Philly. It’s a pretty safe bet that well-heeled Philadelphians who resided behind the walls of sprawling Chestnut Hill mansions have never heard of the Badlands.
There are no tree-lined streets, specialty shops, or fancy cars, only a sense of disillusionment and reminders of abandonment. Abandoned cars, abandoned homes but most of all abandoned dreams. It was the perfect environment for drug dealers to set up shop. Steele turned the corner and parked his midnight blue jag in front of an old, rundown restaurant that looked like it had been closed for years. The trash-littered street in the heart of the badlands was deserted except for three guys on the corner. Steele checked his watch, 12:50 a.m. He was early. As soon as he got out of the car, the three rough-looking dudes approached him. Steele backed up against the car so they couldn't surround him.
“Gimme, your watch and your wallet,” said the biggest of the three men. Without warning, he grabbed Steele by his coat collar. Steele grabbed the attacker's arm, quickly spun him to the side and slammed his head onto the hood of the car. Before the others could figure out what happened, Steele kicked the second guy in the balls and punched him in the face. The two men hit the ground like sacks of potatoes. Although Steele had been out of the detective business for a while his reflexes were still as sharp as ever. The last man standing looked down on the ground at his dazed friends; when he looked up, he found himself staring down the barrel of Steele's gun.
Alexander Steele was angry. “Look, I don't have time for this shit. I didn't come all the way down here to take out the trash, but what the hell, I'm early. So, what's it gonna be? You gentleman can step off right now, or your folks can read about you in tomorrow's newspaper, in the obituaries.” Before the guy could answer, a man came out from one of the abandoned storefronts. “Mr. Steele, you okay?” Steele glanced over at the two men slowly getting up from the ground. “Yeah, I'm fine.” He reached for his wallet and slapped a fifty-dollar bill on top of his car. “You want my money; well, earn it -watch my car. When I get back, it's still better to be here and it better be in pristine condition.” The thugs looked confused; Steele sighed, “Just watch the damned car, and tomorrow go buy a dictionary!”
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