Death at Dawn

Here I sat, in a musty prison cell, awaiting my death. I sat up, trying to get comfortable on this prison bench even though I knew it was an impossible task. Sighing, I reflected on how I got here in the first place.
…
I was sprinting down an alley way, gasping for my breath, all the while running for my life, when I heard some yell, “Hey Blondie! Hold it!” from behind me. I came to an abrupt halt, minding racing as to what to do. I heard footsteps approaching me, crunching on the debris that littered the ground. Whoever was behind me was a few feet away. “Hands up, slowly,” he commanded. Slowly I raised my hands. “Now turn around and face me.” With no other option, I turned slowly, facing my captor. Fully facing him, I was taken aback with how big he was. Several feet away, he looked to be at least 6’ 4” with light brown hair and eyes. He looked to be about 25 with a scar over his left eyebrow. Looking at how the hands clutching the gun pointed at me, I had no doubt he wouldn’t have a second thought as to kill me on the spot. I gulped. “W-who are you?” I stuttered, my eyes going back and forth between his face and the gun pointed at me. He gave me an amused grin. “I’m Renaldo, but everyone calls me Row,” he said in a very deep voice, hinting that he smoked. “What’d you want,” I asked. “Oh, you know exactly why I’m here. I’m here to turn you in, to get my hands on that reward money.” I backed up a few steps. He smiled at my persistence. “There’s no point in runnin’,” he told me, moving the gun so it was pointed directly at my face. I stopped where I was, at the edge of the alley way. Heart hammering in my chest, I tried to think straight. Okay, I’m in a very bad situation. What am I going to do?! Before I could think of some kind of escape plan, I felt a prick on the side of my neck. Moving my raised hand to the side of my neck, I felt a dark and pulled it out. I stared at it, trying to comprehend what it was doing in my neck. After a few moments of staring at it, my vision became fuzzy. The world around me was darkening, my body feeling heavy. I swayed a bit and fell sideways, hitting my head. I didn’t register the pain. Losing the grip I had on the world, the last thing I heard was, “The award is ours.”
…
And that’s how I was captured. Great, accused of something I didn’t do. I sighed again. Getting as comfortable on an iron bench as I could, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. I woke up to a bang, as someone opened a door. I heard several footsteps coming towards me. I sat up and waited for those to approach me. Finally, a few men stopped in front of my cell. “Jason Webster?” the man in the front asked. He was on the short side, maybe 5’ 6” with tussled black hair, barely touching his shoulders and a small beard. He wore a fancy three piece suit, with a dark blue tie. “Yeah,” I replied. “You’re free to go.” Surprised, I didn’t have a response. “Come,” he said. He gestured to one of the men and he took a key out of his pocket and