My skin began to crawl as the light faded, and the shadows of the city emerged from their hiding holes with all the confidence of those who truly did own the night.  I watched with mild interest as the streets began to fill with men and women wearing Blood Hound colors.  They wore the simple outfits of most gangbangers; the muscle t-shirts and ripped jeans for the men and ass hugging shorts and barely covering tops for the women.<br/><br/>My expert eyes ran over the various gang members, carefully picking out the concealed knives, pistols, even sub machine guns tucked away beneath baggy clothes.  Dad had always said it was even more important to know what the other side was packing than to be packing yourself.  The baseball bats, crowbars, and other toys the gang bangers carried were mainly for show; it had been a long time since a gang war in Saint Laurence was settled with anything other than hollow points.  A surprisingly high number of the women were armed as well, given their submissive demeanor as they were led by their ‘masters’.  Feeling my stomach turn at seeing<em>anyone </em>being treated that way I kept my gaze fixed on the store.<br/><br/>Sighing as the crowd grew around the closed grocer’s shop I slowly rose out of the car, taking the time to shut the door quietly and straighten my overcoat against the chilly fall evening.  It was with measured and unfaltering steps that I made my way across the street, despite the rapid thudding of my heart beating deep in my chest,  as the first of the windows were smashed in with a crash.<br/><br/>The violence was quick and nearly silent, not accompanied by the normal cheers and screamed encouragements that most gangs indulged in.  The Blood Hounds knew their business, as close to professionals as street punks could get and I felt a brief surge of respect as I leaned against a lamppost across from the store.  Picking out the leader wasn’t difficult at all.  Not necessarily the biggest but certainly the meanest looking hombre I watched as he directed the mayhem, his tattooed fist wrapped around the leashes to three trembling women.<br/><br/><em>Fresh meat for the gang.  Leader always gets first picks –</em>I thought with only mild distaste, noting as several gang members turned and saw they had an audience.<br/><br/>The jeers and catcalls began as I finally walked towards them, the weight of the .38 against my ribs almost comforting compared to the leaden weight of my heart.  This was by far the most dangerous part.  The razor’s edge that I was about to dance on could easily leave me one of the many corpses that the SLPD collected with the dawn of each new morning.<br/><br/>Affecting a casual, almost bored look, I let my eyes wander over the crowd, carefully<em>not </em>taking note of the leader as I spoke in a flat iron voice “Who’s in charge here?”<br/>