My blood chills just a little bit at the name, though I push it off as the sweet and slightly deranged old man continues rambling.<em>Blood Hounds</em>.  Punks he named them and punks they were, but punks with a rather<em>nasty</em>reputation for the ways they dealt with those who 'crossed' them.  Bumping into one on the street was just as likely to get you stabbed as it was to get you flipped off.<br/><br/>Violence was out.  Even if it had been<em>possible</em>to kill off the entire gang it would raise too many problems with the police, and nothing short of that would convince them to break off once the first blood had been spilt.  No, blood shed had to be avoided at all costs.  Reason fell by the wayside as well as I turned the problem over in my mind.  Simply trying to talk to them was as futile as a mouse trying to explain to a cat how she was bad for it's cholesterol.  No, if reason was possible it would never have reached me.<br/><br/>For a moment I considered dropping it.  The last option was too dangerous, far too risky if things went wrong, which they most likely would.  Considered handing the old man back his money, pushing him firmly out the door and slamming it behind him.  Dad was right; some people you just can't help, the quicksand they were trapped in just too high, their heads sinking far too fast.  But as I looked into the old man's almost pleading eyes, the last of my resistance crumbled and I was left with only one real option.<br/><br/><em>Bluff</em>.  Turning back to the old man, I pat his hand affectionately and smile with a reassurance that I don't feel myself "I'll start tonight, sir."<br/><br/>_____________________<br/><br/><em>I really do hate stakeouts</em>- I thought as I nibbled lightly on the stale fruit bar, leaning back into the soft leather of the car seat. -<em>They take bloody</em>forever<em>and I always end up gaining a few pounds from all the munchies.</em><br/><br/>Smiling slightly, I let myself relax a bit more into the comfortable seat as my eyes remained fixed on the soft lights of the old man's store in the fading evening light.  Just the normal steady stream of customers passing through the simple shop's door; hell, not even a quarrelling couple to break the monotony.  Parked a block and a half away in front of an abandoned apartment building my fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel.  The simple mp3 player that carried me through most of these long hours was charging, it's small indicator still glowing softly amber as it leeched off the beat up junker's battery.<br/><br/><em>Hope something interesting happens soon.</em>- I vaguely wish as the last rays of daylight disappear behind the skyline.