His fist were nearly skin and bone, dripping blood, both his and another man’s, He wore a trench coat with a shark tooth dangling from the collar, down to his chest. Amber eyes stared angrily at the other man’s crumpled body. He flicked aside dirty blonde hair from his eye and looked down at his bloodied combat boots.
Mark Armstrong had just gotten into one of the worse fights he’d ever seen, let alone been involved in. He couldn’t tell if the other man, Joey Zewalski was still breathing or not. This had all been over 30 dollars that Joey had wanted from Mark.

The altercation in the park had spiraled out of control and Mark was forced to swing back at Joey, throwing him backwards with a right hook to the nose. It didn’t stop there, swing after swing and both men were bruised and coughing up blood from haymakers to the guts.

Now, after a few more minutes of fighting, Joey lay on the pavement his hands still clutching at his blood smeared face, yet not moving. Nothing had been like this back in High-School a mere 3 months ago.
High-school had been great to Mark, he’d aced nearly every class in his Senior year and had no problems until meeting Joey and his gang of drug dealers and Pimps who had bribed their way into High-school to do “business” with students. Of course this business was drugs most of the time, giving reluctant kids Pills and meth until caught by the Security forces.

The only thing Mark messed up on was borrowing 50 dollars from Joey and his gang, a month before school ended. Forgetting about his debt, Mark had been hunted down by Joey several times, but never touched. Until now.

Mark wished things were like in the High-school days, no drama for him and no fights that were fatal. He had wished he never stayed in Los Angeles to become a Narcotics Officer, something he’d probably never become now.

He stopped thinking of the good ole days when the sirens from a Police car bombarded his ears from behind. The loud footsteps of boots on concrete and the booming voice of a P-2 to put his hands over his head and lock his fingers and walk slowly backwards. Mark did this without worry, and in seconds felt the cold metal of handcuffs around his wrist.

He’d figure that he’d spend the next 15 years of his life in prison for Involuntary Manslaughter of Joey.