At 12:53 p.m. on a patio right outside the famous restaurant Scone, was a party for the birthday of Patrick O’Donnell. The party was full of balloons, and plenty of beer. Four blocks away was a cemetery. Surrounding the cemetery were gargoyles three feet high and long metal spears. It was a cool night; mist was suspended over the moist grass. Throughout that block stood famous tall oak trees which were planted there many years ago. Along the street was a single lamppost, and the light on the lamp was barely hanging on and had a constant flicker. About ten meters away from that post stood a man. He hadn’t slept for many days. He only told four people his life story. He had no money, but he had a knife. His arms were stained with ink. He slouched up against the large oak tree under the shadows, sharpening his knife for the twentieth time on a battered stone. He had his mind set for what was going to take place that very night.

As the party died down and only a few stragglers were there Patrick or Patches as they called him started his way back home. As he staggered down the first few blocks, he could feel the dampness in the air. He was alone and only three blocks away from home when a stray cat darted by him into a neighbors stoop. Rounding the corner onto Yorkshire Avenue, he saw a cemetery and it brought him back to old memories of his father. As he came close to the flickering lamppost it went out. He didn’t find it disturbing because it was old and had been flickering the past couple of days. He continued down the street and heard some rustling of leaves. He stopped for a moment, then continued on and then he heard a voice, “say good bye Mr. O’Donnell. “ Before he could turn around, a cool metal blade glided through the back of his balding hair. Blood trickled down his back and he was dead before he could shout for help. Within seconds, a car pulled up and the battered man, Conor hopped in along with the body of the former Mr. O’Donnell. The old Ford Mustang rattled its way down a few blocks and stopped in front of an alley.

A few paces away from the dark alley there was a bar. It was still crowded inside with voices shouting out yelps of joy. Instantly, two men came out of the bar with a grin on their face. They got in the Mustang car and drove off. The scene in the car was not pretty because the new two had sat in the back seat crammed in a corner trying not to get near the bloody body. The men drove back to Scone and parked the car under the shadow of another large oak. The two new men, Lee and Dillon, stepped onto the patio and looked around. As they expected, they found two men passed out with beer bottles all around them. As they got to the men they placed the body next to one of them and killed the other with the same knife. And then Lee drew the knife back and penetrated the heart of the other man. They left the fingerprints on the knife of the man with it through his chest.
In the morning, the driver Padrag stepped out of the front door and snatched the newspaper. He stepped back inside and closed the wobbly door. He took a step towards the middle of the only room and the floor panel creaked. He unraveled the rubber band from the paper and read the title Drunken man murders two at party. ” D-Block Jobs finished. “ yelled Conor, from the corner of the room, as he overlooked Padrag. Dillon, Lee, and Conor got up from their torn chairs and sat next to Padrag as he spread out the paper on the ground. As they read on, it explained that Mr. O’Donnell had recently won $25 million in a lottery and that his money was going to go to his brother Phil. At this statement the four men all of whom the only members of the gang D-Block started cackling. The following days the gang purchased a new home and new clothes. Three days later they attended a funeral, which was held on the very same block where three days previous a man stood with a sharp knife under the shadows.