Riot Van

    It was hard to say who'd thrown the first punch. Miles hit the gritty, littered pavement with a hard smack, and blacked out for a second or more. When he came to, the silhouette of his opponent was looming over him, darkened by the backlit street lamp, and the dull thumping he heard could easily have been one of two options: his own throbbing head, or the nightclub they had so hastily abandoned. He groaned, and got to his feet, picking a sliver of broken bottle out of his cheek. His teeth tasted like blood, which matched his cold leather jacket quite well. The street corner where they stood was spinning, and he felt the bitter taste of bile sizzling in the back of his throat. Miles gritted his teeth and laughed.

"Take my advice," Growled Miles, "Get the fuck outta here... before you regret the moment you saw me".

The stranger launched a large portion of saliva onto the concrete, "I don't take advice from no scousers".

Scouser.

    Perhaps Miles should have taken into account the pocket knife shaped outline in the man's trousers pocket before he smashed his teeth in with the palm of his hand. He pulled his hand away, inspecting the two types of blood mixed together in one, unlikely petri dish. The unknown man tried to regain his stability, but instead, he found himself being sucker-punched by one Miles Kane.
    Everything happened all at once. The red and blue flashing lights flickered across the old brick buildings, accompanied by the shrill sound of a police siren. Miles watched as the man stumbled and tripped down the alley, out of sight.

"Shit," He silently hissed to himself before his hands were cuffed behind his back, and he was shoved into the back of a police car in an aggressive and slightly inhumane manner.
    Miles observed his new, but familiar surroundings. The seats were cheap leather, which was worn due to years of criminals sitting in the back, plucking and peeling at the fake upholstery. The back seat was separated by the front seat via a set of black bars meant to keep the crooked cops safe from their prey. Miles scoffed.

"Good to be reminded that you prefer to focus on little street fights rather than the big issues," He remarked to whoever was driving the thing, "Why can't you catch proper crooks?"

"I'm not taking criticism from some lad who's covered in blood and reeks of gin," Remarked a female cop's voice, "Just shut up until we get to the station".
    The woman must have been new, because Miles had never heard her shaky voice before, and he knew every copper around here. Plus, only the new cops ever actually replied to the criminals in the back. Except Alex. He was different. He spoke to Miles like a normal person, occasionally teasing him for being arrested yet again, but still asking about how his life was. Not to mention how attractive he was. They'd gotten to know each other quite well, and though he'd never admit it, Miles was fond of Alex. He was still a cop though, and that meant Miles could never truly be friends with him.
    The car pulled into the station, and the woman grabbed Miles by the arm and dragged him into the ugly, industrial, cockroach infested building before them. Before he knew it, he was in a small, dim-lit room with two chairs facing each other at a table. There was a mirror on the wall, but Miles was well aware of its purpose. On the other side, it was a window where other cops would watch their crook get questioned. As his offence was minor, and certainly less extreme than some of his others, he didn't quite understand why he was being questioned like this.
    He hadn't been there for long before the chief of police himself walked in. Miles stood with a playful, taunting grin on his lips.

"Oi, Chief Wanker! Long time no see!"

Chief Weller rolled his eyes and ignored his frequently heard nickname, "Two weeks isn't a long time when it comes to not doing illegal things, Mr. Kane. Now sit the fuck down and let's get this over with".