The bar's lighting was like amber that could never be wiped clean; it clung to the glass walls and the faces of the people inside. Behind the bar, someone was slowly wiping glasses. An old song with a muffled rhythm was playing from the speakers in the corner. The drumbeat wasn't heavy, but it was loud enough to drown out conversation and make it hard to hear clearly. Victor sat on a bar stool, his glass half empty. His face was flushed, yet his gaze remained resolute.
Kane was different.
This burly, hot-tempered veteran detective had begun to unwind after several shots of hard liquor. The tough exterior he had maintained throughout the day gradually melted away under the influence of alcohol, causing him to speak far more candidly than earlier. One arm rested on the edge of the bar; his
