The night had grown deep, and the clock had struck past nine.
The streets of the middle-class neighborhood were quiet to the point of eeriness, broken only by the flickering lights of patrol cars casting cold, harsh patches of blue and red across the walls of the buildings, as if silently reminding everyone: tonight, something irreversible was about to unfold.
Bruce hit the brakes, and the tires ground over the fine gravel, emitting a faint screech. As the door closed, he caught a glimpse of a young police officer standing at the entrance, carefully sizing him up along with the black dog trailing behind him.
“Good evening, Bruce,” the officer's voice sounded unusually polite in the silence.
He raised an eyebrow and returned a polite smile. Lately, fame had begun to quietly grow its con
