Chapter 2
The flashing red and blue lights painted erratic crimson stripes across the brick facade of Marcus’s home. Vance slowly lowered his radio, his eyes darting toward the open garage where the warm glow of a work light illuminated a pristine tool bench and a stack of moving boxes. Marcus massaged his wrists, the metal sting fading into a dull, angry throbbing. He took two steps toward his front door, his bare feet cold against the concrete.
"Don't go inside just yet," Vance said, his hand hovering near his utility belt. "We need to talk about what's in that trash can."
Marcus stopped, turning his head just enough to keep the older officer in his peripheral vision. "My garbage is none of your business, Officer. Your partner just harassed me on my own property, and now you want to inspect my trash? Is this standard procedure for a routine walk to the curb?"
"It’s not garbage, and you know it," Vance replied flatly, taking a slow step forward. "I saw the corner of that box. The Department of Sanitation doesn't pick up industrial solvent drums, Marcus. Especially not ones that match the inventory numbers from the municipal supply depot downtown."
The night air suddenly felt heavier, the distant hum of traffic on the highway sounding like a gathering storm. Marcus didn't flinch. He kept his expression neutral, masking the sudden spike of adrenaline that hammered against his ribs.
"You've got a wild imagination," Marcus said, his voice dangerously even. "People throw out old paint, old hobby supplies. It's a free country, or at least it's supposed to be for some of us."
"That's industrial-grade plating acid," Vance interrupted, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The exact kind used to strip serial numbers off firearms. And dispatch just broadcasted an alert about a missing shipment from Precinct Four. Coincidence? I don't think so."
Marcus turned fully around, narrowing his eyes. "If you think I'm running an operation out of my garage, why aren't you arresting me right now? Why send Miller back to the cruiser?"
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Vance didn't answer right away. He looked past Marcus’s shoulder, staring intently at the second-story bedroom window where a faint shadow flickered behind the sheer curtains.
"Because Miller didn't pull you at random," Vance said, his voice trembling slightly. "She was looking for you by name before we even turned onto your block."
