the trash bag, and finally, the man in handcuffs. Recognition dawned on his face almost
immediately.
"Marcus?" Miller asked, his tone shifting from authoritative to surprised.
"Evening, Officer Miller," Marcus replied, offering a tight, forced smile. "Just taking out the trash."
Miller turned to Jenkins, his expression hardening. The younger officer looked confused, her
earlier confidence wavering under Miller's stern gaze.
"Jenkins," Miller said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Did you ask him his name?"
Jenkins blinked, caught off guard. "I... I asked him for ID. He didn't have it."
"That's not what I asked," Miller continued, stepping closer to her. "Did you ask him his name?"
"No, sir," Jenkins admitted, her voice dropping.
"If you had," Miller said, turning back to Marcus and pulling out his handcuff keys, "you would
know that Marcus here runs the community center down the street. You would know that he
bought this house five years ago. And you would know that you just handcuffed a man for doing
his chores on his own property."
The click of the handcuffs unlocking sounded like a gunshot in the quiet street. Marcus rubbed
his wrists, the red marks already beginning to fade.
Jenkins stood frozen, her face flushed with embarrassment and anger. She opened her mouth to
speak, to defend her actions, but Miller cut her off.
"Get back in your car, Jenkins," Miller ordered, not looking at her. "We're going to have a long talk