Miller stepped away from his vehicle and moved toward the sidewalk.
Marcus continued walking for another moment before noticing the uniformed officer approaching him.
He slowed and turned his head.
The two men stopped beside the black sedan, close enough to speak without raising their voices. The warm light from a streetlamp illuminated the side of Miller's face, while the opposite side remained partly shadowed.
For a brief moment, neither man spoke.
Miller studied Marcus with an expression that suggested he had already made a decision.
Marcus studied him in return, quietly observing the officer's posture, his hands, and the way his eyes moved between Marcus's face and the pockets of his jacket.
There was no visible fear in Marcus's expression.
That seemed to irritate Miller more than anything else.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "Where are you headed tonight?"
MARCUS VANCE: "Just taking care of something nearby."
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "That's not an answer."
MARCUS VANCE: "It's the answer to the question you asked."
Miller's jaw tightened.
He was accustomed to people becoming nervous when he adopted that tone. Most hurried to explain themselves, offering details that he could reinterpret later. Others apologized even when they had done nothing wrong.
Marcus did neither.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "You always talk to police like that?"
MARCUS VANCE: "I talk to people the way they talk to me."
For a second, the street seemed unusually quiet.
A car passed at the far end of the block. Somewhere behind a row of buildings, a metal door slammed shut. Miller glanced toward the sound, then returned his attention to Marcus.
He had decided that the encounter would not end with a simple conversation.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "Turn around for me."
MARCUS VANCE: "Am I being detained?"
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "I said turn around."
Marcus remained where he was.
He did not raise his voice, make any sudden movement, or attempt to push past the officer. He simply waited, watching Miller carefully.
That calm response appeared to provoke something in the older man's mind. Miller stepped closer, narrowing the distance between them until their conversation became an uncomfortable confrontation.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "You have a problem following instructions?"
MARCUS VANCE: "I have a problem being treated like a criminal without a reason."
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "Maybe I have a reason you don't know about."
MARCUS VANCE: "Then tell me what it is."
Miller stared at him.
He had no convincing answer because he had no convincing reason for stopping Marcus in the first place.
Instead of acknowledging that fact, he allowed his expression to harden.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "Put your hands where I can see them."
Marcus slowly moved his hands away from his sides.
MARCUS VANCE: "They're right here."
Miller glanced toward the street, checking whether anyone nearby was paying attention. The sidewalk was almost empty. A delivery driver was visible in the distance, but he was loading packages into a vehicle and appeared uninterested in the confrontation.
The officer's confidence returned.
He had found an isolated stretch of pavement, a stranger who had not immediately submitted to his authority, and an opportunity to manufacture the kind of incident he could later describe however he pleased.
Miller moved closer, pretending to inspect Marcus's clothing.
Then, in a quick movement partly concealed by their bodies, he slipped a small clear plastic bag containing white powder into the chest pocket of Marcus's dark jacket.
The movement lasted barely a second.
Miller immediately withdrew his hand, pulled the bag from the pocket, and raised it between them as though he had just discovered incriminating evidence.
His expression transformed.
The casual irritation disappeared, replaced by theatrical suspicion. He held the bag high enough for Marcus to see it clearly, then looked toward the empty street as if expecting an invisible audience to witness his discovery.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "What's this? Got something to hide?"
Marcus looked at the bag.
For a moment, his expression did not change. His eyes moved from the plastic packet to Miller's hand, then returned to the officer's face.
He understood exactly what had happened.
The officer had not discovered anything.
He had created the evidence himself.
MARCUS VANCE: "You planted that."
Miller gave a short, humorless laugh.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "That's what they all say."
MARCUS VANCE: "You put it in my pocket."
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "And now you're going to tell me how I did my job?"
MARCUS VANCE: "I watched you do it."
Miller's smile faded slightly.
There was something about Marcus's response that unsettled him. The man was not pleading, denying wildly, or searching desperately for an explanation. He sounded like someone describing an ordinary event that had just taken place directly in front of him.
Miller had expected panic.
Instead, he was receiving certainty.
He pushed the bag toward Marcus's face.
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "You want to explain why you're carrying this?"
MARCUS VANCE: "You already know why it's there."
OFFICER BRAD MILLER: "Careful. You're making this worse for yourself."
MARCUS VANCE: "No. You're doing that all by yourself."