Late Night

“Where is he?”

“Quiet!” Someone else hissed.

“But he’s late!”


Jon looked out at his compatriots, two shadows standing in street corners, waiting. Why did it have to be so damn cold? He desperately wanted to blow into his hands, but the others insisted.

“It’s too cold.”

“Exactly. Someone might see your breath.”

“Why do we have to wait here?”

“Quiet. Someone’s coming.”

Please let it be him. But no. It was a copper. Jon could see his light bobbing. Slowly, one by one the others wandered away. They’d circle back, and maybe this time there’d be four.

At first Jon walked quietly, but gradually his steps grew louder. Nothing was more suspicious than trying to hide.

“Evening.” A voice cut through the night. Jon turned. It was the copper, eyeing him carefully.

“Hello officer,” he said, wearing his best smile.

“Out for a little stroll.”

“Just heading home.”

“And where are you coming from at this hour?”

“Oh, I’m afraid I had a bit too much to drink.”

“Really? You seem pretty sober to me.”

Something crashed nearby, sounds of broken glass and wood.

“Wait right here.” The officer hurried off, club in hand.

“Come on.” A firm hand grabbed Jon’s shoulder, leading him into a run.


“Lucky I was nearby.”

“Lucky? If it wasn’t for you we’d be on our way by now.”

“Well I’m here. Where are the others?”

Jon sighed. “They’re around the bend. Come on.”

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