Clarence watched him go. The broom in his hand felt heavier than before. Wind nudged the windchimes above, but instead of their usual soft song, they made a dull rattle. He stared at the mulch, at the blinking sensor, at the dark, soggy footprints staining the grass.
Did I go too far? he wondered. What if someone actually gets hurt? Will they say it’s my fault? Will they listen to me at all? Jordan walked up beside him, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “That was wild,” he said quietly. “Did you see his face?”
Clarence didn’t answer right away. He bent down, picked up his broom again, and brushed a few stray leaves off the porch. “People take shortcuts when they think no one’s watching,” he muttered. Then, almost to himself: “I just hope I didn’t go overboard with all this.”
The next day, around noon, the man returned—but this time he brought company. A black-and-white patrol car rolled up beside him. Two officers stepped out—one older, gray-haired and steady; the other younger, holding a tablet.