The Talk

I settle into my car, decision made. I'm not leaving until I speak with Detective Heo. As the hours tick by, I watch the house, noting the movements behind curtains, the occasional silhouette passing by windows. The neighborhood grows quiet as night falls, and one by one, the lights in Heo's house go out.

Just as I'm considering whether to give up and come back another day, I hear the faint creak of a door opening. Alert, I sit up straighter, watching as an old man steps out onto the porch. Even in the dim streetlight, I can tell it's Heo.

I quickly get out of the car and approach, trying not to appear too eager.

"Detective Heo?" I call softly.

He looks at me, his eyes tired but sharp. "I got your message," he says, his voice gravelly with age. "Been watching you sit out here for hours. Felt guilty just letting you wait like that."

I'm taken aback by his frankness. "I appreciate you coming out, sir. I just have a few questions about-"