Gunshot or Fireworks?

Gunshot or fireworks? Clem lay in bed his heart beating, he’d been ripped violently from his sweet dreams by a bang that the word bang did not do justice to. He lay still listening in the darkness, listening to what? Listening for what? He imagined other people in the block laying awake also torn from their dreams by the violent noise. Dark rooms, whispered voices, duvets pulled up and around for protection. Couples asking each other what that was, kids crying and creeping into parents' beds upset by the noise, cats hiding beneath sofas, dogs whimpering in the corner. Clem wondered if anyone would be brave enough to go have a look or if they would, like him, just lie in the darkness and wonder. Clem's heartbeat returned to normal and the night was still, no follow up rocket, no retaliatory gunshot, just the feint hum of the night.
Vinny loved this time of year, you could hide in broad daylight, or at least under the cover of darkness. Gunshots sounded like fireworks, they might wake up but wouldn't attract prying eyes. Vinny knew that most people would assume it was a firework, those who didn't would be too scared to peak out of their drawn curtains. As he stood over the figure oozing life at his feet, Vinny looked around at the flats, not one light on, not one flicker of curtains, a perfect, witnessless crime, with a very public body. The woman with two faceswould be pleased.