Joe saw the same Duster, its engine ticking, parked outside the diner. He peered in the window and made out the uniforms hanging on hooks. It was too dark to tell what service the guy was in. Inside, Joe recognized him sitting at the counter—the guy who’d stopped outside his house two days before and yelled obscenities. Joe sat in a booth to surveil the dude. The guy saw Joe and stood up. At least six-five, he walked out fast, leaving his meal, steam rising from his coffee. As the guy drove away, Joe wondered what his game was.
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"Classic"
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