Chapter 70

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In the five minutes it took for Randy to walk from the drugstore to the truck (parking always sucked hard on a Friday night in that part of the city), the sky went from the pink-orange flames of sunset to the gray-black smudge of near-night. The streets were still damp from the early afternoon rain shower that the following sun hadn’t quite had the strength to dry up, and the air carried a dank, musty odor. The atmosphere matched Randy’s bleak mood perfectly.

“Pardon me,” a clipped voice with a polished accent said from Randy’s left.