Outside, an engine revved up. Tires ground on gravel. Through the fly-spotted windowpanes that remained, she saw a fiery yellow low-slung car with porthole windows swerve onto the highway with a clash of gears. She couldn’t see the driver, but assumed it was the man who had brushed by her. What would a man who drove a collector’s car, dressed in style, and carried a gun, be doing at a place like this on a Saturday afternoon?

One word leaped into her mind. Drugs.

She shivered. Where was Uncle Jimmy?

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