Donut Heaven, Continued
A lovely cruller. I curled up on the shotgun seat and got to work. Meanwhile Bernie and Lt. Stine were talking about Freddie Dancer, the dude who’d taken pot shots at us down at the tiny box canyon. I got the feeling Bernie was learning something important, like Freddie Dancer’s name was really Freddie Dangelo, and that he’d got his name from dancing on some poor guy his gang had beat up, and that he’d done time at Central State for kidnapping. But only a feeling, because mostly all that talk passed over me like a gentle breeze. I took care of that cruller, then licked off the last crumbs. I was still doing that when Bernie said, “Kidnapped? Interesting. That’s what happened to our client, Kelo Printz.”
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