The Sergeant's deadline is tonight. An offer to get in contact with people you know, yet also a threat. Given how fed up he was, it's unlikely he's joking about the kind of cruelty he's willing to go through for the sake of getting what he wants.
That's why it may not be so surprising that, early in Friday morning, there's this air of tension, despite the bright sun in the sky. It doesn't help that a firetruck and a couple patrolcars race through the streets, passing in front of the motel and going west. The reason why is clear after a single glance:
There's a thick column of black smoke emanating from somewhere inside the Junkyard.
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Have to peek to make sure no one needs help, you know?
[ Let's go to the junkyard. ]
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[ She's about five seconds away from waggling her finger like a school marm, but also like, not going to stop him. He's got a point. ]
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Careful, you're going to start sounding like Queen, yo.
[ And then he's looking at the sky again to figure WHERE TO GO. ]
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Is that a person, or...?
[ or some kind of jab about her being a princess, she can't tell ]
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[ This is a bittersweet topic some how. ]