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.
[He may have gloves on, but he'll hold off on touching that right now. Is there anything ready to set the oil aflame Hawks has to worry about setting off? Or something else equally suspicious?]
[ Nothing that looks like it's going to light it, but the state of the circle probably counts as suspicious--besides a very small smudge, it is completely unbroken. ]
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Does the motor oil puddle lead anywhere?]
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A smudge of blood. Looks to be a partial footprint. ]
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