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.
[Very good then! In that case, one last important check-- is there anything on his person? He'll gladly check pockets and the sorts just to be sure there's nothing else out of the ordinary here.]
[Seems normal. Okay, provided there's nothing else out of the norm with our murdered friend here, then he'll also just double-check the inside of the car he took his body from to make sure there's nothing that was left behind in there.]
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