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daily – 62

The first two, including the man who was now snapping the holster closed over his gun, were local officers in regular uniforms. The one in front was taller and younger, maybe thirty years old, with crew cut blonde hair, an annoyed frown, and disapproving eyes that summed me up quickly and obviously. His partner was older, probably my age, and what I might have looked like if I’d ever considered exercise a way of life. He looked bored and glanced at his watch.

A little apart from them, a third man looked on. He was leaner than both, but as tall as the younger officer, and with a bland face I couldn’t guess the age of, though he wore a look of some discomfort, as if waiting to be asked in to a game of kickball on the school playground. This man’s uniform, however, was cut in the vaguely Eurpoean style of the newly re-organized Interpol.

A featherlight, clip-top computer shifted back and forth between the long fingers of his hands.

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