“The charred wood still smoldered in places despite having been drenched by fire hoses, and the parking lot was a wet, sooty mess. The air stank of burnt plastic and wiring, and breathing in the acrid stench coated the throat and sinuses with a greasy chemical residue. The firefighters were gone, having done everything they could, and now it was up to the Sheriff’s Department to deal with the remains. Though just what they could do, Joanne — as the saying went in law enforcement — hadn’t a godda...mned clue. She stood in the café’s empty parking lot, almost in the same spot where she’d stood yesterday morning. News vans were parked on the street, and the on-the-scene reporters stood in front of cameramen, hair and makeup impeccable though the sun had barely risen above the eastern horizon. Joanne wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that these men and women weren’t human, but rather newsdroids that were activated whenever a big story broke. That would certainly explain their always-perfect hair and clothes, along with their empty bright gazes and plastic smiles.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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