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Certain death? Conspiracy that goes to the top? Robbery gone wrong? All in a day’s work . . .
F hired me to do a straightforward job, but there was a slight snag in the operation when what I stole was stolen from me. Three goons showed up at my door to not so politely tell me that I have 24 hours to deliver F’s goods or my body will never be recovered.
The real tragedy is that I haven’t had my morning coffee . . .
Those punks better watch their back. Nothing comes between me and my coffee.
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