A 1967 Chevy Impala, parked on the side of the road.
Trunk full of guns. Stocked full of silver. For most of the town, it was a source of anxiety, but to her, somehow it made her feel safe.
Investigations were thorough. Nothing turned up but a couple of wallets and some fake IDs.
But then came the bodies. Dead for 24 hours before they turned up. Dying for longer. Bled out. Whoever attacked them was long gone.
Two boys. Late twenties to early thirties. Each donning an FBI badge most likely fake. Agents Smith and Smith. Brothers.
The tall one died first, his head in his older brother's lap. The shorter one was found with her picture in his hand. She and her son. She told the police she didn't know the man. They told her she may have been his next victim. That she should thank God for whoever had done it.
But as she closed the door, she found she couldn't help but cry.
Dean.