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What kind of man was he?
He stepped onto his boat, untied Brinks then coaxed him back down the companionway steps with the promise of jerky treats. The walk no longer had appeal. Brinks could wait till morning. He would call nine-one-one, then doctor his wounds. And leave the police work to those more capable.
A few hours ago, he was thinking of going back. It was nothing but an impossible dream. He had lost his edge. He was physically impaired. Who would want him?
He had been stupid to even consider it.
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