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Unsolved james patterson series5/23/2023 ![]() ![]() The wheelchair guy straightens up with some difficulty. The man in beige calls out, "How 'bout I give you a hand with that, mister?" It always has been and always will be so. Any student of history, of science, knows the opposite is true. Only moralists or lemmings think that weakness requires compassion and mercy. He also works the joystick on the arm of his wheelchair, but in vain-the motorized chair fails to respond to the command. He bends over at the waist, reaches down to the pavement, and struggles to pick up several items that have spilled out of a plastic grocery bag. ![]() There is one other vehicle in the lot, a Dodge Caravan the color of rust that's parked nose in about eight spaces away.Ī man in a wheelchair is in the middle of the lot. The convenience store, displaying ads for cigarettes, beer, two-for-a-dollar hot dogs, Powerball tickets, is the only thing open. The laundromat at the end is dark the catering service is shuttered, a metal grate across the window. ![]() The setting summer sun casts a dim glow over the strip mall, nearly empty. He steps out of the car, straightens his jacket, and lightly brushes his hand against the bulge at his side, the concealed handgun. The man in the beige jacket pulls his SUV into the strip-mall parking lot and kills the engine. I do what I do for one, and only one, reason. I am not uneducated, I am not poor, and I am not the product of an abusive upbringing. ![]()
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