Like everything else, the Paramount is a ruin, but it's an elegant ruin, and in its broken sign and half-demolished facade is the shadow of some former glamor. Half the word Paramount has fallen away and shattered in the street, leaving only Para, the thin, anemic sun glittering off its curves. It feels appropriate, though Mike couldn't ever explain why.
They're crouched in the shadow of a ruined building, across the street and halfway down, the car parked a safe distance away but not so far as to make a speedy getaway impossible. Dexter's locked in, upset and whining, and if they come back to dog piss on the seats, Mike thinks he might...
Well, he'll be happy to come back at all.
"I see one guy at the door," he whispers, handing the binoculars to Tom. "But there's probably at least four we don't see." The roof in particular might be a sniper's heaven.
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They're crouched in the shadow of a ruined building, across the street and halfway down, the car parked a safe distance away but not so far as to make a speedy getaway impossible. Dexter's locked in, upset and whining, and if they come back to dog piss on the seats, Mike thinks he might...
Well, he'll be happy to come back at all.
"I see one guy at the door," he whispers, handing the binoculars to Tom. "But there's probably at least four we don't see." The roof in particular might be a sniper's heaven.