Doakes picked up one of the pastelitos and leaned back. “Why don't you-all bring me up to date,” he said. He took a bite, and Deborah tapped a finger on the table before deciding that made sense. “All right,” she said. “We got a rough description of the guy who's doing this, and his van. A white van.” Doakes shook his head. “Don't matter. We know who's doing this.” “We also got an ID on the first victim,” I said. “A man named Manuel Borges.” “Well, well,” Doakes said. “Old Manny, huh? Really should've let me shoot him.” “A friend of yours?” I asked, but Doakes ignored me. “What else you got?”
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