It was always there, in the furthest corner of the lot next to the abandoned and closed bar and grill. No one ever saw the Camaro come or go, but it was the newest model, windows tinted and body waxed to a radiant shine.

There was idle speculation, of course. A pimp, a drug dealer, an adulterer. When the car was issued a ticket, the fine was paid in cash in an envelope with no return address. Fines couldn’t be paid in cash, but the ticket had been in error anyway.

The day the building burned down, it vanished. No one thought anything of this, since who would want to park there after such an intense fire?

But then the Camaro appeared in the far corner of another lot, and people began to talk.

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