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The Biting Question of Winter

Frank sipped his coffee, standing under the awning of the bakery and watching the window across the street. He glanced at his watch, the time was 1:34pm. He had been watching this brownstone for the past 4 hours and yet no sign, no hint of anything going on.

His cellphone chimed; a refrain of a popular song transcended into a merriment of random tones to sound melodic.

"Hey Frank." Goner's voice. "Anything yet?"

"Nothing at all," Frank replied. He shifted in his stance, trying to maintain the feelings in his legs. "I think we got a bad lead on this one."

"You want me to spell you for a bit?" Goner asked. "You've been pulling sentry duty for a while now."

"Nah," Frank replied. "I think this lead is dead. I am going to give it another hour and if nothing then I am packing it in."

"Well, phone back if anything happens," Goner stated. "I will be waiting."

"Sure thing, bud." Frank replied. He snapped the phone shut and pocketed it. He took a sip of the cold coffee and tossed the styrofoam cup into the bin.

His attention was focused on a white van that had pulled up to the brownstone, and he saw her step out of a side door. The tip paid off tenfold.