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Joelle sets down the remaining two mugs on the scratched-up coffee table, then puts her hands on her hips. “You’re that much trouble, huh?”
“He hit a cop, Joelle,” Gately says.
“I wasn’t asking you, I was asking him,” she says, sitting next to The Kid. He’s sheepishly grinning, wearing the same tired expression as everyone else in the room. “I don’t believe that you hit a cop. Look at you. You look like a Boy Scout.”