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“This the guy?”
Bucciarati, inspecting a bloody corpse on the ground and holding a photo in one hand, shifted his gaze between the ghastly image and the picture. He nodded.
Leone, manifesting Moody Blues, began a replay. A specter of the dead man on the floor stood before them, a large timer emblazoned on its forehead.
Looked like a meeting that had gone sour—a suspicion confirmed by the disembodied voice that could be heard on the replay. They’d even gotten a name, to boot.
While he’d only joined Passione recently, Abbacchio certainly wasn’t complaining about his Stand making investigations easier.