Its red neon sign buzzed and flickered against the evening sky.

I parked near the dumpsters at the edge of the lot.

The gravel crunched under my tires.

The air outside smelled of diesel fuel and fried onions.

I walked inside.

The bell above the glass door jingled sharply.

Daniel was already in the last corner booth.

He wore a gray sweater and had a thick manila envelope resting on the laminate table in front of him.