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lifetime. Don’t stay away so long next time.” Hub leaned over putting his hands on both men’s shoulders. “Don’t try to pay for these combos either or I’ll have your asses arrested.”
    “You don’t have to do that, Hub. We can pay,” Mike said.
    “Oh, no. This one’s on the house. But, I better see you both back in here next week, and payin’, or I’ll have you picked up. You got that?” Hub acted as though he was going to punch Norm again.
    “We got it, Hub,” Norm said, laughing and throwing up both hands as a defense.
    Hub waved as he waddled back toward the kitchen.
    “Look,” Mike said, tossing his head, “standing at the door.”
    The young man was alone. He shielded his eyes with his hand and scanned the restaurant. Convinced this was their Crimestoppers witness, Norm stood and waved the young man over.
    Weaving his way between the crowded tables, he arrived at the detectives’ booth. His employer’s name tag introduced him, but he still said, “Hi, my name is Derek Snell.”
    “I’m Detective Wallace. This is Detective Neal,” Norm said, as he reached for his sandwich.
    Mike rose halfway from his seat to shake the young man’s hand and then moved his platter to the back of the booth so Snell could sit. Mike knew from experience that there was a flying elbow danger zone on Norm’s right side that few had survived.
    A waitress arrived at the booth soon after Snell sat. He gave her his order and looked from Norm to Mike and back.
    “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Mike removed his pad and pen from his jacket and laid it next to his plate.
    “Okay.” Snell inhaled. “I was coming home from work around ten. I worked over a little because we were real busy. I work down the street here at one of the tourist shops.” Snell looked at Norm, then at Mike. “You already know that, right?”
    “Yeah—go on,” Norm mumbled, through a mouthful of steak.
    “I pulled into the complex. I live in building number eight, by the way. I was driving up the entrance lane toward the apartment sign when this car came around the corner on my side of the drive almost on two wheels. He had to swerve to get back on his side.”
    “Did you see the driver?” Mike asked.
    “Yeah, sorta. He was dark-skinned. I think black. I couldn’t be sure. The dash lights were on him, so he was a little easier to see than the passenger. He looked black too, though. It was hard to tell.”
    “Was there anyone else in the car?” Mike asked.
    The waitress arrived with Snell’s cheese-fries and cola. He thanked her and waited for her to leave.
    “I’m not sure. I couldn’t see the back seat. It happened pretty fast.”
    “Describe the car,” Mike said.
    “That’s what I saw best. You see, I used to have a ‘77 Chevrolet Caprice Classic Landau, and this car was the spittin’ image of the one I owned. Same color, four-door, vinyl half-roof, everything. Mine was stolen in the summer of 2000. I was so pissed. I only had liability. I didn’t get anything for it.”
    “What color was the car?” Mike asked.
    “Oh, sorry. It was Midnight Blue Metallic. Well, mine was. I’m pretty sure this one was too.”
    “What else can you tell us about what you saw?” Mike asked.
    “I noticed when my lights hit the car as he made the curve, the windshield about halfway across had a nasty crack like somebody hit it with a brick or a baseball or something. You know, one of those spider web cracks where the breaks in the glass are circular?” He held his hands out forming a large circle with his index fingers and thumbs. “I wondered if the car was mine. It didn’t look like mine did when I owned it. My Caprice was in good shape.” Snell looked at Norm. Mike was writing, and Norm was inhaling fries.
    “Why didn’t you call the police last night?” Norm asked, dunking a cluster of French fries into a large puddle of ketchup.
    “I didn’t know anything happened at the apartments until this morning.”
    “You