CHAPTER SEVEN
I live in a warehouse.
Actually–I live on the second floor of a converted garage-warehouse down in the industrial district close to the Little Brown River. It looks like a dilapidated red brick wreck of rubble on the outside. But I’m handy with a nail and hammer. I gutted the second floor of the building and rebuilt it into a spacious loft.
For years, the ground floor was used as an auto mechanic’s garage. But it went out of business and now I use the space downstairs for rebuilding and storing my collection of Muscle Cars. Hell—if you got money … and you’re single … you might as well spend it on something. My weaknesses are fast cars from the 50s through the 80s and first-edition, and autographed, books.
Yes. Books.
I know it’s hard to think a flat-foot cop like me like
