CHAPTER FOUR
Today it was the ‘71 Ford Mustang Mach 1, cherry apple red with the 429 Cobra engine we were driving. This Mustang was one of my older acquisitions. Actually, it was the first one I ever restored myself. It had taken me six months stripping the car down to its basic shell and rebuilding it. The soft natural leather interior I had contracted out. The rest of the restoration I did myself.
Behind the wheel of the hefty Mach 1, with the windows partially down so I could hear the growl of the 429 in front of me, we were heading across town to the apartment of our dead convenience store clerk. Our h*******t victim had to wait until forensics worked up the blood stains we’d found at the rabbi’s house, along with whatever might be found in the discarded clothes left by the killer in
