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Rodgers parked in a parking lot facing Wynecia Avenue, a row of storefronts with neon signs in the windows.
“Nice part of town,” Rodgers said.
We were a few blocks away from one of the city’s premier shopping districts.
The storefronts looked like they had been built in a construction boom—nice, colorful siding and veneer, but cookie cutter.
A tanning shop, wine and sports store, hamburger shop, and a tax service. Pretty vanilla stores.
“The Leather Skull must be around back,” Rodgers said.
“My apartment is not too far from here,” Allegra said as we ran across the street, avoiding oncoming cars.
“You ever pass by here?” Rodgers asked, glancing around the complex. “Maybe you got hit with some voodoo shit.”
Allegra shook her head.
“Never been on this street,” she said.
“You got
