CHAPTER TWO
“You believe that s**t?”
“Tell you what, the jury’s gonna swallow it hook, line and sinker,” Tommy Jackson replied as the two detectives left MCC that afternoon.
They took a ride down to Manitoba’s on the Lower East Side, a punk-themed rock club that both men happened to frequent during their leisure time. Just as coworkers in all industries, the teammates tried to find common ground, despite their cultural differences, upon which to establish a connection. Rock and roll just happened to work for both of them.
They ordered draft beer and grabbed a booth in the dimly-lit bar, nearly deserted save for a couple of college kids and a few locals stopping in before the trendies began showing up. Tommy felt like a cigarette but didn’t feel like standing out front like some nicotin
