Frank wanted to drive the ’68 Plymouth Barracuda with the 383 cu.in engine and four speed tranny tonight. Black, with white vinyl seats and chrome wheels. The car was a classic. The night was hot. Thankfully the ‘cuda’s air conditioning was almost adequate. We went slipping through the heavy evening traffic of the city like the namesake gliding through blue translucent waters filled with clouds of ocean bass. Kids in souped-up Nissan GT’s and Mitsubishis eyed us as we snaked by. Older men, married men with homes and mortgages and car ports and diapered babies and suntanned kids, driving big SUV’s and four door sedans, grinned suddenly like teenagers and nodded their appreciation.
I guess I have to admit it does sound like a cliché, doesn’t it? Men with guns working as homicide detectives
