Jeremy had grand plans to gather tenants for some of the unused space on the ground floor and had slowly but surely worked at rehabbing it. The long, low building hunkered down on a corner, two brick arms stretching a half block down each street, with a square gravel lot in the crook of the L shape out back. Hard Ink sat a few blocks off the main drag, between the run-down strip and one of the city’s industrial areas. Rixey sped along the strip usually bustling with business for the liquor stores and check-cashing joints located cheek by jowl next to storefront churches and generations-old ethnic restaurants. Good times.Īt least Eastern Avenue was quiet at this hour of the night. Rixey specialized in what they called difficult services, which might find him doing witness or defendant location investigation-or skip tracing, dodging an angry fist, or chasing a soon-to-be-served asshole down a street. Seven-thirty chiropractor appointment-probably fortuitously timed, given how he’d spent his evening-followed by a day of being on call to serve papers to whichever poor bastards found themselves summoned, subpoenaed, ordered, evicted, divorced, or otherwise within the crosshairs of the law. 12:22 a.m.Īw, hell, he was gonna hate himself in the morning.
As he pulled a U-ey, the LED of his dashboard clock caught his gaze. His baby came to life on a metallic purr.
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