“As he came in the door, dodging the neon sign that spelled out the watering hole’s name, he scanned the joint. You never knew when you might run into someone you didn’t want to see. Cops. Probation officers. Ex-lovers. The dudes you burned on drug deals. Several patrons, two women and a man, were at the bar. A jazz pianist was playing standards at one end of the room. A television was tuned to the news. The guards at a Wells Fargo Bank branch on Mission Street had detained a sixty-year old Salv...adoreño man about the Brinks money. He was in possession of seventy thousand dollars. The cash was in his coat. He said he didn’t know where it came from. Then he recanted his testimony and said he found it on a sidewalk in the Tenderloin. The police had issued a statement: No comment. There would be an update at ten o’clock. While urinating in the latrine, Richard probed his face in the mirror. The flu was getting to him. Doing him cosmetic damage. He had ashy skin. Fried eyes and hair all dry.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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