“I said. Forty-five minutes later, in jeans and a baseball cap that covered half of my face from the curious eyes of the Harbor Unit cops, Mike and I were walking along the edge of the Gowanus Canal in Brooklyn. “Kind of that dead-rat-on-a-wet-doormat stench, don’t you think? You are so not an outer-boroughs girl, blondie, but it’s good for your soul.” On the ride over the Brooklyn Bridge, I’d brought Mike up to speed on the difficult day with Blanca Robles. Mercer seemed glad that I was going o...ff with Mike for whatever distraction that offered, and Mike tried to assuage my concerns about the homicide investigation involving the unidentified man floating in the canal last night. “This place is an environmental disaster. How could it be good for anything?” “You’re on probation once you leave Manhattan. Don’t piss off the locals.” The water in the canal was speckled with dark slimy spots. Aside from the usual city trash—broken bottles, used condoms, and empty syringes—there were dead crabs and tiny mollusks lodged in the algae along the canal walls.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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