institutional, with fluorescent lights
and cheap floor tile, like a hospital.
My cop walked me in and sat me
down at the front booking desk. I
was charged and fingerprinted.
In the meantime, they’d been
checking out the car, which wasn’t
going well for me, either. Whenever
I borrowed cars from Abel’s
workshop, I tried to take the
junkers rather than a real client’s
car; I thought I’d get in less trouble
that way. That was a mistake. The
Mazda, being one of Abel’s junkers,
didn’t have a clear title of
ownership. If it had had an owner,
the cops would have called the