Chapter 33
The address Bill Barnar had given me led to something that looked like an antique store, with a huge urn on display in the window and some vintage posters warning about the dangers of “Marijuana.” There was also a poster for “The Untattooed Lady (What a Freak!)” and a rack of jewelry, all of it convincingly old looking, dusty and tacky. But the place wasn’t open, and the “By Appointment Only” sign in the front window made no sense at all for the low-end antiques the shop was selling, especially considering the high rents in that neighborhood. Anyone looking at this place with a cop’s eye would know it was a front for something.
I rang the buzzer, and a man’s voice answered me. “Who is it?”
“Bill Barnar sent me,” I said.
The door buzzed, and I pushed it open. At the back end
