Carrying
Albert Camus’s The Stranger, which he’d found revelatory at nineteen. An ancient copy of Don DeLillo’s Great Jones Street had been a
Somewhere Dan Hendricks was laughing at him for his overdependency on technology. Hendricks’s road-map brain would be damned useful right about now.
Dan Hendricks, her partner, was a top-notch surveillance man. He’d broken into Gibson’s apartment a week ago and wired it in ninety minutes flat. Motion-activated infrared cameras, bugs, the works. It...