10 Chapter 10

I was familiar with the area because of my job. Three high rises, row houses, an abundance of litter, and underground gritty bars comprised the blocks. Cases always drew me to its decrepit confines, and not by choice. If one were to buy drugs, a hustler, or hire someone to commit a crime, Buckle Plateau was the place to carry out such bad business. Those who lived in Stockton County knew of the place, frowned, and claimed they would never go there. Tal and I were not of that category, again not by choice.

I parked my Ram 1500 on the corner of Lee and Custard, climbed out of the gas guzzler, and followed Tal down Custard. He made a left on Moon, entered a dilapidated brick building, walked up two flights of stairs that smelled like cow dung, and knocked on the door of apartment 2-C, where he claimed Max Martin lived with his mother and aunt.