Goint To New Jersey

Sean headed east on Route 78 to Newark, New Jersey. The man he wanted to see owned a restaurant and would probably be preparing for the dinner rush. His cop instinct told him this man was trouble, but he wasn’t convinced he was a killer. The detective knew his gut could be wrong, but it hadn’t failed him yet.

Harold Van Cleef was a weasel-like man of fifty with shoe-polish brown hair that he parted above his ear and flipped over his head. On a windy day it probably looked like a hatch opening. Men like him made Sean vow to himself that if he ever lost his hair that he should be man enough to admit it and shine up his head for all to see. He brushed his hand through the thick thatch on his head.

When Sean entered the restaurant named, Tower of Pisa a man stood behind a podium, studying a book with names in it.