Brooks lived in an old Santa Fe style house. The kind that stays low to the ground like a dust devil and sprawls behind the cover of desert vegetation.
Standing at the front door, Trinity looked at the long expanse of the Tucson skyline, trying to pick his neighborhood out of the brownish haze spreading from A Mountain to the university.
Nothing ostentatious about the house. It’s understatement practically screamed money.
Brooks answered the door himself, holding what Trinity guessed wasn’t his first gin and tonic of the day.
From TRINITY WORKS ALONE
Barnstork Press
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