Name on the door is Tony Ford, Private Investigations, a worn swirl of gold paint on an unremarkable office. I'm an old school PI, hunt and shoot is what I do. I'm newly sober but that doesn't stop me from throwing a punch or pulling a trigger. I'd don't go looking for trouble it finds me, and when it does anything can happen.

"What the hell are you doing here!" The words shot through the early morning light like a slug from a .45, loud and angry. It had been a very long night and I was dog tired, last thing I needed was something, anything, coming between me and a little well-earned shuteye. And yet here she was all sweetness and light sitting in my chair behind my desk in my office, a large and welcoming smile on her face.

And so it began.

The smile belongs to Sandy, an old friend, with a case she drops in Fords lap. She has designs on partnering up with Ford, but he's not so sure. A quick visit to an art gallery starts the two of them down a long and winding road full of stolen art, speeding cars, and gun toting tough guys. Who knew the art world could be so grubby. Or that a local thug named Bennie the Bookie would take such a deadly interest in it. And Ford.

Maybe it was the car that kept popping up like bad penny, a humble Ford Coupe with a very dark past. Or a painting that just won't stay stolen. Oil on canvas that just might be the clue to a cache of ill-gotten gains.

Ford takes Sandy on a rollercoaster ride in and around town, attempting to solve the mystery, find the riches, and stay alive. Old memories come back to haunt him, leading him to question whether his heart is still in it. Is he getting too old for this game?

So, buckle up and start reading.