I don't like to backtrack. No one I know does. Who wants to cover the same ground more than once? I do my best to refrain from it, but in some instances it's unavoidable.
This is one of those instances.
So back we go. It was, my previous post notwithstanding, a major event, one that defies a quick run-through. As a result, I may break it down into several entries if I find myself running on or remembering small details. I do like details, so consider yourself forewarned.
Here we go.
I am a hipster detective, I told the truth earlier. The office I walked into was the headquarters of Bushwick Industrial Zoning Commission. It is a small cinderblock room, devoid of almost anything, save a desk, a few plastic chairs and my boss. When I walked in the conversation went something like this:
My boss: "What color is the sign on the outer door?"
Me: "A fugly yellow-green."
My boss: "The job's yours."
Me: "Great. What is it?"
What it is involves is finding apartments that have been set up in industrial or commercial buildings. Illegal apartments that have sprouted up in one of Brooklyn's designated industrial zones. These apartments have long been part of New York City and apparently there has been a just as long a battle to keep industrial zones industrial only by people like my boss. I personally think he's fighting a losing battle, people in this city kill for real estate and in the long run I don't think that a dinosaur like heavy or light industry can hold out against the crush of humanity.
So I'm supposed to find these illegal apartments, get as much info about them as possible, and get that information back to him. But what I found was a dead kid.
The Hipster.
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