Chapter One: Come Go With Me
It was just after seven in the morning, mid-April, another perfect sunny Southern California day. I pulled into the parking lot on La Brea, drove past the line of black and white Chevy Del Ray police cars, and parked between a cherry red ’49 Ford station wagon and a turquoise and white Chrysler Windsor. As I stepped out of the car, I was immediately assaulted by the acrid fug of the tar pits. I walked past the plaster dinosaurs frolicking at the edge of the . . .