The Motor City is no place for virgins. Or, for gentlemen, either. This is a city steeped in booms and busts, the sprawling creation of a tinkerer who built a motorized buggy in a shed, the product of waves of immigrant factory workers, the desperate poor, and politicians practiced in the art of corruption. In a little tiny office in the heart of this city, Amos Walker holds on to his dignity, his memories, and his way of doing business. Then he gets a case that brings all three together in a collision that would do the Ford Freeway proud. A slick art expert hires Walker to bodyguard a blackmail transaction involving a priceless work: a long-missing piece of fifteenth-century illuminated manuscript called The Hours of the Virgin. The exchange is set for a downtown porn theater. And it all might have gone according to plan if a beautiful woman with mismatched eyes hadn't sat down next to Walker in the dark, while someone tried to kill him from behind... Once again, Estleman unleashes the hippest mystery prose in the business, as he turns a garish big-city crime tale into another work of art and another luminous chapter in the saga of Amos Walker, Detroit private eye.