About the book: year / It was hot in the city, and, probably, there was no hotter place in it than the duty room of the eighty-seventh precinct. Dave Murchison sat at the high table to the left of the entrance and cursed his tight underpants. It was only eight o'clock in the morning, but the city had literally become red hot the previous day, and the night had brought no relief. And now, although the sun had barely risen, the city was already ablaze. It was hard to imagine a heat worse than this, but Dave Murchison knew that during the tediously long day the duty room would get hotter and hotter and that there was no point in waiting for coolness from the small rotating fan on the corner of the table, and he also knew that cowards, be they things are wrong, they won’t become freer....