The voice here reminds me of detective noir pulp, which I don't mind. The problem I see is your tendency toward run-on, overly complicated sentences. For example:

First problem, it's confusing; from what's written, the V8 is what parts the columns of steam and comes to a stop before the building. Second, this is one long run-on sentence completely devoid of any punctuation besides the period at the end. It would be clearer broken it up into two sentences:

     My '69 Camaro RS rumbled down the streets of Washington, DC, at 3:00 AM, parting the thick columns of steam billowing from sewer grates. We came to a stop in front of a building constructed on a grand scale: huge white columns and white stone that would have looked more appropriate in ancient Greece than in a modern American city.

Why those changes? The bit about the V8 engine was excessive detail that distracts the reader. The time bit was moved for clarity (i.e., 3:00 AM is when he drove through DC, not when the sewer grates are scheduled to release steam). Additional punctuation was also added for clarity.

One thing I didn't get when reading your samples, though, is emotional engagement. The writing is breezy and detached--emotionally distant. Now, I don't expect your character to wear his heart on his sleeve, but even Harry Dresden gulps or has his instincts "screaming at [him] to run." The second sample, which you say is near the end, should have rising tension; it's supposed to be building up to an ominous event. He should be fearful of what's at stake, which would remind the reader of why they should care about your character and fear his failure and death. This is missing. You're not engaging your reader. The writing is still breezy: nothing to see here; move along.

Also, you provide conflicting signals: "if I somehow managed to live through the night which at the moment seemed fairly unlikely" and "the equipment I would need for a night of breaking, entering, snooping, and, if it couldn't be avoided, violence." So in the previous paragraph, he expects to die, yet later on, he hints that violence could be avoided. Unless he's set to commit nonviolent suicide, the text is in direct contradiction of itself.

I know I am taking a long time replying here, but You are wrong about that sentence being a run-on.  It isn't.  I don't know what you think this colon is doing in the middle of "grand scale: huge white columns", but it isn't doing the grammar of the sentence any favors.  Also, needlessly adding commas to a sentence is the way to not make it grammatically correct.  I understand that, from time to time, you may need to interject something or join two complete sentences together, and commas can be used to slow down a sentence, for style's sake.  Randomly throwing commas at a sentence because it is long, is bad and wrong.  It would be different if I had wanted the reader to pause while reading my extremely long sentence.  I don't.  If you will read the sentence again, you may notice that there is one subject. I could have made several sentences out of that one, but I wanted a single image of a specific car doing two specific things at a specific time in a specific place.  I didn't want an image of a car, place, time, and action separately.  I know it's long. 

You are right about the engine parting the steam. I suppose I could make the sentence even longer, or I could split it into a separate sentence about rumbling V8s.  I could trust that the read is smart enough to assume the character hasn't removed the engine from his Camero and is somehow levitating it through the streets of DC.  If I had writen "The hard steel handle of my sword, heated by the intensity of my rage, burned my hands as it sliced through my opponents.", would you have assumed it was the handle of my sword that was slicing through my opponents?

Sewer grates are not "scheduled to release steam."  The air is cold.  The water underground is significantly warmer than the air.  It steams, and that steam billows.  Technically it isn't even steam.  It's vapor, but I figured "...parting the columns of visible water vapor..." was a bit unwieldy.

One thing I didn't get when reading your samples, though, is emotional engagement.

Even Dresden from time to time becomes oddly detached.  When the time for being scared or angry is over. it is time to get to work.  Dresden is the same way after being tortured nearly to death and having mouse snap the neck of Liver Spots.  He is formulating a plan of attack and preparing to do battle with the forces of evil.  Granted my character has a maglight and a bat instead of a staff and a 65 million year old zombie beast, but it's the same basic point in the story.  Belive me he has reacted plenty at this point.

Also, you provide conflicting signals: "if I somehow managed to live through the night which at the moment seemed fairly unlikely" and "the equipment I would need for a night of breaking, entering, snooping, and, if it couldn't be avoided, violence." So in the previous paragraph, he expects to die, yet later on, he hints that violence could be avoided. Unless he's set to commit nonviolent suicide, the text is in direct contradiction of itself.

He will live through the night if he can avoid violence.  It doesn't look likely that he will be able to.  In the list of things he would have preferred he have brought with him he mentioned an Uzi and some titanium chainmail.  What he has is a cut down Louisville Slugger and a leather jacket.  I thought that conveyed the desperation of his equipment situation and the degree to which he was the underdog.  I didn't think rementioning how unlikely it was for him to survive was necessary.  If you knew what he was up against, this would really be a non-issue.  I know you don't know the bad guy or what he is up against so here is the short version.  He is going into an unfamiliar building in which his opponent has had ample time to set up.  If the bad guy catches the hero, he will shoot, stab, and/or explode him into tiny unidentifiable little bits, and he is trained to do so.  The hero has a short piece of wood and some mag lights.  Trust me.  The situation is desperate.

Since commenting on the first part took me an hour, it doesn't have anything to do with being tired of reading.

This is the funniest thing I have seen in a while.

Honestly I love it.  I sat here and laughed for maybe a minute straight.  I just realized you may not have meant it as a joke, but it's pretty funny in the right context.  I mean... it's 2 sentences long.. granted.. one of those is a very long sentence, but if it takes an hour to point out all of the things wrong with 2 sentences, I am in pretty deep. 

It occurs to me that you may have meant section instead of paragraph.  That's not nearly as bad.  If you really meant paragraph, please don't tell me...for my sake.

I do appreciate your comments.  I didn't mean teacher in the sense that you are Prof. Suilan.  I mean teacher as in a person who is trying to teach me something. 

Thanks again.  I will check out that site.  Do you, or anyone else for that matter, have any books to recommend?  I have read Jim Butchers live journal about writing fiction and should probably go back and read it again; because, I know I made some mistakes he warns readers about.

Everything has been done.  Every Idea is just like this other thing that someone else did.  World of warcraft is just like D&D but online and with more people.

I think it is an awesome idea, and I don't mean awesome like "Dude....awesome."  I mean an idea that inspires awe.  Granted you are approaching a audience predisposed to look favorably on your idea, but it seems to me that you have a fair ammount of possitive feedback already.  Just don't screw up the "...authentic frontier gibberish."

So I am with this guy.

I love the idea!   Get to work

Here are a couple of examples.

Near the beggining:
     After a little work on my latest toy in the garage, a 1969 Camaro with more rust than paint, it was off to Jennet’s office in Midtown.
     Jennet Badeau is my favorite client.  Aside from the fact that she gives me more work than any other regular client in the city, always pays on time, and always leaves her door open and cracks a window whenever I am in her officeon account of my thing about closed in spaces, she is very easy on the eyes. 
     Jennet’s dark blond wavy hair is almost perpetually up in some kid of bun or pony tail which makes her look even younger than she is, and her smooth rounded features give her a serene, peaceful look with bright, warm brown eyes and little dimples when she smiles.  And at just over six feet with her heals on, she is taller than most of the men, judges and lawyers alike, she has to deal with.  For a tall woman she has curves that not even the most severe pantsuit could hide.  Basically she is a top notch babe, and yes, I totally have the hots for her.
     With Jennet, everything on the outside was camouflage.  I have only seen her in court a few times, and it is truly amazing…and a little scary.  That young, peaceful face and those cute little accessories mask the roid raging prize fighter out for blood that hides beneath.  I have seen her make full grown men cry without ever raising her voice, and I’m not talking about the dignified, quiet, single tear kind of crying either.  I mean men of success and power with dark spots on their two thousand dollar suites from all the tears, red faced with snot bubbles coming out of their nose from sobbing so hard. 
     The first time I saw her emotionally K.O. a defendant, it kind of spooked me.  Maybe spooked is the wrong word.  I was freaked out!  I had never seen anyone so totally tear a person down with such cold heartless precision before.   When the verdict was rendered, she walked right over to me and said “People ask me all the time if my name is French.  I tell them it’s Creole.  The truth is, I’m named after a horse.”  She shot me a dorky smile, made an “ooof” sound when she picked up a heavy file box, and just like that she was a regular person again instead of a vicious calculating megabitch.  As it turns out, she was telling the truth.  Seriously, I looked it up.  She's named after a horse.



Near the end
     The 327 v8 of my 69 Camaro RS rumbled down the streets of Washington DC parting the thick columns of steam billowing from sewer grates at 3:00 AM on a late November night and came to a stop in front of a building constructed on a grand scale with huge white columns and white stone that would have looked more appropriate in ancient Greece than in a modern American city.  As I pulled the key from the ignition, got out, and closed the door on 4000 pounds of barely contained American made power, the wind kicked up yesterdays discarded news paper blowing it past me as my leather jacket was caught by the same wind and began to wave around me like the short cape of a long forgotten but no less valiant knight.
     That was definitely how I would describe the scene if I somehow managed to live through the night which at the moment seemed fairly unlikely.  I probably wouldn’t mention the choking coughing sound the neglected pony car’s engine made for what seemed like an eternity after the door was closed.  There was no way I was going to tell anyone about the wind blowing over my mostly bare legs and through my workout shorts.  The very, very cold wind.  In retrospect I probably should have taken a couple of minutes to grab a few things before I took off on the 8 hour drive from Atlanta, but I hadn’t been thinking straight at the time.  A pair of pants and an uzi seem like a good idea considering what I was about to do.  Oh and some titanium chain mail would have been nice too, but those are the breaks
     I opened the majestic steed’s rusty trunk to take out the equipment I would need for a night of breaking, entering, snooping, and, if it couldn't be avoided, violence.  2 Mirrors,  1 huge Maglight flashlight with 4 D cell batteries, 5 Minimags, duct tape (it holds the world together), 30 of those flashing Braves LED pins they give out at the games, and one cut down Louisville Slugger. 
     As I turned toward the Smithsonian National Postal Museum, two more thought joined with the dozens of others racing through my mind.  Smithsonian National Postal Museum, and for an interactive stamp collection, this place has way too many stairs.