The Sulfur Ledger
Rain fell on Chicago the way it always did in October—relentlessly, patiently, washing nothing clean. Cole Mercer stood in the doorway of a meatpacking warehouse on the South Side, water dripping from the brim of his hat, and watched the men load crates into a truck. "Mr. Mercer?" A short man in a suit approached him. His face was pale, his eyes darting like rats in a trap. "Mr. Kozak is...
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