Chasing Through the Rainy Night
I. The phone rang at eleven on a Tuesday. Jack Moran was sitting in his office with half a bottle of whiskey and a view of the alley through a window that hadn't been cleaned since the previous administration. He let it ring four times before he picked it up. "Moran," he said. "Mr. Moran? This is Veronica Sterling. I need your help." The voice was tired. Not the tiredness of a long day—the...
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