Fog City Confidential
Fog City Confidential ACT ONE The rain hadn't stopped for eleven days. It fell on Los Angeles like a judgment, washing nothing clean, just making the grime slicker, the neon brighter, the shadows deeper. I sat in my office on Sunset Boulevard with a bottle of cheap rye and a case file that didn't make sense, and I watched the rain trace dirty paths down the window. They called it the Iron...
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