The Shadow of the Vault
I The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the dirt slicker. I was sitting in my office above the Chinese laundry on Flower Street, watching the neon sign of the hotel across the street flicker through the rain-streaked window, and thinking about how the check the woman had left on my desk was the most money I'd seen in three months. It was also the most trouble I'd...
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