The Cotton Club smelled of gin and desperation and something sweeter underneath, like roses left too long in a vase of warm water.
Julian Valentine stood at the edge of the stage and listened to the band warm up. They were good--not great, but good. The kind of good that comes from years of playing in rooms just like this one, where the audience drinks too much and talks too loud and pretends not to hear the music until it's too late.He adjusted his tie. It was too tight. He had bought it that morning from a pawnshop on...
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