The woman who hired me had eyes like gunmetal and a voice like silk dragged over gravel.
She sat in my office chair without asking, which was either bold or desperate. Usually it's both. She wore a black dress that cost more than my monthly rent and a pearl necklace that probably cost more than my annual rent. Her hair was dark and cut in a bob that said 1947 and nothing else mattered. "Mr. Moran?" she said. "That depends on who's asking," I said. I didn't offer her a cigarette. I...
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