The Last Cigarette of Detective Vance
The city was a smudge of charcoal and neon, drenched in a rain that felt like it was trying to wash away the very idea of hope. I sat in my office, the only light coming from a flickering sign across the street that read "EAT" in a dying shade of pink. I had a bottle of cheap rye on my desk and a case that made me wish I were blind. The client was a woman with eyes like frozen lakes and a voice...
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