THE MIDNIGHT GUIDE
The rain in Los Angeles didn't wash anything clean. It just made the grime slicker, turned the dust into a thin black paste that coated everything from the Hollywood Hills to the skid row alleys. Jack Malone stood under the awning of his office on Flower Street and watched a taxi splash through a puddle, sending a wave of oily water across the sidewalk. "Beautiful city," he muttered. The man in...
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