The Detective Who Wouldn't Bow
The woman who walked into my office had hair the colour of rust and eyes the colour of something that had been crying recently. She wore a black dress that cost more than my annual rent and shoes that had never walked on broken glass. She was everything Los Angeles pretended to be and was not. "I need you to find my husband," she said. I lit a cigarette. "That's what everyone says." "My husband...
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