The Deep Black
The Deep BlackThe rain hadn't stopped in three days. It never stopped in Los Angeles anymore—not the real rain, anyway. The kind that came from the sky and washed nothing clean. I was sitting in my office on Sunset, nursing a glass of bourbon that tasted like iodine and regret, when the phone rang.It was a woman's voice. Smooth as silk, sharp as a switchblade. "Mr. Morrison? I need you to find...
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