Shadows in the Neon
Act I The rain had not stopped in eleven days. It fell on New London like a verdict—steady, impartial, without mercy—washing the neon from the advertisements into the gutters where it pooled in iridescent smears that looked like the skin of a dead fish. Rook stood under the awning of his office, cigarette burning between his fingers, watching the rain and thinking about the case that had...
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