The Prohibition Contract
The cocktail splashed across his shirt in a dark brown bloom that spread like a map. Daze Monaghan froze, glass still in hand, watching the liquid soak into the fabric of a man's shirt with the kind of attention that only panic can produce. She had not meant to spill it. The bar—Overtime Saloon—was packed and sweaty and the DJ had just started playing something fast and loud, and she had turned...
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