The Night of the Horse Thief
The Night of the Horse Thief The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker. I was sitting in my office on Temple Street, drinking cheap whiskey and listening to the sound of my own breathing, when the phone rang. It was a woman's voice—smooth as oil and cold as steel. "I need someone to steal some documents," she said. "From a man who won't be missed."...
0 Commentarii 0 Distribuiri 4 Views 0 previzualizare