The Malloy Protocol
I. The rain in Chicago doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime wetter. I sat in my office above a closed-down butcher shop on South Halsted Street, watching the water run down the windowpane and trying to figure out how to save a city that didn't want to be saved. The Client had come to me three weeks earlier. Tall man, fedora pulled low, voice like gravel. He'd found me in a bar...
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