The woman who walked into Jack Hudson's office on a rainy Thursday in November 1954 wore a red dress that cost more than Jack's entire apartment and eyes that cost more than the red dress.
"I need you to find someone," she said, standing in the doorway without invitation, water dripping from her coat onto the linoleum floor. "A man. He disappeared three weeks ago. His name doesn't matter. What matters is that he carried something that could burn this city to the ground." Jack didn't look up from the bottle of cheap whiskey he was drinking straight from the neck. "Everyone carries...
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