The rain had been falling for three days when Marcus Delaney found his first crack.
It was in a man named Vincent Russo, or at least that's what he told the bartender when he ordered his third whiskey. Vincent ran something — Marcus hadn't figured out what yet. Import-export, maybe. Or export-import. The words meant the same thing to him: moving things from places where they were worth nothing to places where they were worth everything. "Find out what he's hiding," Victor...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 4 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen