The Long Night Court
I The rain in Los Angeles does not wash things clean. It makes everything darker. Jackie Moretti knew this the way she knew the weight of her left hand, which was to say: the way you know something you would rather forget. She stood in the alley behind the Olympic Gym, the neon sign of the boxing club flickering above her like a dying star. Inside, she could hear the thud of gloves on leather,...
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