Ashes of the Sweetheart Ball
The contract arrived in a plain envelope, no return address, delivered by a boy who did not wait for a signature. Vera Cross opened it at her desk in the Night Watch offices — a room in a building in downtown Los Angeles that smelled perpetually of toner fluid and the cigarette smoke she smoked so much her hair had taken on the permanent odor of someone else's bad decisions. The payment was...
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