The Long Drop to the Stars
I. The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker. Jack Sullivan stood outside the warehouse on Pier 42, watching the water run black off the roof and into the harbor. He had been a detective in this city for twenty-three years, and in that time he had learned that the truth was never clean. It was always wet, always dirty, and always smelling faintly of...
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