The Mathematics of Bad Whiskey
Frankie DeMarco kept the numbers in a ledger bound with red leather that smelled of cigar smoke and the particular ammonia of the South Side stockyards when the wind came from the wrong direction. The ledger lived in a false-bottomed desk in the back office of Caporelli's Import Company, a wholesale fruit business on Maxwell Street that had sold exactly three crates of oranges in the past...
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