The Fifty-Minute Hour
The rain in New York doesn't wash things clean. It just makes the grime slicker. That's what Mortimer Cole told himself as he watched Jack Callahan wake up on the concrete floor of the abandoned factory on the East River. Jack's head was pounding. The last thing he remembered was the coffee—good coffee, the kind you drink at a place on Mulberry Street with marble counters and waiters who call...
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