The Fixer's Photograph
The gin was terrible. Leo Moretti knew this because he had made it himself, in a bathtub on the third floor of a warehouse on Wabash Avenue that smelled of copper tubing and desperation. The juniper berries had come from a Polish grocer who asked no questions, and the alcohol base had been siphoned from an industrial supply depot by two of Leo's younger cousins who still believed that...
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