The Dead Man's Plot
The rain hadn't stopped in eleven days. It fell on Los Angeles like a curtain of steel beads, turning the streets into rivers and the sidewalks into mirrors that reflected nothing but gray. Jack Mercer sat in his office on Sunset Boulevard, watching the rain streak the window, and drank his third whiskey of the evening. The bottle sat on his desk, half empty, next to a stack of unpaid bills and...
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