The Golden Suspect
Act I The slaughterhouse line at the river county ran slow that autumn, the blood draining into the grates with a rhythmic, wet slap that echoed off the concrete walls of the cooling room, where the air hung with the metallic taste of iron and the smell of rendered fat. Dong Wu, thirty-four, stood by the door, his hands raw and cracked from the summer shift scrubbing the floors, watching the...
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