The neon sign above the diner flickered, casting a rhythmic violet bruise across my knuckles. I stared at the coffee—black, lukewarm, and bitter enough to peel paint.
What is ? (Private eye, disgraced chef, space smuggler?) I am Syd Stone
Miller pushed a grainy photograph across the Formica tabletop. It showed a silver briefcase chained to a wrist that didn't have a body attached to it anymore. The neon sign above the diner flickered, casting
"I’m not late, Miller," I said, my voice sounding like gravel under a boot. "I’m exactly where I planned to be. You’re just early because you’re nervous." (Private eye, disgraced chef, space smuggler
I stepped out into the rain. The water hit the pavement with a hiss, cleaning the streets but leaving the city just as dirty as before. I didn't tell Miller that I never look. I didn't tell him because it would be a lie.
"The Board wants it back," Miller said. "No questions asked."