Sanctuary: Mystery Short Story
Los Angeles, 1924
Tap ... tap ... tap ... tap... The man in the expensive suit rhythmically rapped the point of a silver fountain pen on the stained, scratched wooden tabletop the way one might drive a nail into a coffin lid. His clothes smelled like a mixture of musky aftershave and cigar smoke. His black fedora lay on the table. Big Mac’s black eyes bored into the two young women seated across from him in the second floor apartment.