Eddie sat in his unmarked Golf, watching rain streak across the windshield. The informant, a jittery man called Skroef, had promised to deliver the original ledger by midnight. It was now 3:47. Eddie’s phone buzzed. A photo. Skroef’s ID pinned to a corkboard with a steak knife.
She opened the door in a bathrobe, eyes sharp. “Eddie. You look like a man being followed by his own shadow.” eddie zondi
“Worse,” he said. “I’m being followed by the men who own the shadows.” Eddie sat in his unmarked Golf, watching rain