*This story takes place in 1950’s San Francisco Chinatown (featuring language typical of the era)
I looked up and saw the fan that hung from the ceiling of my hotel room. The blades fluttered through the oppressive air of the room, providing no relief. It was one of those rare, hot Indian summer days of September. It was stifling hot, which only accentuated the smell of mold and mildew in the joint. But this day wasn’t like any other day before. I’m not sure how I, Frank Riley, found myself in this racket. I suppose opportunities became limited and I couldn't be picky. I was the middleman, a stooge between buyers and fences. And this was my biggest assignment yet. I couldn’t afford to louse it up.
The object I had to pick up and tra...
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