Quoted By:
>It was a hot day, the kind where the air presses down on you like a Chicago overcoat. The fan on my filing cabinet was on its last legs, and the cigarette in my hand was burning faster than a prime suspect skipping town. Heels parked on the desk, blouse sticking to my back, I was boiling like a missionary in a cannibal's pot.
>I took another drag, watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling, thought about how long it’d been since the phone rang. Business was slower than a Sunday sermon, and I had half a mind to pack it all in and join the burlesque. Then the door creaked open, and in walked trouble.
