Johnny Liddell leaned back in his desk chair, watched the shadow on the corridor side of the frosted-glass door that proclaimed: Johnny Liddell—Private Investigations—Entrance Room 825.
Johnny Liddell—Private Investigations—Entrance Room 825It was a man’s shadow. A small man’s. It stood undecided for a moment, then headed down the corridor in the direction of Entrance Room 825.
Entrance Room 825Liddell sighed, crumpled the paper drinking-cup, tossed it at the wastebasket. It hit the rim, bounced off, rolled on the floor. Liddell stared at it glumly, mentally debated the necessity for keeping the place clean, won the decision, stayed where he was. He replaced the fifth of bourbon in the bottom drawer of the new desk, pulled a pile of old correspondence in front of himself, and was apparen
