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Frankie D. Private Investigator. Part the first

The wind blew through the windy city. This was Chicago, the windy city. In his office off one of those run down streets near a rather violent neighbourhood, Frankie D sat at his desk sipping sour mash whiskey and hummed one of those classic old tunes; Y.M.C.A. by the village people. A letter had arrived from Ohio and its content had him worried, it was written in Mandarin. Was it a threat from...