Chapter One

A dry summer wind had finally begun to stir, mercifully escorting the flannel blanket of smog out of town and making the world safe for human respiration again. 1956 was a real bad year for smog in LA, and July was one of its worst offenders. It was too hot to do anything but sit there in my creaky swivel chair and gasp, though I suppose I was doing my lungs no favors by fostering that orphaned cigarette I d dug out of the blackness of my desk drawer, the crumpled survivor of a long-forgotten pack of Camels. My head hurt and I was tired because of those lousy nightmares I d been having. I get mouthy and impatient with clients especially the crackpots when I m in a foul mood like this, and I know it s bad for business, but headaches every day and nightmares eve