"I felt like a steak on a plate, about to be doused with Worcestershire sauce and cut into bite-sized cubes."
As Detective Drew Lucy typed up the report on the Waterton case the ankle slipped into his line of sight. He knew right off that petite ankle shaped up to trouble, even if the ankle was attached to the chief's sixteen-year-old daughter, Millie.
Millie was worried about her brother, Ike, who had started to disappear some nights. The chief could fire Drew for messing with family business, but Drew reluctantly agrees to tail Ike. The trail leads to a speakeasy, and the mushrooming business of organized crime during Prohibition in Chicago.
Clues from the Ebony Gardens murder point to the same gang. The trouble is, the gangsters can smell Drew coming, and bullets are cheap.
By the time Drew enters the seductive orbit of a mink-eyed vixen addicted to risk, he's in over his head. If he isn't shot full of daylight by gangster tommy guns, he'll drown in Bianca's perfumed embrace. He can't stay in Chicago. But he can't leave.
It's enough to make a gumshoe readjust his fedora.
This noir flavored detective yarn is set 100 years back in time. It's a bit grittier than my usual breezy output. While this story is basically clean, and I did not flag it as mature, it does peripherally involve alcohol use, sexual desire, and graphic violence.