A night-club owner gunned down at his own bar—an editor gutted with an antique switchblade—a smuggler who took five shots in the back—a millionaire whose “suicide” didn’t make sense …
Each killing left the cops high and dry—fine. Because that meant someone had to hire me, Chambers, to find the killer. For a fat fee, and you can bet I earn every dollar. And with girls like Lola, Marcia, Kathy, Angelica, and the rest, each case has such nice fringe benefits …
