The Mike Murphy Files And Other Stories - Plot & Excerpts
From the Files of Mike Murphy The morning sun was as hot as the Devil’s coffee. The pavement was hotter. It scorched up through my shoe soles. Light bounced off windows and the metal and glass of passing cars. People were surly from the heat. The newsman snarled his thanks when I paid for my newspaper. The fat guy behind the donut counter slung my apple fritter into the bag with contempt. A taxicab tried to run me down in the crosswalk. The driver hung out the window and yelled something unintelligible after me. Something about coming back and getting run over like a man. I trudged up the stairs to my office. The placard on the door said M. Murphy, Private Investigations. That’s me. Mike Murphy. Detective. You might be tired of hearing about detectives, but what choice did I have? It was either that or working for my brother’s law firm. I don’t believe in lawyers, just like I don’t believe in Santa Claus. I’m Irish, so, even though I believe in some things, a man has to draw the line somewhere.
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