Victor Langley

CASE: PI-H-S-9241 No rest for the wicked, and apparently no peace for the weary. I drag myself out of that flea-bitten motel room with a skull full of thunder after a late-night rendezvous that probably wasn't worth the trouble. But trouble has a funny way of finding me before I've had my first cup of coffee. There's a murder scene right outside my door, and curiosity, that lousy dame, gets the better of me. I stick my nose where it doesn't belong and stumble across something interesting: a camera lens tucked inside a hole near the radiator. Now that's a curious little souvenir. This isn't some two-bit robbery gone sour. There's a story buried here, and I've got a hunch it's one worth digging up. The name's Victor Langley. A man raised with silver spoons, expensive manners, and privileges most folks wouldn't recognize if they tripped over them. Mysterious as a locked safe and twice as dangerous to underestimate. Just when I'm piecing things together, the motel telephone comes ringing like the devil himself is calling collect. Someone on the other end knows more than they're letting on. And just like that, the game is afoot. Looks like somebody wants to play chess. That's fine by me. I've never minded taking a few pieces off the board. But if this clown or whoever's pulling the strings thinks I'm just another pawn, they're about to learn a hard lesson. In this town, I don't play by anybody else's rules.