The Case of the Sleepy Falcon’s Big Goodbye

When I got back to the office, a woman was waiting for me in the lobby. She crossed the marble floor in 3 steps with legs that would’ve made any nylon stockings manufacturer sell out his own mother. “These are for you,” she said, her arm reaching out of the darkness with a manilla envelope. “Don’t worry, they won’t bite.” She smiled at me and I smiled back. My hand deftly unopened the clasp at the top and removed several photographs. As my eyes scanned the images, I could see right away that these were like nothing I’d seen before. The craftsmanship was delicate and intriguing. And the style of photography was perfectly suited to the subject matter. I turned over one of the photos. The name Thomas Allen had been written in blue ballpoint pen along the bottom. I was going to have to get to know this Mr. Allen a lot better.

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