The Jimmy Dorn Murder Case

Broadway's My Beat. From Times Square to Columbus Circle. The gaudiest, the most violent, the lonesome, the mile in the world. Broadway's My Beat. With Larry Thor, a detective, Danny Thor. Broadway's for a pale and hungry girl, watched like a queen, because Broadway's at Dream Street.

For a fat man stands with begging eyes because he knows his dreams will never come true. It's a cry or a laugh, but nothing in the free. Either way, it's my beat. On special detail, there are no special hours.

Don was at the window of my office at police headquarters when I scribbled my last report. Now the town school teacher was trying to beat the heat by using Columbus Circle for a, for last runway.

I buried that one behind the convenient fan. With the boys at Faunboyne, Jordan started home at the sight entrance. I didn't make it. All I saw of sunrise was in an alley. The alley reserved for police ambulances coming home to the morgue.

The boy stopped me and invited me in. Danny! Danny, come here! The man who stood silhouetted in the slice of light with a man who called himself K-PEC. The freelance photographer who hung around headquarters.

You never knew he was there, but he always was. The quality of dawn, Danny. Who can hold it? Who can imprison it? It is the eternal infinitesement for a photographer. Why don't you go home then, K-PEC?

What keeps you here? That ambulance, perhaps. You see, creative men like me have a devotion. It is always the same. Perfection. Everything neat and perfection. Oh, so that's what it is. I watch that stretch of Joe.