The Lona Hanson and the Fighter Murder Case

God waves my beets and times further the lumber circles, the courteous, the most violent, the lonesomeest mile in the world. God waves my beets with Larry Thor as detective Danny Clover. In the early morning of January, a kind of winter stillness lies against Broadway.

The squall of night sounds has been twisted from its drains, spent by the revelers of darkness. The grating of a million feet, lifting lamentous clarinet, first and shatter of trumpets, Stills now, and pavement frosted with mist, and walking it the early trickle of time-card people, and the other one, the searchers of the night time, mourning and still searching,

and moving on to the prodding of wind, the same wind that purged through winter ruins, ride it now to epic Broadway, downtown and east, the village side street, chill and morning silent, the brownstone and the room minutes in the disorder of the night violence, chairs overturned, shatter and splinter of mirror underfoot, still of things where fury had

lurched, and on carpets still moist to the touch, the pattern of steam. They're blood, aren't they? Our men will be here in a little while with Longville. Check it until then. How much does it take for you people?

I'll take it easy. How much does it take? This room, the way it's been torn apart, if you know the way it'll only keep it. Every time I visit her, it's neat and pretty and shiny, with her nice things. Just lovely. A novel thing. And you say take it easy. Something terrible What's happened to her something awful to Lona and you...

You find her. Please find her. We'll find her. Just try to tell me about her. On this long... She called me last night. He said come to the pike with me. Lona likes those things. The pike pike. She's always going along, he is.