Death Wears a Gay Sports Jacket

Standard of California, on behalf of independent chevron gas stations and standard stations, threw out the West in my queue to... let George do it! Death wears a gay sport jacket. Another adventure of George Valentine.

Personal notice, it is my stockin' trade. If you crowd it into a corner and can't fight your way out, call on me, George Valentine. Right, pull details. Dear Mr. Valentine, in the last month, violent death has struck four people in the Warrington Square section.

death in a gay sports jacket. I think I know who the killer is, but I can't be sure, and I'll never have a moment to speak until it's caught. The police don't seem to believe there's any connection between these four murders. That's why I'm hiring you.

In a cloned time machine. The locker in 306 in the East Hempstead Railroad Station. The money you find there should pay your fee in expenses. It's yours whether you accept the case or not. I leave that up to your conscience.

Mm-hmm. I gather, Brooksie, there's no signature. No. Just a generous amount of white space on the bottom, George. And the letter's typewritten. That correspondence seems to revel in mystery. Well, here's something more specific. You might call it a postscript.

Yeah. List of wines and square victims. Oh, no. Well, who overroaches he or she didn't have to go to that trouble? Jack Pringle on the morning bulletin has been repeating that list in bull type every day.

September 12th, Joe Barcelona butche. September 17th, Mrs. Adelaide Walsh, housewife. September 29th James O'Hara truck driver. October 18th Nancy Capp fashion designer. Four? I didn't know about Nancy Cappett. Wherever she is. Hey, now Angel, this should be a pleasure.