“The return of the license was far and away the more important of the two; without it I would not have got the hobo job, or any other job. That was the way it had been, in fact—no license, no livelihood—for the past two and a half months, ever since the State Board pulled my ticket for no damn good reason. Things had been so bad financially that I had had to give up my offices on Drumm Street. I had also pretty much given up hope that I would ever again work as a detective in California, the cir...cumstances of the suspension being what they were. So getting the license back surprised the hell out of me. But there was a catch to it. There’s a catch to everything these days. In this case, the way I was put back in business and the catch were one and the same. My old cop friend, Eberhardt. It had been a week earlier that he’d called to give me the news. When the telephone rang I was sitting in the middle of the living room floor in my Pacific Heights flat, surrounded by pulp magazines, old newspapers, a couple of cardboard boxes, some tape and a ball of string.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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