![]() ![]() ![]() You could tell by his eyes that he was plastered to the hairline, but otherwise he looked like any other nice young guy in a dinner jacket who had been spending too much money in a joint that exists for that purpose and no other.” He had a young-looking face but his hair was bone white. The parking lot attendant had brought the car out and he was still holding the door open because Terry Lennox’s left foot was still dangling outside, as if he had forgotten he had one. “The first time I laid eyes on Terry Lennox he was drunk in a Rolls Royce Silver Wraith outside the terrace of The Dancers. ![]() Sometime during the Seventies, a decade that took me from 5 to 15, a neighbor who spent a significant portion of his career in Naval intelligence hunting our native Bay Area’s Zodiac because his employers feared the killer’s ciphers made him one of theirs, gave me a worn paperback of Raymond Chandler’s The Long Goodbye. ![]()
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