It happened in Hotel Duarte, a bullet length from the Great White Way, where life begins at eight-forty—and often ends by midnight with a couple of murders.
For instance, the murder of a dumb welterweight who took his dive—and got paid off in lead.
He was the brother of Johnny Killain's gal, and that was pure bad luck for the fight mob—because Killain went in swinging with no referee to call him off.
This great big deadly weapon of a man knew every dirty punch ever invented—and he would use them all to find the killer ...