San Francisco… 1935. During the depression San Francisco was not much different then most other cities in the United States. The economy was depressed and there were men out of work. The Golden Gate and Bay Bridge projects were underway which helped a bit, and the port provided some jobs, but not enough to go around.
Since the gold rush days, San Francisco had been the jewel of the west coast… a city where fortunes were made and lost… a city where danger and excitement could be had. That part had not changed. Even during the depression years there were some people who had money… some had lots of money. Sometimes lots of money just meant you could get into lots more trouble and you might need a private investigator… a man like Victor Grant.
Victor Grant was born and raised in the city. He liked it… all the various neighborhoods, the history, the cultural diversity. From the wharfs, the Italian section, the mission district, to Chinatown and beyond, he knew every square inch and had connections everywhere. He was a top investigator with the San Francisco P.D. before conflicts with the District Attorney and corruption within the department caused him to leave.
Grant was a cynical realist, so after leaving the department what else is a smart, talented, hard-nosed investigator to do except become a private investigator. He had more leeway as a private investigator than as a police officer and wasn’t afraid to stick his nose into places it didn’t belong. Vic liked four things: his independence, money, beautiful women and Scotch… not necessarily in that order.
When a beautiful woman wearing a blue dress, mink and diamonds shows up in his office one dark, rainy night seeking his help and offering him lots of money, for what seemed to be a simple assignment, he couldn’t say no. Soon she would involve him in murder, blackmail and the mob… a case right up his alley… provided he didn’t get killed or thrown in jail trying to solve it.
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