Sunday, February 25


I've hit a dead end with both Baltam and Thompson. I'm adrift at sea, there's a storm coming, and I can't see a damn thing. My sail is ripped and torn, I lost my oar last night, I'm fresh out of fish. And I got my Iain M. Banks novel wet too.

Tomorrow I need some fresh leads. I'm going to hit the bars, sniff around for something fresh. I'm going about both cases all wrong, and no matter which way I look I can't seem to see a way in. I'll get some fresh answers at The Lib. It's a seedy joint where even the serving girls are packing. But it never fails to amaze what a couple of double vodkas can unbury from the local thugs. Someone's gotta know something about this Baltam kid.

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