Smiley's Run

My name's Jason Smiley. I went to Afghanistan after 9/11 an idealist. When I came home they called me a hero. But all the real heroes were dead. Today I chase unfaithful trophy wives and insurance fraud in sunny southern California. LA, the biggest, scariest and most beautiful mess of humanity outside of Chicago's Miracle Mile. I miss Chicago. I was a junior detective there for the CPD before 9/11 but now I can't go back there. The mob wants to kill me, the cops would just as soon they did, and my ex-wife would cheer them on. LA isn't too bad. My office is on Sunset Boulevard across from an adult book store run by a wanna-be gangster. The hookers are colorful at night. Life hasn't been too bad. Last night I got a call from a friend of mine. He'd been FBI when we were in Iraq on my second deployment. Such a babe in the woods, but a real boy scout. He asked me to meet him in East LA at a Taco Bar at one in the frigging morning. And I went. The last thing I remember was the look of horror on his face. Then I woke up naked in a strange hotel next to a nude dead man. That's a hell of a way to start the day you're supposed to save the world.