Johnny Taggett is a man shaped by the grit and grime of a city that never sleeps—a former New York cop turned private eye, navigating a world of shadows where the lines between right and wrong blur under the glow of flickering street lamps. William Hoy invites readers back to the golden age of pulp fiction with a tale that smolders with the atmosphere of a bygone era, evoking the sharp-tongued charm of Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade and the hard-boiled cynicism of Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe.

Taggett is the quintessential tough guy—a chain-smoking, whiskey-drinking gumshoe whose every step is laced with danger and every choice comes at a price. He prowls through the underbelly of the city, trailing cigarette smoke as thick as the lies he’s fed. His world is one of filthy back alleys, overflowing ashtrays, and dimly lit offices, a place where dames are sharp-tongued and seductive, and every lead comes with a punch to the gut.

But Johnny’s not alone in this maze of deceit. There’s Chen, his gruff, streetwise partner, always a half-step behind or a gunshot ahead. Then there’s Jie, twin shadows in the game, as elusive and deadly as whispers on the wind. And always lurking in the periphery is Mrs. Foulsworth—a mysterious widow swathed in black veils jewelry, her presence as chilling and enigmatic as a ghost at midnight.

They’re up against a city of Shanghai that breathes corruption, where mobsters, crooks, and lowlifes ooze out of every corner, and blood stains the cobblestones like a dark testament to a thousand unsolved crimes. Taggett knows it’s a world that’s beyond redemption, but there’s one thing driving him through the filth: vengeance. His partner Murphy is dead, and no two-bit hood or big shot boss is going to keep him from finding out who pulled the trigger.

It’s a hard, dirty job—the kind that leaves scars on your soul—but Johnny Taggett isn’t looking for redemption. He’s here to balance the scales, one slug at a time. So, the story unfolds on the dark streets, where the smell of cheap perfume mixes with the bite of gunpowder, and justice is as elusive as a dame’s good intentions. Because that’s how it’s supposed to be in the world of pulp fiction: raw, relentless, and soaked in shadows.