300 Brannan Street Novels & Stories

He promised to give his book to a stranger named Duk. - Ale Christine hello, listen, I promised one person to send a book from the first edition, could you order a courier? - Of course Conrod, tell me the address, I'll send it to him today. - Hmm, Address. Wait a second, I have it marked somewhere, - he takes out a small notebook, searches for the right line among the mixed notes for a long time, the necessary information is written on crumpled paper in crooked handwriting. - Write it down: Oak branch street five, apartment seventeen, to be honest, I don’t even know where it is.

Then she slowly began to form her words. “We were almost to the door. The doormen were waving us in. Then someone called out to him and wanted to know about a deal he’d signed for a client a few days ago. It’s for a building not far from the center. The reporter I assume it was a reporter I never saw a face. But he asked about this place, spelling out the address almost exactly.” “What was the address?” My mom shook her head, the wheels in her head spinning. “I don’t know. Something on Third Street. Third and…I can’t quite remember. Third and Robert…something.”

I told him again. “They’ll pay you $500 for the night.” I stopped. Damn, I was doing alright for myself, but could I turn down $500? I turned back toward him. “Fine. What’s the address?” “Yes!” He smiled. “Nice one, man. It’s the Beta house on third. You can’t miss it, be there at 7.” I nodded and walked away.

"901 Fairview Avenue, Unit 204, South Lake Union." A pause as he scribbled the address down, then, "Alright, ma'am. We’ll have it over to you in about thirty minutes.” “Perfect, thank you!” After hanging up, I placed my phone down on the counter and propped my chin on my hand. My thoughts began to wander, as they often did when I had nothing to keep me busy.

I said. ​We pulled up to a nondescript brick building in the Garment District. This wasn't a Thorne penthouse or a Sterling tower. It was a cramped, third-floor studio where I’d spent nights trying to build something that belonged to me something that didn't involve theft or billionaire debts.

Leon moved away from the window, putting his gun into his vest pocket. "Lexie Duggan." I told the officer behind the window, tapping my foot as he got my gun and paperwork. I signed it quickly, putting my gun away too. "Right guys," Williams poked her head in and started walking to the station's main entrance, me and Leon trailing behind. "Situation in an abandoned block of flats off Market Road. Shots fired, third floor, one suspect." She turned to us at the door. "Stuart is in occupational health. I don't have anyone else, it's just you two."

Here's the address, Brambila estate, 7th arrondissement, Paris. Hope to see you soon and congratulations once again'

Sean pulled up to a Brownstown on the outskirts of Lincoln Park near Park West. The home was a Queen Anee’s greystone. There was a small courtyard surrounded by greenery and shrubs which were mostly covered in snowfall. In the center of the courtyard was an elegant bronze fountain. Brayden led Meredith past the stone bench seating in the stone plaza courtyard up the steps to a small porch. He paused and turned to Meredith and gave her the most simple yet passionate kiss he had to date. It was full of meaning. He pulled back and looked intently into her eyes.

“That’s fine. Talk soon.” We say our goodbyes, which is just as well because Jeremy pulls up across the street fromDeLisle. The rain has stopped. I get out of the car and gaze up at our main offices in New York’s gritty yet glamorous Meatpacking District. It’s a four-story building; the bottom floor is our flagship boutique, while the other three floors are our offices. I cross the cobblestone street and head intothe building.

Last registered location: 261 Canal Street, New York, NY 10013. My pulse jumped. Finally. “Richard,” I said immediately, turning toward the door. “Shift my next meeting. All of it. I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” “Sir? Should I—” “No.” I cut him off sharply. “Just reschedule.” I left before he could ask more. The drive to the address was tense and silent. The burner-shop was a cramped, dusty corner store tucked between two abandoned buildings. Piles of outdated phones, chargers, and tangled wires cluttered every surface.