The Skin Gods by Richard Montanari Read Free Book Online Page B

today.
     
     
While Detective Jessica Balzano may have been a homicide detective out there in the big bad world, in here she had a different assignment. Even a different rank. In here, she was still the commissioner of fashion.
     
     
She took her little suspect into custody and marched her back into her room.
     
     
    * * *
THE HOMICIDE UNIT of the Philadelphia Police Department was sixty-five detectives strong, working all three tours, seven days a week. Philadelphia was consistently in the top twelve cities nationwide when it came to the homicide rate, and the general chaos and buzz and activity in the duty room reflected it. The unit was on the first floor of the police administration building at Eighth and Race streets, also known as the Roundhouse.
     
     
As Jessica pushed through the glass doors, she nodded to a number of officers and detectives. Before she could round the corner to the bank of elevators she heard: ” ‘Morning, Detective.”
     
     
Jessica turned to the familiar voice. It was Officer Mark Underwood. Jessica had been in uniform about four years when Underwood came to the Third District, her old stomping grounds. Fresh-faced and fresh out of the academy, he had been one of a handful of rookies assigned to the South Philly district that year. She had helped train a few officers in his class.
     
     
“Hey, Mark.”
     
     
“How are you?”
     
     
“Never better,” Jessica said. “Still at the Third?”
     
     
“Oh yeah,” Underwood said. “But I’ve been detailed to that movie they’re making.”
     
     
“Uh-oh,” Jessica said. Everyone in town knew about the new Will Parrish flick they were shooting. That’s why every wannabe in town was heading to South Philly this week. “Lights, camera, attitude.”
     
     
Underwood laughed. “You got that right.”
     
     
It was a pretty common sight in the past few years. The huge trucks, the big lights, the barricades. Due to a very aggressive and accommodating film office, Philadelphia was becoming a hub for movie production. Although some officers considered it a plum detail to be assigned to security for the duration of the shoot, it was mostly a lot of standing around. The city itself had a love–hate relationship with the movies. Quite often it was an inconvenience. But then there was Philly pride.
     
     
Somehow Mark Underwood still looked like a college kid. Somehow she was already over thirty. Jessica remembered the day he joined the force like it was yesterday.
     
     
“I heard you’re in the Show,” Underwood said. “Congratulations.”
     
     
“Captain by forty,” Jessica replied, inwardly wincing at the word forty. “Watch and see.”
     
     
“No doubt.” Underwood looked at his watch. “Gotta hit the street. Good seeing you.”
     
     
“Same here.”
     
     
“We’re getting together at Finnigan’s Wake tomorrow night,” Underwood said. “Sergeant O’Brien’s retiring. Stop by for a beer. We’ll catch up.”
     
     
“Are you sure you’re old enough to drink?” Jessica asked.
     
     
Underwood laughed. “Have a safe tour, Detective.”
     
     
“Thanks,” she said. “You, too.”
     
     
Jessica watched him square his cap, sheathe his baton, make his way down the ramp, skirting the ever-present row of smokers.
     
     
Officer Mark Underwood was a three-year vet.
     
     
Man was she getting old.
     
     

WHEN JESSICA ENTERED the duty room of the Homicide Unit, she was greeted by the handful of detectives hanging on from the last-out shift, the tour that began at midnight. Rare was the shift that ran only eight hours. Much of the time, if your shift began at midnight, you managed to get out of the building around 10:00 AM, then head right over to the Criminal Justice Center, where you waited in a crowded courtroom until the afternoon to testify, then caught a few hours’ sleep, then returned to the Roundhouse. It was for reasons like these, among many others, that the people in this room, this