Death on Delancey: A Marco Fontana Mystery

By Joseph R.G. DeMarco

Two popular gay bartenders—one a winner of an important and lucrative competition—are found dead in a tony Philadelphia neighborhood. The police are ready to close the case as a murder-suicide. But P.I. Marco Fontana has a hunch that there’s more to the crime than a domestic dispute gone horribly wrong. He'll need all his wits and resources, however, because the Chief of Detectives hates him and won’t let him anywhere near the case. Besides, the evidence backs up the murder-suicide theory. Complicating things further is the fact that a local, wealthy, and very powerful gay businessman hires Marco to help prove that the police are right! Fontana agrees but only on the condition that he enters into the investigation with no set objectives other than finding the Truth. At the same time, Marco’s personal life is becoming more and more complicated—should he try to rekindle things with an old flame or should he get more serious with a hot barista who is ready for more? Personal life aside Fontana gets immersed in the case and finds that it leads him down some dangerous and seedy avenues in the City of Brotherly Love and toward some surprising conclusions about what he thought he knew about the people around him and the city he loves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph R.G. DeMarco
• Release date: Feb 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781945242090

Joseph R.G. DeMarco

Joseph R.G. DeMarco, a longtime gay activist and Philadelphian, is known for his Marco Fontana mystery series. The series includes, so far, Murder on Camac, A Body on Pine, Crimes on Latimer, Death on Delancey, and the forthcoming tentatively titled Murder on Riomar. His vampire series includes A Warning in Blood and the forthcoming A Battle in Blood. For more information, please visit josephdemarco.com.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Getting rid of the sling was the best decision I’d made in a while. Who respects a P.I. in a sling? So against doctor’s orders I’d tossed it and felt free for the first time in months. Being shot was no fun but having one arm in a sling for months was even less of a thrill.

You’re sure you don’t need the sling? Luke walked with me to the Waverly, the wildly popular new gay bar-of-the-moment on the edge of Philly’s gayborhood. We’d begun extending our borders for the first time in years.

Doc said I could ditch it when I felt better. Which was actually a warped version of what he’d actually said. I stretched out my arm to prove it was fine. A sharp pain shot up and into my shoulder where the bullet had left a nice scar and I saw stars.

I saw that grimace, Marco. You’re not fooling anybody, Luke said. Less than three months healing isn’t a whole lot of time after the damage the bullet did. I know the doctor wouldn’t have allowed you to get rid of the sling.

He was right but those three months had felt like three years. After a short stint in the hospital I got to go home and read or watch TV for hours on end. The case which got me shot was still big news. A politician had been taken down, which is always a hit with the media. When his rival won the primary election, I got to sit on the sidelines and watch it all. Until I was called as a witness in the trials related to the case. At least that had gotten me out of the house. A few weeks later I’d started working again, if you could call it work. Mostly divorce cases, background checks, and paperwork. No interesting cases, no juicy stakeouts, nothing complicated. Nothing that could impede the healing process.

One of the good things to come out of that whole mess was Sean. Good old Sean the barista at The Village Brew. We’d had fun between the sheets now and then but something about my getting shot changed him. He visited me in the hospital just about every day and when I went home, he’d been there even more. Things had gotten intimate and cozy pretty fast. Both Luke and Anton had been there just as often, taking care of me and fetching whatever I needed. Even Olga stopped in several times a week to fortify me with her pastries. But it’d been different with Sean during that time. And I was still getting used to that new reality, wondering where it would all lead.

Once we get to The Waverly, I’ll let some alcohol soothe the pain. How’s that? My right hand gently massaging my left arm. This contest should be fun. It’ll help me forget the pain and everything else.

Not for Sam. He’s a nervous wreck, Luke said.

Sam was a bartender at Bubbles who’d managed, beyond all expectations, to get into the final five of the Mr. Honeydew Brand Ambassador contest. He was young and cute but not heavily experienced behind a bar.

If I were Sam, I’d be nervous, too, I said.

No compassion for the poor kid, Luke said. There’s Sean.

He told me he’d meet us. It was his turn to close up at the Brew. I still couldn’t believe how we’d grown so close in such a short time. He smiled when he saw us and I smiled inside. It’d been a while since that’d happened. Not since Anton and I... what had happened between us? I still couldn’t figure that out.

Anton and Jean-Claude are meeting us, too, Luke said and the smile I’d felt inside faded like an old photograph.

Yeah, Anton said they’d be here. What about Xinhan? I asked. Luke and the super-busy Xinhan had been dating for several months.

Xinhan wouldn’t miss this.

Sean slipped up next to us, his sleek body brushing against me.

Exciting night, he said.

It is now. I winked at him and he turned to wrap me in a hug. I smiled at first then hissed with pain as he squeezed my arm. Sssssssst, careful.

Oh…sorry, sorry. Poor baby. He stood back and looked me over. Where’s the sling? I’d never have squeezed you like that if you were wearing the sling.

Dr. Fontana says he doesn’t have to wear the sling anymore. Claims the arm is healed. Luke smirked.

Dr. Fon—? You may be a lot of things but you’re no doctor. You know how to play doctor but that’s about it.

Has he done the examination room thing with you, too? Luke laughed.

He has the routine down perfectly. He’s even got—

All right. I just thought I’d try doing without the sling for the night. Maybe I was hasty. But Luke already gave me the lecture. I’ll be careful. Tonight is not about arm slings. Tonight we have fun. I’d missed all the other competition events as this contest rolled out over the past three weeks. I was determined to enjoy this one.

We moved through the door of the glass cube that jutted out onto the sidewalk. A sparkling, classy entrance to the new bar. Inside, a beefy bouncer glowered at us, while a short, hot young man in a tux greeted people. A cutsie shirtless shot boy, standing behind the tux, handed out green beaded necklaces and tickets for free honeydew drinks.

Where’d they find him? Luke nodded toward the tux, his words almost lost amid the crowd noise. Wherever it is, I want the address.

I chuckled as we waded into the mass of people crammed near the entrance. And here I thought you might settle down.

It wasn’t easy finding a way between knots of friends and gawkers. Sean helped by wedging himself through first, and Luke did some blocking, too. My arm was jostled but, the place was so packed, the sling wouldn’t have helped. It was rough going but we kept moving.

How ya doin’ hero? The voice wasn’t familiar. The slap on my back felt as if he’d clocked me with an axe. I gotta say, you’re somethin’ else. You take down a mob of criminals and a politician all in one night. You’re all right, Fontana.

I turned, smiled, and stuck out my hand to shake his. He’d probably seen me on TV during the whole mess from the latest case. It was both an advantage and a disadvantage for a P.I. Until the incident faded, it’d be hard to work without being recognized. It eliminated the element of surprise. On the other hand the exposure could bring in business.

Hey, thanks, man, I said to the guy. Have fun tonight. I turned to Sean, put my good arm around his shoulders and whispered, Let’s find a quiet corner where we can watch things and not be bothered.

Sean nodded and took hold of Luke’s arm guiding us both toward the back of the bar.

Marco! Over here. Jean-Claude enthusiastically waved us over.

Sean shifted direction pulling us to stand with Anton and Jean-Claude. They’d staked out a corner of the bar and saved us some seats.

They’d managed to snag a spot with clear sight lines to the staging area where the action would happen.

How’d you stake out a prime spot like this? I asked easing onto one of the plush and very comfortable bar stools, something I didn’t think existed. I’d talk to Stan about getting some for Bubbles.

Jean-Claude has connections. Anton winked.

Just a few fans from Bubbles, he said, his French-Canadian accent coloring his words. And some of them remember when Anton was a dancer, too. In fact—

He’s exaggerating. I haven’t got fans anymore. Besides, when they heard Marco would be here the staff really got excited and made sure we had even better seats. Anton smiled and placed an arm around Jean-Claude. A little disconcerting for me but I’d dropped the ball with Anton. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to move on. If he and Jean-Claude could make each other happy, I should feel happy for them. So, why didn’t I?

You’re big stuff around here. Jean-Claude elbowed me gently.

Flattery will get you everywhere, I said.

As everyone already knows, Sean quipped. He squeezed me around the waist.

What’re you guys having? First round is on me, Anton moved closer to the bar. We all blurted out drink orders and I watched Anton listen intently. I’d always liked the serious expression he assumed when he concentrated, a cross between a studious young boy and a mature account exec. He pursed his perfect lips, then signaled the guy behind the bar.

I watched the bartender for a moment. He was good: Attentive, efficient, and attractive. Three musts for that job. But I noticed he was jittery. I guessed it was the sheer number of people that unnerved him. Even for a popular new watering hole, this crowd exceeded expectations.

Looking around while I waited for my mojito, I noticed a number of community honchos filtering into the bar. Public events like these are often where the traditional donation rituals begin, like the mating dances of exotic birds.

Just as I was thinking that, several financial honey pots strolled into the bar. Mr. Hedge Fund, a boy toy on each arm, was followed by Mr. Green Industry Magnate, who preceded Mr. Resort Developer. They attracted a crowd as money always does. But they were just the warm-up act. Before long Jonny Tate, billionaire entrepreneur, owner of The Waverly and who knew what else, walked in liked he owed the place. Mostly because he did. The other whales were dropped quicker than you could say blubber and Tate was mobbed. It made me queasy. This billionaire, who’d done time in a federal prison and who was reputedly involved in a number of other illegal activities, had upright gay citizens bowing and scraping. All for bucks.

I turned back to watching the bartender. People mobbed him, too. At least he was filling a thirsty need. He placed my mojito on a crimson napkin and I slipped him a five. The wink he tossed me was offset by Sean’s not so gentle elbow to my ribs.

What was that for?

Nothing, Sean said and sipped his fireball.

Loud fanfare hushed the crowd and the lights dimmed. A lush instrumental version of I Am What I Am gushed from the speakers and Thorny Bush swirled out onto the staging area, her gown whirling about her this way then that. A round of applause burst from the crowd.

Please welcome the Hostess for Montoco Hill’s Mr. Honeydew Contest, Miss Thorny Bush, the voice over the loudspeakers announced and another round of loud applause erupted.

Thorny was not the prettiest drag queen in the city but she was the best hostess you could want. Animated, expressive, and popular. The audience cheered and clapped and whistled. She bowed dramatically, the expression on her overly made-up face a mix of pain and joy. She drank in the adulation, bowing again and again.

Welcome, welcome, welcome, my kittens. And with that she sang a few lines from Cabaret, the Wilkomen... standard. And a great night it’s going to be, don’t you agree? A hot new brand ambassador for a fantastic new liqueur.

Applause and cheers.

I was going to do an old favorite for you. She paused. But he didn’t want to come... up on stage. She wiggled her eyebrows and smiled slyly. Then I thought I’d do one of Gaga’s anthems, aren’t they all anthems, boys? She waited for the applause to stop. So I called her agent and asked if I could do my very own version. You know the song, ‘Poke My Face? Right? Don’t you love that... song?

More applause. Thorny lavishly acknowledged it all.

I was gonna start with ‘Mum mum mum, I wanna hold it like a Texas wiener. Mum mum mum, And after he’s been hooked, Oh, oh, oh, oh, ohhhh, I’ll get him hard, I’ll get him hard and he can Poke My face, Poke My face whaddaya think? Don’cha like Thorny’s lyrics better?"

Laughter rocked the place and the applause was loud and long.

Poke my face, that’s what I’d like to tell our five finalists tonight. That’s why we’re here, boys.

Someone shouted: To poke your face?

Come closer let me see if you qualify. Thorny shaded her eyes from the spotlight and peered into the crowd. Uh, no honey. Shed a few pounds and a few years and you can get in line.

A low drumroll grumbled in the background.

Thorny lifted a hand to her ear and listened as if surprised. Sounds like it’s time. I guess the boys are all fluffed and ready to appear.

Smiling she looked offstage and nodded.

After a grueling week of competition, in and out of this bed and that one, making drinks, pouring them down the throats of judges, sucking up to distillery execs, and fluffing anybody who could help them win, we narrowed it down to five. Five of the best bartenders this side of the Grand Canyon.

That your nickname, hon? a heckler shouted.

Wouldn’t you like to know? Thorny said. These five finalists do know. To help me introduce these specimens of manhood, we have another hunk helping Thorny. She smiled beneficently. Come on out, Ben Sommerville.

A tall, striking-looking man ambled out on stage. I’d seen him before. He occasionally made the rounds of the bars pushing various Montoco Hill products. He was their general Brand Ambassador and had won that title five times so far. I could see why: sleek body, perfect light brown hair, glittering eyes, and most of all, confidence and poise. Tonight he’d help add one more ambassador to the troops he headed up.

Sommerville took her hand in his and, bowing slightly, kissed her hand. Ravishing as always. Isn’t she? He turned to the crowd and encouraged applause. Which he got.

Thorny smiled and bowed. The Montoco Hill General Brand Ambassador. Give him a hand. I know I’d like to. She smiled innocently. Would one hand be enough, Ambassador?

Sommerville smiled and laughed. Even his laugh was perfect. We’ve got other business to attend to first, Thorny.

All work and no play, you know what they say.

The five finalists will thrill our audience. Any one of them would make a fine ambassador for Montoco Hill’s Honeydew liqueur. He smiled. Gentlemen, your audience awaits.

The spotlight shifted to the right and five men walked out, each dressed only in a leather vest, cutoff shorts, and workmen’s brown boots. Some looked more comfortable than others. Poor Sam, the bartender from Bubbles, didn’t seem at ease in that get up.

Here they are, Thorny said, clapping her hands together. Don’t they all look yummy? And after three grueling weeks of pouring drinks, making small talk, and coming up with a routine for tonight. We started with twenty-five and we’re down to the final five.

An amazing group of talented men, Sommerville added.

The audience applauded and Thorny shushed them with her hands, palms down, as if trying to push them down in their seats.

Let me introduce these hunks and tell you where they work so you can stalk them... I mean, meet them some time. She smiled deviously then shifted to the men. In no particular order, the competitors for the Mr. Honeydew Ambassador title. Take a bow when I call your name boys.

Thorny shot them a look and they stood straighter. Cute as a button, and shy, we have Sam from Bubbles. Now tell me, wouldn’t you rather see Sam dancing in a thong at Bubbles than pouring liquor? Hmmm? She encouraged applause and the audience gave it.

I whooped and cheered for Sam. We knew he probably didn’t have a chance in hell. He wouldn’t have gotten into the top five if three other contestants hadn’t left, two disqualified for undisclosed reasons and one who’d fallen down a flight of stairs and was still in the hospital.

Sweet, isn’t he? Thorny said. But how about Andy? All the way from that place you never want to say you’ve been, Stella’s. Here’s Andy.

Once the applause died down, Thorny introduced the remaining three: Birch from TicTack, Dallas from the Waverly, and Terry from the Lowdown. All of them received deafening applause and that seemed to relax them. Not that they’d feel at ease for long.

Don’cha just love ‘em all? Wish each of them could win tonight. But we’re all about being the best, right? When the night is through, we’re gonna have us one honey of a Honeydew Ambassador. So, sit back... oh, right, you can’t sit back, you’re all stuck standing. Well, get comfortable, it’s time for talent.

Sommerville explained that a Brand Ambassador has to have above average ability to connect with people and performing on stage showed that quality. Thorny introduced each of them. They sang or danced or both, all of them showing more talent than I’d expected. Even Sam.

They went through other obligatory rounds like answering random questions, and showing how good they looked in underwear. I’m not sure what underwear had to do with being a brand ambassador, but they all looked exceptionally good. Sam looked great, which made me decide to ask him to work for StripGuyz and forget tending bar for a while.

The final round for the night was drink specials. Each of them had to come up with an original drink incorporating the Honeydew liqueur. There was no bottle tossing or fancy pouring, at this point good old drink mixing was the order of the day. Each of them had something unique like the ‘Honey Do Me’, which was a powerful combination of liquors. One of my favorites, the Double Honey, used the Honeydew liqueur, a German honey liqueur, vanilla and lemon liqueurs and a drop or two of real honey with a slice of lemon to cut the sweetness.

Once those drinks were made and sampled by randomly chosen audience members, it was time for the judges.

Now we wait, Thorny said and turned to Sommerville who ushered them off stage.

Thorny entertained the crowd with an old torch song while the judges made their decision. Warbling the tune, she hammed it up nicely. The judges were quick and signaled Thorny before she launched into another song.

All right! she said. Here’s what you’ve been waiting for. We’ve got our first Honeydew Ambassador. But Thorny’s gonna keep you in suspense a few minutes longer. She winked. If there wasn’t any Montoco Hill, there wouldn’t be a Mr. Honeydew. So before we reveal the winner, let’s talk a moment with Mr. Ed Novack, the man behind the stuff that makes your drinks so good. A nice hand for Ed Novack.

She waved her arm to the right, the audience applauded expectantly and an average-looking guy walked out into the spotlight’s glare. There was nothing remarkable about him except his rolling gait which made him seem rough and tough, even if a bit uncomfortable and as if he had other places to be right then.

Exciting night, Mr. Novack?

Sure is, Thorny. Very exciting. His voice held a confidence that belied his discomfort. Introducing a new product is always exciting. Our Honeydew liqueur is a first-class addition.

I’ve had a taste... or two, Thorny slurred her words. Ish... itsh... delish.

You’re our best advertisement, but I think Mr. Honeydew is going to make this liqueur a real hit.

And he gets lots of prizes, right?

For sure.

What’s our winner taking home with him? Aside from the title and a contract to work with your company?

The winner will be a lucky boy, Thorny. Novack said. He’ll tour the America and Europe, and who knows where else, introducing our product to gay bars in every major city. He’s also going to be the proud owner of a Porsche Spyder along with a substantial cash prize. And let’s not forget the TV and Radio commercials he’ll be doing. Pretty nice, eh?

Oohs and ahhs rippled through the audience followed by applause.

Listen, Thorny said as she sidled up to Novack, placed an arm around his shoulder, and rubbed her hip against his. He looked none too happy. You think, Mr. Novack, sweetie.... She stood back and looked him over. Say, you’re a handsome devil, aren’t you? Where have you been all my life? She hugged him close to her again, squinting her eyes with pleasure. You think there’s any way we can ditch those guys? She jerked her head toward the contestants. And maybe you can consider Thorny for that position? I can be one hell of an ambassador.

Novack feigned surprise. Well...tempted as I am—

You arrrre? Thorny grinned.

Yes, I am. Truly. But it wouldn’t be fair to these boys. Would it? From everything I’ve heard about Thorny Bush, you’d never be unfair to a cute young man. Would you?

I? Unfair? You... you did say a Porsche Spyder? Trips around the world? Cash? TV contracts?

He nodded. Those boys worked hard for this.

I can work harder. She bumped him with her hip. But... oh all right. Thorny has a reputation to uphold. She smiled. So let’s get on with this.

Novack walked off and Thorny called out to him. Maybe just a little Spyder? He shook his head as he left the staging area.

Thorny regained her poise and continued. And we wouldn’t have this contest without some sterling help from Bart Henshaw, the best promoter on the East coast. And our spiffy little stage manager, Ernie Noyes. Take a bow guys. Two men, one tall and broad, the other short and wispy, stood, smiled and bowed. The taller one was Henshaw, he’d been glad handing people all night, drumming up more events to promote, I guessed.

Thorny turned back to the audience. Okay boys, ready? She peered over her shoulder. The drumroll began, building as she spoke.

Sommerville, envelope in hand, escorted the contestants onstage. They exchanged glances and Sommerville handed her the envelope.

She looked wide-eyed at the audience. It’s all in here. She fumbled with the seal then tore open the envelope.

The second runner up is the hunk you’ve all been salivating over this evening, The Waverly’s own Dallas Faulk! Come on out here and get your sash.

Dallas, brown hair and blue eyes, stepped out of the line-up and walked over to Thorny. Striding across the floor, he was even more attractive for his appealing shyness. His strong chin sported the three days growth of beard that gave him a casual masculine air. All smiles, he turned to the side allowing Sommerville and Thorny’s twink assistant to place a sash over his neck. I got a good view of his rear end which made me realize the boy could have a career in StripGuyz. He moved offstage with fluid strides.

I love you, Dallas, someone shouted.

Bye-by Dallas. My dressing room is down the hall to the left. For a second, Thorny watched him then turned back to the audience. Our first runner up is Birch Howard from the TicTack. Come take a bow. And remember, hon, you’ll have to take over should the queen, whoever he is, not be able to do her duty.

Tall and reedy, like a youthful Clint Eastwood, Birch sauntered toward Thorny. Scraggly beard, sparkling eyes, he stooped to allow the sash to be placed around him. He didn’t crack a smile.

Now for the winner. One of those three nervous hunks standing there is gonna tour Europe. Will get that luscious Porsche Spyder, not to mention the cash and those TV and Radio commercials and... and a little surprise even the judges don’t know about. Honey, you’re gonna get to spend the weekend locked in Thorny’s bedroom. Better than an old Spyder any day, right?

The audience laughed and a chant of Winner. Winner. went up while Thorny made faces and fiddled with the envelope.

All right, all right, I see one guy who’s ready to burn Thorny in effigy out there. I’ll give you the winner. She paused dramatically, then widened her eyes in mock surprise as she read the card to herself. From Stella’s, it’s Andy Foster!

Andy put his hands to his face and shuddered. His knees wobbled and Sam put out a hand to steady him, holding on until Andy regained control and walked to Thorny’s side. Average height, dark curly hair, Andy had nicely worked arms but an otherwise slender body.

A smiling Sommerville placed a golden sash on Andy. Confetti rained from above and from small confetti cannons in the wings. Andy beamed.

Novack walked out to shake hands with Andy and present him with one of those gigantic checks written for twenty-five thousand big ones, keys to the Spyder, and lots of back slapping.

I don’t know what... what to say, Andy’s voice was shaky. I’m honored and... I-I can’t believe this. Thank you!

Sommerville placed an arm around Andy’s shoulder and I noticed a tenderness in that gesture which made me think Sommerville wasn’t as stuffy as I’d assumed. Andy gave him a hug. Sommerville pulled back and whispered something to Andy as someone else came to the stage.

Jonny Tate, never one to shun the spotlight, placed an arm around Andy. There was something intimate about the way they interacted and I paid close attention. Tate took the mic in his free hand and looked out at the audience.

Great night, isn’t it? He laughed, still hugging Andy to him. If I were as rich as Tate, I’d laugh, too. I want to congratulate Andy, a better bartender there never was. Or, should we call you Mr. Honeydew now? He stood back to shake hands with Andy and the moment of intimacy was gone. Maybe Andy will answer a few questions at that press conference tomorrow?

You bet I will, Andy said and there was a sharpness about his response that seemed out of place. He looked over at Tate and smiled. Tate smiled back, stroked Andy’s face with his hand, and turned back to the audience.

Come attend the press conference here tomorrow. Thanks for coming tonight. Don’t forget to use your drink tickets and try a Honeydew cocktail. Remember the Waverly next time you’re out and about, think about making us your new home. We’ve got everything you need.

Thorny took back the mic. Belly up to the bar boys.

***

That was that. Sam wandered over to us, needing lots of commiseration. The other contestants crowded around Andy for a while talking and kissing and whispering in his ear. Andy seemed overwhelmed. His life would be different now. All the publicity, the money, the adulation. I’d met him a few times and I knew that none of those things would change the nice guy he was. He was experienced and had a good head on his shoulders. But for a while, that head would spin.

Chapter 2

My head throbbed as I watched Sean sliding out of bed the next morning. Neither of us had had a lot to drink. It was the first time since the shooting that I’d stayed out so late. The doctor had told me to curb late night activities and get plenty of rest. That meant I couldn’t do half the things I needed to do including working at Bubbles or staying up late just because.

Consoling Sam for placing last took several hours sitting at the Bubbles Cafe. Anton and Luke stayed, too. When Sam finally stopped his intermittent teary-eyed meandering, Sean volunteered the two of us to walk him home. It wasn’t a big deal and it was on the way to my place.

Late night or not, the buzzer still sang out at five-thirty so Sean could get to work. He did his best to get going without disturbing me. Which was not exactly possible. I watched him pad silently around, his taut body and the perfect globes of his ass tempting me to wake up. But I stayed put. He needed to get to work and my head was pounding. After he left, I tossed, turned, and dozed for an hour then hauled myself out of bed and took a hot shower.

Coffee helped shake some of the morning grogginess but not much. The caffeine helped ease the headache, too, and a brisk walk would do the rest.

The crush of morning commuters in the elevator had me squashed between Hy, a lawyer one floor above, and a hot twenty-something guy I’d never seen before. The rest of the travelers were familiar faces but no one spoke a word. I’d have put that down to everyone being lost in his own thoughts, but that wasn’t it. Hardly anyone in the building ever acknowledged anyone else unless they couldn’t avoid saying something because you happened to be in their way. That was fine with me. Most residents had nothing but complaints.

One woman exited on the floor where the gym and spa were located, earphones firmly in place. The rest of us sardines got out at the lobby. I hung back so I could watch the young guy as he left the building. That helped clear my head.

Outside, the August morning was warm and bright. Some fuzzy clouds drifted in the sky but everything else was still. There was no humidity which is a good August day in Philly.

I had some surveillance photos and paperwork to deliver to a client on Seventeenth Street. They weren’t the kind of pictures you’d want to mail. She’d hired me to get the goods on her almost-bride who she suspected was cheating. Once I delivered the goods, I supposed the wedding would be off. She’d dodged a bullet and lots of legal entanglements.

I headed over to Pine then up to Seventeenth, enjoying the lazy summer morning. A squad car whizzed by, lights flashing but no sirens, and took the ‘lazy’ out of the moment. I stopped to see where he was going, and as I did another car, lights flashing, sped through the intersection. A short distance away, I saw the flutter of even more red and blue police lights. Lots of them.

That got my juices going. It’d been a while since I’d had a good case and, even though this wasn’t mine, I needed to be near the excitement. It was on my way, so why not? Like the bird dog I am, I headed right for them. A cluster of police cars with lights flashing is magnetic.

On Seventeenth near Delancey Place, I saw that the new highrise condo building was the center of attention. The police had roped off everything and closed the street to traffic. It wasn’t a wide street to begin with but it was a major thoroughfare through Center City. This was bound to cause all kinds of problems.

The closer I got, the more curious I became about what was going on. If I spotted a familiar face, I could probably score some inside information. I scanned the officers managing the crowd or consulting with superiors.

There were a number of young cops, probably newly minted, who manned the line keeping the curious away. But none of the cops was familiar. Some I wouldn’t have minded getting to know, so I went up to one of them. A skinny kid who looked tense and whose eyes widened when I approached. He didn’t know me but he knew he’d have to confront me.

I smiled. Morning officer.

He nodded and tried not to smile but couldn’t stop himself. This was undoubtedly one of his first assignments like this. Things could make you giddy even if they were dead serious.

What’s going on?

Don’t know, sir. Couldn’t tell you if I did. At least he said it with a smile.

Yeah, I know the drill. I was at the Academy for a while, I said.

You... were?

Lieutenant Shim here yet?

He’s up... I mean, I don’t know, sir. You probably should move along.

I noticed a cordon of police standing protectively around something on the sidewalk, keeping anyone from seeing what was there. I’d been to enough scenes like this to know what they were most likely concealing.

Jumper? I said in an offhand way to the young officer.

From the twenty-sixth fl— He stopped himself. Sir, it’d be best if you moved along. There’s really nothing to see here.

I didn’t want to make the kid edgier than he already was but I wasn’t about to abandon the scene, either. I moved down the tape looking over the crowd for someone familiar. Nobody I knew was here among the unies sent to keep things under control. The detectives were probably all inside.

About to turn away and admit defeat, I heard my name being called.

Fontana? The voice was low but clear. Aren’t you Marco Fontana? The guy who took down that creep a couple months ago?

I turned toward the voice. I tried keeping my expression bland but I knew I’d snared a possible way to get behind the tape and I almost smiled.

The same. What can I do for you? I said and held out my hand.

He ignored my outstretched hand. Hadda be sure it was you. Tall, dark-haired, intense eyes, he stood his ground.

Oh? Why’s that?

Orders. The reply was clipped, perfunctory.

Orders? To recognize me? I had a feeling I knew what was coming. Only Giuliani could be behind this.

To keep you out. There wasn’t even the hint of ‘apologetic’ in his voice. This is a closed crime scene. The chiefs don’t want anybody crossing the line. Especial— He stopped himself but I knew.

Especially me. Got your orders direct from Gina Giuliani. Am I right?

He didn’t say anything which gave me the answer.

She say why?

She... He cleared his throat. The orders were no outside consultants or private eyes or anybody would be allowed inside. He held my gaze a smidge too long then glanced down.

Well, orders is orders, I guess. This