Free Revolver by Duane Swierczynski

open auditions for the next one,” police pals said.) She saw Jim’s nameplate and made a Polish joke. Sto lat! Hundred years. Polish Mafia, in da house.
    Later, he realized who she was—and was doubly glad he hadn’t busted her. Sonya’s father is wheelchair-bound union boss Sonny Kaminski, the King of Queen Village, who reportedly made millions when they razed whole blocks to build I-95. Never make enemies who can bury you in cash.
    “How are the boys?” she asks now.
    “Crazy as ever.”
    “And your little girl, Audrey?”
    “Great, just great,” he says, making it a point to smile. “What’s up, Sonya?”
    “I’m thrilled you caught this one, Jimmy,” she says. “If anyone’s going to catch this monster, it’s you. Along with Detective Mothers, of course. We need this resolved as soon as possible.”
    “Resolved.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    Any crime that happens to people in the imaginary safe zone that is Center City Philadelphia needs to be resolved as quickly as possible. Philadelphia has spent a lot of time and effort convincing people there is at least one neighborhood within the city limits where you probably won’t be beaten, raped, and strangled to death. Part of Sonya’s job, best as Jim can figure, is maintaining this illusion.
    “I understand the parents are flying in first thing tomorrow,” Sonya says. “The mayor would like to meet with them personally.”
    “That’s a good idea. After we talk to them, of course.”
    Sonya smiles. “Of course. So I want to be able to tell the mayor something. Whatcha got so far?”
    Jim spreads his hands. “We’re doing everything we can to catch this guy.”
    “So you think it’s one guy?”
    “I don’t think anything yet, Sonya. What do you want me to say? You know how this works.”
    “I want something specific that I can give the mayor. I want to be able to tell him that a rapist-killer isn’t stalking the streets right now, prowling for his next victim.”
    “You’ll be the first to know when I have something, I promise.”
    Jim remembers: next Tuesday is Election Day. The mayor, running for his second term, doesn’t want this lingering in people’s minds. Never mind that the challenger is no threat whatsoever—this town hasn’t put a Republican in room 215 for nearly fifty years. But the mayor wants to be America’s mayor. There’s already talk about a run for the governor’s office, maybe even the White House in 2000.
    So that’s what this is about. A pretty blonde turns up dead in the worst possible way, in what is allegedly the safest part of the city.
    Sonya turns to appraise Aisha. “You’re new to the homicide unit, aren’t you?”
    “New enough, I guess.”
    “You’re in good hands with Detective Walczak here.”
    Aisha just stares at her.
    What Sonya means to say, Jim thinks, is you’re the perfect partner for our white male detective here. Black female. Balances it out perfectly. Especially if it’s the worst-case scenario and it turns out that a black male had something to do with Kelly Anne Farrace’s death. Considering all that racial shit in the Thirty-Ninth this past summer.
    Sonya reaches out and lays her hand on Jim’s tie. “Drinks soon?”
    “Sure, Sonya. Drinks soon. On the mayor’s office, right?”
    She pulls his tie once—a playful little snap that loosens the knot a bit.
    The drinks will never happen, he thinks. But she’ll be riding his ass right up until Election Day, that’s for sure.
      
    They work into the late hours. Jim calls home to update Claire. Thankfully, she doesn’t mention last night. She knows what a case like this means for his hours and mental state. Jim asks about the boys. No surprise, Sta ś and Cary almost came to blows during dinner. Over what? Who knows.
    “Audrey says she misses you.”
    “Tell the little animal I miss her, too.”
    “Someone called the house looking for you. Wouldn’t leave his name.”
    “Oh yeah? What was the number?”
    Claire