The Killing Room Read Online Free

future.
    Two minutes later the bell rang again. Jessica was drenched in sweat, hurting all over. Her opponent bounced across the ring, fresh as a daisy, put her arms around Jessica. Valentine Rhames stepped back, and delivered the knockout blow.
    ‘Thanks for the workout, ma’am.’
    Ma’am.
    Jessica wanted to drop the kid like a cheap prom dress, but remembered she’d just had the opportunity to do so and failed miserably.
    *
    Jessica and Vincent Balzano spent the first eight years of their marriage with one child, and for a long time Jessica had all but believed that this single blessing would be their only one.
    For three years they tried mightily to conceive, consulting with their family physician many times, reading just about every book on the subject, stopping just short of visiting a fertility specialist.
    Then, last year, a miracle happened. A two-year-old boy named Carlos came into their lives. They adopted him and life began anew.
    To Jessica’s amazement, having a second child did not double the responsibility of being a mother. Somehow that responsibility increased fourfold. Somehow it was four times more work, took four times the planning, attention, caution. Jessica still thought about having another baby, but the past year had made her second guess herself in this area. She had grown up in a small family – by South Philly Italian Catholic standards anyway – with just herself and her brother Michael, so a boy and a girl, a few years apart, was just fine.
    Still, she wanted to have another child.
    A year earlier they moved from Lexington Park, in the northeast section of the city, back to South Philadelphia, just a few blocks from where Jessica was raised. The advantages were many – they were just a block from Sophie’s school, Sacred Heart of Jesus, and not far from the Italian Market. There was bread from Sarcone’s, sfogliatelle and cannoli from Termini’s, cheese from DiBruno’s.
    This morning, as Jessica put the cereal bowls on the table, her husband Vincent came breezing through the kitchen. In a flash he had his coffee poured into his travel mug, a power barin hand, his coat on. He gave Jessica a kiss on the cheek, said ‘Love you, babe’, and was out the door.
    Jessica sipped her coffee, looked out the window. As she watched her husband cross the street, and get into his prized, restored TransAm, she considered just how much buckshot was loaded in that love you , babe . On the surface, it meant he loved her, and she could never hear those words enough. But the rest of the load meant: for this little show of affection you get to make breakfast, dress both kids, make their lunches, close up the house, get them to school and pre-school, then get to work on time, doing a job that is at least as hard – the case could be made that it was harder – as mine.
    Love you, babe.
    Vincent Balzano was good. Really good. It was one of the reasons he was one of the most feared and respected detectives working out of the Narcotics Field Unit North. Vincent could turn a witness into a suspect without the person ever knowing they were giving it up. Jessica knew all his tricks, and Vincent mostly got over with his Italian charm and swarthy good looks because she let him.
    With breakfast more or less eaten, Jessica did a tornado cleanup of the kitchen, piling everything in the sink for later, wiping down the countertops. Sophie and Carlos sat at the table. They had a few minutes before they had to leave.
    ‘Okay,’ Sophie said to her little brother. ‘Do you remember how to play?’
    Carlos nodded. At three years old he was just learning to comb and part his hair, a vanity he fiercely guarded. Today, though, the part in his hair made the Schuylkill River look straight by comparison.
    ‘Okay.’ Sophie made a fist with her right hand, held it in front of her. ‘This is the rock.’
    Carlos mimicked his sister, clenching a small fist. ‘Rock.’
    Sophie flattened her hand, palm down. ‘This is