City of Ports: The Shadow Over Portsmouth Book 1 (preview)

Chapter 1

All that was then. This is now.

I walk out the ornate doors of Jacobi Investment Associates, Mr. Baldini's farewell echoing in my ears. I've just closed out another riveting day working security. It's a little after four in the afternoon, and I can't wait to get home and take off my monkey suit.

What was the highlight of today, you ask? Catching a kid before he could tag the building with graffiti? That's a contender, I suppose. But what brings me the most joy is figuring out which of the rich banker fucks are cheating on their wives.

Fuck #1, his tell is wearing the "backup suit" he keeps in his office. How do I know it's a backup? It's less pressed than his usual suits.

Fuck #2, he keeps a different phone at work. Smart guy. Most people wouldn't notice the difference between the phone he's carrying in the morning and the one he's using on his lunch break. I do.

And Fuck #3? No new clothes or phone. Just a spring in his step and a nervous quality in his eyes. Subtle. I'm not dead certain on this one, but my hunches rarely let me down.

I need to wash off the workday with sunshine. I walk up the curve of Bow Street, passing flocks of pre-summer tourists drawn to the city's fine waterfront dining. The Piscataqua glitters where I can see it, but most of the view from the street is blocked by the restaurants, shops, and expensive condos. Pay to view.

At the top of the hill sits an old church with a raised cemetery. From the sidewalk I can see the vaults built into the underside of the cemetery. I wonder, if I pulled out one of the entombed dead and somehow resurrected him, what he would say, looking at the city now. Would there be anything he recognized after hundreds of years besides the river itself?

You know he'd start by asking who let this brown woman carry a weapon and wear pants.

Yeah, some changes were definitely for the better. I pass the remains of the Memorial Bridge. Until the crews are done replacing the old rotting structure with a 21st-century version, locals need to take either a boat or nearby I-95 to get to Maine. Badger's Island looks tantalizingly close. But the swift tide of the Piscataqua would yank even the strongest swimmer away and under.

Cheerful thoughts today.

A crowd is gathered in front of the new, ugly brick edifice known as Seafare Estates. Great for those who can afford a $700K condo, but for the rest of us it just means a blocked view of the water from State Street now as well. An elegantly coiffed woman is speaking at a podium in front of the "Estates;" as I get closer, I recognize Councilor Grace Stone in mid-blather. She's the assistant mayor, but that's only because she received a few votes less than Mayor Gantry in the last city council election. Stone holds the most de facto power on the council. A banner below her proclaims Portsmouth's recently revamped slogan: "A Little Bit Enormous."

"We are so, so fortunate to welcome Seafare Estates into our community, thanks to the fine efforts of Vauxhall Architects and the vision of Blue Coastal Realty," Councilor Stone says. "It is projects like these that attract job creators to our local economy. And now, as the Estates open, with fully half of their units presold, I would like to congratulate Portsmouth's newest residents for deciding to call this place home. I think they'll all agree that for a small city, we're 'a little bit enormous,' isn't that right?"

Tepid applause issues from the crowd, which consists mostly of wealthy people curious about their new neighbors. At the crowd's edge slouches a bored-looking reporter for the Portsmouth Porthole, a woman whose name I don't remember. (I'm just glad it's not Eric Kuhn, the one who pitilessly chronicled my downfall last year.) Several of my former colleagues from the Portsmouth PD ring the crowd to keep order.