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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: Louis Tanner and Lieutenant Frank Carlucci, from Richard Paul Russo's Carlucci novels, are reunited when the death of a mutual acquaintance leads to the horror of San Francisco's DMZ, where ultimate pleasures are for sale ... and human lives are expendable.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Oceans of the Mind, 2002
Fictionwise Release Date: November 2003

9 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [136 KB], eReader (PDB) [50 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [38 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [34 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [79 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [106 KB], hiebook (KML) [114 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [67 KB], iSilo (PDB) [31 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [39 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [67 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [55 KB]
Words: 11288
Reading time: 32-45 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"Russo brings two characters (Carlucci and Tanner) from his Carlucci novels together to solve one more case. I've never read Russo's Carlucci novels, but I had no problem falling right into the story. The plot revolves around locating an illegal "nerve clinic" in San Francisco's DMZ. The characters were strong with very believable backgrounds, the future San Francisco was well realized, and the ending was upbeat despite the characters failing in their objectives. This was a very strong story I am pleased to have read."--Leon West, Tangent Online (Learn more about Tangent Online, the Internet's leading SF&F short fiction review website)

Smoke rose from the ruins of a shack now burned to the ground; smoldering embers glowed red and orange in the darkness. Carlucci stood a few feet away, listening to the oddly peaceful quiet, unavoidably inhaling the stench of charred flesh. Human flesh, if he wasn't mistaken. He was certain they would find the bones of a man within the burned shack, the bones of an old man named William Eko. Lieutenant Francesco Antonio Carlucci was alone in the vacant lot, sweating in the summer evening heat, the sky a stunning black-purple above him. Just over six feet tall and a bit stocky at two hundred pounds, he stood surrounded by rundown abandoned buildings, windows lit from within by candles, lanterns, and other makeshift sources of light. Abandoned by their owners, yet inhabited despite the lack of electricity or running water. Interviewing the residents of this neighborhood would be pointless. William Eko had never hurt anyone and certainly didn't deserve to die like this, but that didn't count for anything in this world. Shit. Sometimes Carlucci got so tired he wanted to take his wife and two grown daughters and leave San Francisco, move into the mountains where he could spend his days napping beside a clear flowing stream, and never again be a police detective, never again think of the word "homicide." That was a fantasy, though, and he knew it. I've got something for you, William had told him on the phone. Something important concerning a place in the DMZ. They needed to talk, William had said, and he had something to show Carlucci. They'd set the meeting, and Carlucci had come a little early, but it wasn't early enough. He wondered what the chances were that whatever William had wanted to show him was still intact, preserved somehow in those dying embers. Just about zero. "Hey, Lieutenant." The voice came from behind him, not too close. Familiar. Carlucci's hand went inside his slick-coat to the Browning in his shoulder holster, and he casually drew it as he turned. A short, thin figure crouched in the darkness at the edge of the vacant lot, but he couldn't make out any features. A hand came up, as if warding him off. "It's just Skeets," she said, standing up. As she picked her way among the piles of trash, he holstered the gun and watched her approach. Except for the dark forest green fishing vest with its numerous bulging pockets, Skeets wore, as usual, all black--T-shirt, skirt, and tights (all meticulously patched), black leather belt and riding boots. Her long, dark hair was streaked with gray, and draped halfway down her back. Both wrists were heavily bandaged; two old scars intersected just above her left eye. She claimed to be thirty years old and graying prematurely, but she also sometimes claimed to have been born in the first year of the new century, which would put her closer to forty. The latter seemed nearer the truth. "You're here to see William," she said, half statement, half question. He shrugged, and she barked out a humorless laugh. "Not much left of him to see," she added. "Buy me a couple of beers and I might tell you what I know about it." Carlucci sighed, but nodded. "Hold on a minute." He took out his com unit and called for a team of detectives, crime scene techs, and the coroner.