FanStory.com - Trouble In Red by Begin Again

Some dames walk into a room as if they own it.

This one walked in like she'd already sold it and was here to collect.

The first thing Ethan Cole noticed was her dress. It was red — the kind of red that didn't whisper, "Look at me" — it demanded it." The second thing he noticed was that every hair on his body stood on end as if he'd just stepped onto a live wire.

The third thing?

Deep in his gut, a voice was screaming, "Run!" But he never was good at listening to warnings.

She slid into the booth across from him like they had a standing appointment. No introductions. No pleasantries. Just dark eyes, full lips, and the most intoxicating cologne drifting from her cleavage.

"Ethan Cole," she murmured. Not a question. A confirmation.

He exhaled slowly and took a sip of his whiskey. "That depends."

"On what?" She ran her tongue across her lips. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes.

"On who's asking."

She smiled at that. A slow, practiced smile meant to make a man drop his guard.

His brain said it didn't work, but he knew his palms were sweating.

"I don't have time for games, Mr. Cole." She leaned in, voice an urgent whisper. "You're running out of time."

The ice in his glass cracked. So did something in his chest. His line of work came with its fair share of warnings — most from men whose idea of a second chance came with a bullet. But this wasn't that.

This was worse.

Ethan set his glass down, eyes steady on hers. "You wanna tell me what's got you so jumpy, sweetheart?"

She flinched. Just a little. Enough for him to catch it.

"Listen to me," she said, low and sharp. "When you leave here, don't go home. Don't go back to your office. And for God's sake, don't trust —"

The lights flickered. A heartbeat later, the fire alarm screamed through the club.

The woman's eyes went wide. Not with fear. With resignation.

"It's already started," she whispered.

Then, before he could ask what, she was gone — vanished — into the chaos.

Ethan shot up, scanning the crowd, but all he saw were panicked bodies rushing for the exits. The bartender was shouting something. Someone knocked over a chair.

Ethan spotted a single white napkin on the table where she was sitting. It had a message in black ink — "888-444-3232 — Call me sometime."

His stomach turned to ice while other body parts took on the heat.

She'd planted a kiss in lipstick-red, a bold and deliberate mark that sent shivers down his spine.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind, sending a jolt through Ethan's body.

A deep voice, sounding familiar, echoed in his ear, "Ethan Cole. You're coming with us."

He turned, instincts screaming, but it was too late to run.

Author Notes It's come to my attention that my original plan might have been flawed. Here are the new rules......

Are you one of those talented writers who can think on the spot and be creative practically on cue? Then this concept is for you!!

Thanks to a FS friend who prefers to remain anonymous (my beating heart), I am able to promote this more, and I hope we will receive more readers and participants.

In this Multi-Author book, anyone who's interested can write a chapter.(preferably under 500 words). Just PM me, and I'll give you what chapter number you'll be assigned to write! Before contributing your chapter, read what others have already written to help the story progress. You may join in as often as you like, but you must message for your chapter and wait your turn. This is so we don't want someone writing chapter two and discovering someone else has already posted it.

I can't wait to see what we create with our combined varieties of talent!!

Chapter 2
Trouble in Red

By Begin Again

Two men, one on each side of Private Detective Ethan Cole, maintained a tight grip on his arms as they escorted him out of the club and into the cool night air where a limousine waited, the motor already running. Were they with the mysterious girl in red, or was she trying to warn him of their arrival? They shoved him into the vehicle.

A cream-colored American Bully dog lay stretched out across the back seat. “Fefe, you know better,” one of the men chastened. Fefe reluctantly plopped to the floor and stretched up onto her hind legs to look out the window. “The boss said you like car rides, but you have to stay off the seats.”

When settled between the two men, Ethan asked, “Which one of you Goombas is going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Shut it.” One man barked. “You’ll know soon enough.” The limo driver sped through the city and onto the highway. Ethan heard that voice before, when he worked on the Strawberry Shortcake caper. Twenty minutes later they pulled up to a country cottage. As soon as the limo door opened, Fefe scampered out and ran to the cottage front door.

“I can’t stand that mutt,” the familiar voice said as he pushed Ethan across the manicured lawn toward the cottage. Inside, they passed through a small living room to an equally lavish dining room where a woman sat at a table. She had a weathered face, etched with deep lines of resolve and conviction, while crow’s feet framed piercing eyes that penetrated the soul. Her mixed blonde and gray hair was trimmed into a man’s crew cut.

One of the goons said, “This is the boss, Mama George.”

“Sit,” she said, with Fefe on her lap. Ethan sat.

“You’re working for my daughter. She stole precious jewels from me. If you want to keep breathing, you’ll see that I get them back.”

“Sorry, Mama George. I don’t know your daughter.”

“That’s a lie. You were seen with her at the club. I want YOU to personally get those jewels from her or find out where they are and put them in my hands. Okay, boys. Take him back where you found him.”

Once back at the club, Ethan called the number the Lady in Red had scribbled on a napkin.

“My mother acquired those jewels during a recent heist. I didn’t take them. If you find them, I will pay twice your fee.”

Ethan had his work cut out for him.

Chapter 3
Double Dame Trouble

By Begin Again

The story so far: Ethan Cole, P.I., has been joined at the table in his favorite nightclub by a gorgeous redhead he doesn’t know. As she tries to warn him of impending danger, the lights flicker, the redhead disappears – but does leave her phone number for Ethan on a napkin – and two thugs each grab Ethan by an arm and lead him outside to an awaiting limo.

They drive him to the isolated cottage of Mama George, who informs Ethan that the redhead he just met with is her daughter, who’s stolen precious jewels from Mama George. The woman demands that Ethan retrieve the jewels and return them to the cottage at once.

Later, back at the club, Ethan phones the gorgeous redhead and is told that not only does she not have the jewels, she wants them, herself. Then she advises Ethan that Mama George acquired the jewels during a heist and promises to pay Ethan twice whatever Mama George’s offer is.

****************************************************************************

Ethan hung up the phone with Red and, like a hamster with a Brazil nut, returned to his table to mull this new crinkle over in his mind.

Mama George thought Red stole her jewels and was willing to pay handsomely to get them back. Red claimed she didn’t have them, either, and would pay double-y handsomely for their return.

Should he call Mama George and incite a bidding war? Or was Red figuring him for a patsy, and by doing that, he’d be playing right into her creamy, beautifully manicured hand?

He swilled down his whiskey and gave a nod to Sal at the bar for a refill.

Did any of this have to do with the knucklehead goon in the limo with the familiar-sounding voice that he remembered from the Strawberry Shortcake caper? That was a heist too, after all. But those jewels turned up finally under a farmhouse in Morocco. The owner of said house, though, did remain a mystery still to this day.

Gigi, the bleach-blonde waitress Ethan had enjoyed a couple of rolls in the hay with, bent down to deliver his whiskey and an ample view of her ample chest.

“Here, Doll,” she mewled, between snaps of her gum, and handed him a heavy black house phone with a cord long enough to snake around the entire dining room. “There’s a call for you.”

Ethan put a five-spot on Gigi’s tray, and she winked at him and blew him a fat, red-lipped kiss over her shoulder as she headed back toward the bar.

“Ethan Cole,” he said into the receiver.

“Well?” asked Red, her husky voice sending blood to his nether regions at once. “Can I count on you to make me happy and the two of us very, very rich?”

Author Notes This delightful idea was conceived by Begin Again, who composed the original chapter and asked us all to please contribute, building upon the previous member's plot line. (She'll assign you your chapter number when you PM her.) LJ Butterfly did a fabulous job with chapter #2, so it was fun and easy to build this chapter onto that.

Please join the fun. It's a way to make some FS history together! xoxox

Chapter 4
Far Away Joes

By Begin Again

Ethan Cole has had a busy night. A steamy, long-legged redhead he doesn't know and a busty waitress he does know (at least twice) have both tried to get a rise out of him. And succeeded. Below the waist anyway. And then two thugs grab him by the collar and frog-walk him outa da joint.
He's taken to see Mama George, who makes Ma Barker look like Lauren Bacall. She wants answers and her stolen jewels returned pronto. Says her daughter stole them. Wants Ethan to retrieve the jewels in exchange for a) keeping his own family jewels and b) a nice payday.
Mama G's daughter is none other than, you guessed it, the steamy redhead. Red also wants the jewels and will bump up Mama G's reward money twofold or bump off a certain PI. And Ethan is fairly certain that PI is him.

Back at the club, Ethan mulls over his options and the waitress Gigi's ample attributes. And then Red calls back.

"Chicago's a great city, but I wouldn't wanna die there. Be careful you don't get lead poisoning, Mr. Ethan Cole."
And then Red hung up the phone. Ethan tapped on the receiver a few times to try to get the connection back, but no dice. Gigi came by with another whiskey. She was looking good. And available. He gave her the once-over. A couple times. Nah, that was trouble Ethan didn't need.

He walked out of the club, took a look around to get the lay of the land, hailed a taxi, and headed south out of the city.
45 minutes later he steps out of the cab, throws the cabbie a double sawbuck for the fare and to forget he ever saw Ethan, and steps into Far Away Joes. A tavern so far away from civilization it makes a great meeting place for guys who don't wanna be seen. Or heard.
Owner and bartender is Joe "Corky" McGonigal. Funny story how he got that name. It was 10-12 years ago, New Year's Eve it was. The place was packed. The war was over and the time to celebrate was now.
GI's home from overseas and their female companions ordering Budweisers by the bucket and Canadian Club by the bottle. Well, some wise guy has a few too many, stands at the bar, claims Joe wasn't taking his drink order quick enough. He's got a table a few feet away with a couple other guys and a few ladies and he's gettin' steamed. Starts backtalkin' Joe, which, even amongst this crowd, was considered rude. Joe's tellin' him "hang on Frankie, I'll be right witcha, just hang on." Frankie don't wanna hang on, he wants his order and he wants it now. Pulls out a '45, also considered a major feax pau, starts waving it around. Well, Joe was busy opening bottles of champaign to celebrate midnight just a few minutes away. But not too busy to walk down the bar, hand by his side, and outa nowhere slams one of them T-shaped corkscrews into Frankie's hand. His gun-wavin' hand. Takes the 45, points it at Frankie's forehead. Tells Frankie, in the most polite manner a southside bartender could muster, that he is persona non grata from now on and he's gonna leave this establishment right now and it was Frankie's choice if that was upright or horizontal. The room is now deathly quiet. Quiet enough to hear the piss leaving the bottom of Frankie's trousers, splashin' on his Florsheims. Frankie left vertical that night, still sporting a corkscrew pinkie ring!

Yeah, great place that Far Away Joes. Famous for their cold beer, hot dames, and, get this, their Strawberry Shortcake.

Chapter 5
A Little History

By Begin Again

Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.

Recent events in the story: After being whisked away by two goombahs to renowned jewel thief Mama George’s country cottage, PI Ethan Cole suspects that jewels from her most recent heist have been stolen by her daughter. She is the lady in red he’d met at a bar. He calls her, and she claims she didn’t steal the jewels but offers to pay Ethan double her mother’s amount to find them for her.

Ethan decides to take a trip to Joe “Corky” McGonigal’s tavern, Far Away Joe’s, to see what Joe might know. The term “strawberry shortcake” keeps cropping up, including being an item on the tavern’s menu.

You’re probably wondering what strawberry shortcake has to do with anything. Ten years ago, Joe “Corky” McGonigal was a horseman at the estate of the Pratt family. The Pratts were a nouveau ultra-riche family who made their millions from jewel heists, planned meticulously by the matron of the house, Georgina Pratt.

Joe had a thing for their daughter, young Ruby Pratt, from the time he hired on when she was only 13 years old. She went riding often, and he would flirt with her. Called her “Strawberry Shortcake” for her bright red hair and diminutive size. She was a saucy little thing and flirted right back. Joe was a good-looking guy—street-smart and tough.

When Ruby turned 18, Joe convinced her to run away with him. He had a rich uncle who owned a home in Morocco and who traveled a lot. His house was vacant for months at a time. It would be vacant in a couple a weeks for a long stretch.

Joe and Ruby concocted a plan to steal the bulk of her mother’s jewels, fence a few for the dough, and fly to Europe, where they would travel around together until they could move into the house in Morocco. If they liked Morocco, maybe they would build a house of their own. Or maybe they would just jet-set around the world. With Mama George’s jewelry collection worth millions, they would be set for life.

What they didn’t know was that the most priceless part of the collection was a diamond tiara that held a miniature transponder Mama George had had installed. This allowed GPS tracking of the tiara if anyone ever lifted it.

When Georgina Pratt discovered her jewelry was gone, as well as Ruby, she put two and two together and hired Ethan Cole to find her and get it back. Ashamed to admit she was robbed by her own flesh and blood, she never told Ethan that Ruby was her daughter, only that she had stolen the jewels.

Ethan was a pro—a PI and a “fixer”—and had a good rep, but Georgina didn’t trust anyone completely and sent one of her bodyguards with him to track the jewels. Guy’s name was Tony Ferraro. A big goombah with a high, squeaky voice, unforgettable. No one made fun of it, though, or they might end up with concrete feet in the bottom of the bay.

Ethan and Tony tracked the pair to Europe, but their constant moving around for a couple of weeks made it impossible to plan a raid. When the pair finally settled at a house in Morocco, that’s when Ethan and Tony made their move. Ruby and Joe had hidden the jewels in the crawlspace beneath the house. Whenever they needed dough, they would fence a few. Imagine their surprise when the strongbox containing the jewels was missing one day.

With the remaining jewels now in hand, Ethan and Tony headed back to the States and returned the treasure to their employer. Ethan was paid well for this “Strawberry Shortcake” caper.

That was 10 years ago, and now here he was in the middle of a new shitstorm. More jewels from one of Mama George’s recent heists were missing, and apparently Ruby, our lady in red, Strawberry Shortcake herself, didn’t steal them this time.

Standing outside Far Away Joe’s tavern, Ethan decided to find out what Joe “Corky” McGonigal might know about it.

Author Notes CHARACTERS

Ethan Cole: A private investigator and the main character.

Ruby Pratt aka the lady in red or Strawberry Shortcake: She is the 28-year-old daughter of Georgina Pratt.

Georgina Pratt aka Mama George: A famous jewel thief who is Ruby's mother. She hires Ethan Cole to find her missing jewels.

Fefe: Mama George's cream-colored bully dog.

Gigi: The bleach blonde, buxom cocktail waitress at Ethan's favorite bar.

Joe "Corky" McGonigal: Owner and bartender at Far Away Joe's tavern. Former lover of Ruby Pratt.

Tony Ferraro: One of Mama George's bodyguards.

Chapter 6
Probing Joe

By Begin Again

Ethan saddled up to the smoke-filled, dimly lit bar and said "I'll have a shot of whiskey. Actually make it a double. It's been one of those days," tapping the sticky polished wood.

The restaurant was full of brown leather crescent-shaped booths, mostly for private, discreet conversations. This was not a place you took Mom for Mother's Day brunch.

"Comin' right up," said Joe, reaching for the Jack Daniel's.

As Joe was pouring the drinks, Ethan, leaning in, said quietly, "I hear we have a mutual friend in common."

"Oh really, who?" as he started to walk back to Ethan, the glass trembling slightly in his hand.

"Strawberry Shortcake." No sooner did the words come out of Ethan's lips did Joe drop the whiskey glass. It shattered everywhere. All eyes were on him.

"It's ok everybody; just butter fingers over here," as he feigned a laugh. People resumed their conversations though tension lingered.

"I'm not thoroughly surprised by your reaction. She has that effect on men," said Ethan. "So, have you all kept in touch since Morocco?"

"Who are you? And how do you know I went to Morocco with her?"

"Who I am is irrelevant right now. Let's just say I had a come-to-Jesus talk with Mama George about some missing jewels she thinks her daughter, Strawberry Shortcake has."

"I don't know anything about that. Not in the business anymore and I don't keep in touch with her anymore. And a word to the wise, you shouldn't either. She's trouble."

"Well, unfortunately trouble is my business."

Not yet convinced Joe is the straight shooter he pretended to be, Ethan pressed on.

"Is there anything you can tell me about her? She's denied taking her mom's jewelry and is paying me twice what her mom's paying if I find them."

"And if you don't?"

"Don't ask."

"Sorry, man. I better get back to work."

"Can you tell me anything that would help?" Ethan asked with desperation creeping into his voice.

"Last I heard she was mixed up with some guy named Vito. Mama George met him once and told him to get out of her house. He owns Chicago's finest restaurant, The Pump Room."

Ethan's instincts flared. He knew he had to find out more about Vito. He was going to call Strawberry Shortcake tomorrow before heading to The Pump Room.

Chapter 7
Whiskey Neat, Side of Rocks

By Begin Again

The Pump Room exuded elegance—the kind of class that came at a steep cost, in both cash and morals. A smooth hum of jazz oozed from the overhead speakers, accompanied by the clatter of silverware and conversation. It was the type of joint where deals were made, and secrets stayed hidden in the back room—where a fella could easily disappear between courses.

After two unanswered calls to little Miss Shortcake, Ethan’s suspicions were at an all-time high, curling around him like smoke. He adjusted his noose of a tie and sliced through the crowd, making his way over to the dining area. Scanning the packed restaurant, he took note of the lighting—strategically designed to cast shadows over the high-backed red leather booths lining the lounge.

The maitre d’—a stiff with a slick stache and a permanent sneer—eyed Ethan as he approached.

“Name?” he drawled, giving Ethan’s worn trench coat a slow once-over.

“I’m here to see Vito,” Ethan said, keeping his voice low.

The man raised a brow but didn’t respond.

Ethan slipped him a crisp twenty, the universal language of persuasion.

A pause. Then, with a subtle nod, the maitre d’ flicked his gaze toward the farthest booth in the corner.

Ethan strode over to where a heavyset man in a midnight-blue suit sat, nursing a cocktail. He slid into the booth across from him.

Vito didn’t bother looking up. “You got some brass waltzing over here uninvited,” he said, finally raising his gaze.

Ethan met his stare, unwavering. “Name’s Ethan Cole. Seems you and I have a mutual acquaintance.”

That got Vito’s attention. He smirked, setting down his drink. “Oh yeah?”

“Strawberry Shortcake,” Ethan replied.

Vito let out a low, humorless chuckle. “That right?” He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. “And what’s your business with her?”

“Her mother made me an offer to track down some missing jewels. Shortcake found out and made me a better one.” Ethan kept his voice steady. “But I get the feeling there’s more to the story.”

Vito’s smirk faded. He leaned in slightly, his gaze sharpening. “And you figured I’d be the kind of guy to fill in the blanks for you—some sap quick to spill the beans, is that it?”

Ethan took a long drag of his cigarette, slowly exhaling before leaning forward. “Let’s just say… your name came up.”

Vito studied Ethan, a slow smile creeping back as he nodded toward a large man loitering at the bar. The man approached, and Vito whispered something in his ear, never breaking eye contact with Ethan. Moments later, two glasses of whiskey landed on the table, and a small velvet pouch was placed in front of Vito.

Ethan tapped another cigarette on the polished wood. “That what I think it is?”

Vito's eyes remained fixed on the liquid he gently swirled in his glass. “You ever wonder why a woman like Mama George, a legend in the game, would trust an outsider like you to find her missing score?”

Ethan didn’t blink. “Maybe she figured I was the only guy who wouldn’t try to pocket ’em.”

Vito scoffed, tapping a ringed finger against the table. “Or maybe she knows something you don’t.”

Ethan waited. He’d played enough hands to know when a man was baiting him.

Vito shook his head and lit a cigar, his dark eyes piercing through clouds of puffed smoke. “These jewels don’t belong to Mama George, pal. And they sure as hell don’t belong to her daughter.” He met Ethan’s eyes, a flicker of pain and fury behind his cool exterior. “They belonged to Carla Torrello. My sister.”

Ethan felt his stomach drop. He knew that name. Everyone did.

Carla Torrello—the lounge singer with a voice like honey bourbon and a taste for trouble. Carla, Vito’s sister, who had vanished two years ago without a trace.

Chapter 8
Trouble Comes A Callin'

By Begin Again

ENDING OF CHAPTER 7

by Jessica Wheeler

Vito shook his head and lit a cigar, his dark eyes piercing through clouds of puffed smoke. "These jewels don't belong to Mama George, pal. And they sure as hell don't belong to her daughter." He met Ethan's eyes, a flicker of pain and fury behind his cool exterior. "They belonged to Carla Torrello. My sister."
Ethan felt his stomach drop. He knew that name. Everyone did.

Carla Torrello — the lounge singer with a voice like honey bourbon and a taste for trouble. Carla, Vito's sister, who had vanished two years ago without a trace

*****

CHAPTER 8

Carla Torrello

Ethan didn't flinch. Didn't blink. He let the name hang between them, thick as the smoke curling from Vito's cigar.

The cops called her a runaway. The papers called her a tragic mystery. Ethan called it bull.

He drummed his fingers against his glass. "Didn't peg you as the sentimental type, Vito."

Vito's jaw tensed, but his smirk never slipped. "And I didn't peg you as the type to dig through graves that ain't yours."

Ethan swirled his drink, watching the amber liquid catch the low light. "The trouble with graves? They don't always stay shut."

Vito leaned in, his voice dropping to a low rasp. "Carla's gone, Cole. Whatever you're chasing — whoever you're working for — you're barking up the wrong damn tree."

Ethan smirked. "That's cute. You think I spook easy."

Vito exhaled, watching Ethan the way a pit boss watches a guy getting too lucky at the craps table. "I don't think you scare easy. I think you don't know when to quit."

Ethan flicked his cigarette into the ashtray. "And I think you're trying real hard to make me walk away."

Vito's smirk soured. The velvet pouch sat between them, untouched. "You wanna know the truth?" Vito leaned back, looking tired for the first time. "Carla never ran. She never skipped town, never took off with some two-bit hustler. Somebody took her. And if you got half a brain in that thick skull, you'll forget you ever heard her name."

Ethan's gut tightened, but his face stayed neutral. "Who took her?"

Vito's fingers twitched against his glass. His eyes flicked toward something — someone — over Ethan's shoulder.

Ethan didn't turn around. He just set his drink down.

"You feel that?" Vito murmured.

Ethan did — the sudden shift in the room. The air thickened. The laughter and clinking glasses faded. His skin prickled with the feeling of being watched.

Vito exhaled. "They know you're asking questions."

Ethan held his gaze. "It's what I do."

Vito shook his head, almost like he pitied him. "Then I hope you've got your affairs in order."

Vito tucked the velvet pouch into his pocket and rose to his feet. "Don't follow me, Cole." Then he was gone, slipping into the shadows, leaving nothing behind but a name that tasted like trouble.

A chair scraped behind him — heavy footsteps.

Ethan sighed, already knowing how this next part played out. He heard the voice — a man who didn't make empty threats. "You're coming with us."

Ethan turned just enough to see the two suits flanking him, muscles straining beneath the fabric, hands hovering near holsters. He looked back at his empty glass, rolling his shoulders like he was considering it. Then he sighed. "Yeah, fellas. That's what I figured."

Ethan didn't like being backed into corners — physically or otherwise. But here he was, sandwiched between two slabs of muscle that smelled like cheap cologne and bad decisions.

He could play nice. Let them walk him out of The Pump Room like some washed-up drunk who'd had one too many. But nice wasn't Ethan's style, and he wasn't in the mood to find out whether their next stop was a quiet alley or the bottom of the river.

He flicked a glance at his whiskey glass. Shame to let good liquor go to waste. Quick as a card shark on payday, Ethan snatched the glass and swung — shattering it against the nearest goon's cheekbone. The brute howled, clutching his face as blood bloomed beneath his fingers.

The second guy lunged. Ethan was faster.

He grabbed the waitress's tray and snapped it into the man's gut, knocking plates and silverware to the floor. The guy doubled over, sucking wind.

Gunfire split the air. A mirror exploded into shards over the bar. Someone screamed.

Ethan didn't look back. He raced through the swinging kitchen doors, past shocked cooks and dishwashers, dodging a pot of boiling soup and kicking over a cart of bread rolls just for good measure.

Ethan pushed through the back door into the alley. It was raining, and the shadows weren't empty.

A car was waiting. Engine running.

Ethan didn't stop moving. Didn't stop thinking.

Whoever was driving that car was there to collect.

Author Notes jmdg1954 (John) was scheduled to write this chapter, but unfortunately, he had an accident and had to have stitches in his finger. He messaged me that he would write another chapter later but for us to continue on. Hoping he heals fast!

Chapter 9
Mind games

By Begin Again

Ten years ago, Ruby had stolen her mother’s jewels and run off with that guy, Joe, to live the high life. The relationship hadn’t lasted.

She was “trouble”, Joe had told Ethan Cole, Private Investigator. Yes, she was weird when you got to know her, mentally unstable – just like her mother, Joe told Ethan scornfully.

Whatever Ruby’s relationship with this Vito guy now, good luck to him!

Ruby sounded like a piece of work. Who could tell what games she was playing?

***

Meeting Vito unsettled him. Should he believe a word Vito said? That pouch of jewels belonged to his missing sister, Carla? Really? If Carla had been abducted or murdered, how did she have time to slip the jewels to him?

Were these even the jewels he was supposed to be locating, belonging to Ruby’s mother, Mama George? How exactly was Ruby connected with Vito’s sister?

Wait …. Were there even jewels inside that pouch? He hadn’t actually seen them.

But Mama George now apparently had more jewellery missing. Incredibly careless!

***

Those goons turning up again at the bar …. Who was their big boss? Mama George? Vito? Ethan slipped into a back alley, choosing an indirect route home. He’d had enough, needed to think.

The whole thing was weird. He didn’t get how Mama George now had more jewels stolen. Was it Ruby again? If so, how and why?

Mama George obviously couldn’t go to the police about this latest theft. Not if the jewels were from another heist.

That’s why she sent two thugs to kidnap him; she ordered him to find those jewels … or else! Why him?

Who were these muscle-men, and where did they fit?

Something jarred in his mind.

His meeting with Mama George! She was convinced that her own daughter Ruby had stolen the jewels - again! Fixated, obsessive. Angry. But there was something else. Her eyes. A wild thought raced through his mind.

She was mentally unstable, Joe had said ….

Ethan remembered Mama George saying she believed Ruby had continued stealing from her, even after that first jewellery theft – pantry items, expensive clothes and perfumes, gifts for friends – all missing, she claimed. She was now hiding everything from her conniving daughter. Obsessively.

But … was Mama George suffering from paranoia? He remembered her telling him Ruby had put bugs in her blankets – she’d had to buy new bed linen.

He recalled her coffee – four spoonsful of sugar, then caramel flavouring as well. He’d been shocked at how sickly sweet it would be. And cake – a large slice, covered with cream, and maple sauce.

Then it hit him, like lightning! Too ridiculous. Or was it?

He’d heard of the brain disease but never seen it. Cortico-basal degeneration. Frontal lobe damage – that area of the brain regulated appetite; when damaged it left an uncontrollable craving for sweet things.

He rushed to his computer and started typing furiously.

Cortico-basal degeneration: A form of frontotemporal degeneration, a dementia that involves the loss of cognitive functions such as the ability to think, remember, or reason to the point that it interferes with a person's daily life and activities.
Psychoses and paranoia are a frequent accompaniment.

Those unsettling, fixated eyes, her obsession with Ruby’s guilt. Past and present would be entangled together in her mind.

If she had this illness, was it likely that she had stolen jewels? Possibly the thugs had planted jewels, real or fake, where she would see them.

With her brain confusion, she would then hide them, as she hid all those other “missing” items, accusing her daughter of their theft. Irrational, but possible.

Her confused thinking … she would disinherit her daughter – a suitable punishment. Wicked thieving Ruby.

And the thugs? Mama George was already paying them well to force Ethan Cole to find these jewels. Of course he would fail. He could be disposed of … easily.

He fell back into his chair. Were there even any stolen jewels? Without any police report, he only had Mama George’s word for it, and she was doubtless confused between past and present.

Then the thugs would “find” the missing jewels. They’d manipulate her muddled mind to think of them as loving sons, protecting her. Her estate, and everything within … she would leave everything to them in her will. Was this their goal, and the theft of jewels just a hoax to discredit Ruby?

Did they too feel Ruby deserved punishment? Had she rejected both of them as lovers?

There was little time left. They just had to keep convincing Mama George of Ruby’s guilt, "locate" the jewels, quickly redo the will … then of course they could hasten Mama George's demise. This rare disease usually brought a sudden decline and rapid death. There’d be no questions. Her estate, wealth, jewels – all would be theirs.

Ethan Cole jumped to his feet. There was no time to lose …

Vito was out for vengeance about his sister’s disappearance … but how had he contrived to get the thugs working for him as well? Perhaps he had some sort of power over them too. Or, conversely, was he a pawn in their little game?

First though, he needed to get hold of Mama George’s doctor. And her solicitor. He needed to see Mama George alone, without the thugs hovering.

He needed to get back to square one, to find out who exactly was playing and what the real games were.

Author Notes Corticobasal Degeneration (CBD) is a rare and progressive neurodegenerative disorder.
CBD affects movement, speech, thinking processes (cognition) and behaviour.
There is nerve cell loss and shrinkage in multiple areas of the brain.

Chapter 10
On Second Thought

By Begin Again

Contemplating his latest "assignment," Ethan found himself sitting on a park bench overlooking Lake Michigan. His life choices are up for review. His late evening dinner with Vito was somewhat of a surprise, bordering on shock. How in the world did he ever reach this place in life? As a youngster, all he ever wanted to do was crack cases, solve crimes, and be a common, ordinary, everyday, gumshoe.

While reviewing this assignment, he realized he was dealing with a gun maw who owned a pit bull named Fefe. He found himself trolling the streets and bars looking for a redheaded beauty named Strawberry Shortcake. She was the only person he had ever met in his life named after a pastry.

Now, Ethan has found a different variety of thief. He has encountered a lady named Ruby. It is a most fitting label for one who steals rubies and other expensive jewels. As he contemplated this latest encounter, he concluded he was in the wrong business. If he really wanted to get rich, he should be an agent for a baseball player named "Bases." Professional baseball's best base stealers are known to earn significant income. That is a fact familiar to all sports enthusiasts. Perhaps a career as a sports agent would be more fitting and less dangerous. A smaller number are imprisoned. However, some probably are.

Ethan decided that he needs to find the exit door from the PI Bar and Grill. His nocturnal meetings make his work hunting thieves and extortionists dangerous. He also risks injuries like dog bites and gunshot wounds. As he pondered his future, he looked across the park and saw the faint glow of a Waffle House. It occurred to him that a walnut covered waffle would be good in the middle of the night. In addition to that, the employees working at the griddle are only a couple feet away from the customers. Maybe he can enjoy some career counseling while eating the waffle.

He's always been quite skilled at scrambling eggs and frying bacon. Ethan might have a future in the food service industry. It's preferable to daily interactions with crooks. Perhaps a new avocation and job satisfaction are in his future.

The next time I'm enjoying some time on the road I need to settle in for a little supper. I will go to the nearest Waffle House and ask the server," Do you have a chef named Ethan who works here?"

Perhaps he could recount some interesting stories.

Author Notes Ethan has a career crisis while chasing the crooks.

Chapter 11
Ethan Goes Waffles

By Begin Again

Ethan Cole was going through his own "change of life" controversy. Not medically, but more on the mental aspects of his life. It was all circling in his mind; a drunken abusive father growing up, dropping out of college, career choices and one failed marriage.

Where was the bright side to his life? Where's the happiness? Was there ever going to be a bright side or happiness?

One thing was for certain, though he could take the easy way out, slinging hash in a Waffle House, his passion was putting criminals behind bars. From his early days at the police academy, then joining the force, to grooming and becoming a detective, to now being on his own as a Private Investigator, his greatest joy was the guilty verdict, seeing them in handcuffs and ultimately in orange jumpsuits.

Sitting alone on the park bench overlooking Lake Michigan, he felt calm and serene at least for the time being. Comforting was the sound of the wakes the water made slapping the bulk head and the ripples of moonlight on the water. Surprising to him were the number of couples walking along the lake at 2:30 am. Why? He asked himself.

Satisfied he shook the likes of Vito and his goons for the time being, he decided he needed a cup-a-Joe. He got up, took a cautionary look around just to be sure he wasn't being watched before heading for the Waffle House. Time to stop feeling sorry for his forty-four year old self!

Sittin' in the mornin' sun

I'll be sittin' when the evenin' come

Watching the ships roll in

And then I watch 'em roll away again, yeah

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay

Watching the tide roll away

I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay

Wastin' time

"Perfect," he said under his breath as Otis Redding's, On the Dock of the Bay was playing on the Waffle Houses's piped in music.

"Table or counter?" asked the hostess who wore too much eye shadow and lipstick to his liking.

"Counter, thank you," Ethan responded watching her hips and tight butt purposely sway as he followed her.

Just as he sat down, a steaming cup of black coffee appeared in front of him.

"Thanks. I can surely use that."

"Tough night?" asked the grill guy.

Ethan looked at him. Saw his name tag.

"You can say that, Todd."

Todd touched his name tag, happy that someone noticed and gave him the slightest recognition. "What'll you have?"

"Todd," Ethan made sure to use his name. "I'll have a plate of strawberry shortcake waffles, lots of syrup." Why not Ethan thought. He couldn't get this chick or this case out of his mind.

"Coming right up, boss-man."

Ethan looked around. Only two booths were occupied. One had a couple sitting opposite of each other, about his age. They looked miserable. The other booth had a younger couple sitting side by side. Their noses, stuck in their cell phones. Maybe I'm better off alone he thought to himself.

Within minutes a second cup of black coffee appeared along with his plate of freshly cooked waffles. Whipped cream, fresh strawberries and syrup oozing all around it.

"Looks good, Todd. Thanks. You work here long?" Ethan asked needing to have a normal conversation for the first time all evening.

"Yeah, twelve years. All nights. Wife works days, I work nights. It's perfect for our marriage. We hardly see each other."

"Hmph. I guess." Ethan said with a mouthful of waffle. "It's one way to ..."

Suddenly the Waffle House door burst open.

"Cole, you're a dead man!"

"Todd, get out of here," Ethan yelled.

**************************

To be continued by the next writer

Chapter 12
Ethan's Theory of the Case

By Begin Again

Recap of recent chapters: After being sent to Vito Torrello’s restaurant in Chi Town to find out what may have happened to Ruby “Strawberry Shortcake” Pratt, private eye Ethan Cole learns from Vito that the stolen jewels belonged to his sister Carla, a lounge singer who went missing two years ago. A velvet bag with unknown contents is placed on the table by Vito, who later signals his goons to escort Ethan out. On the way out, Ethan disables the goons and escapes their clutches. He notices an idling car but quickly slips away.

Before heading to his hotel, he stops at a park on the edge of Lake Michigan to try to make sense of what he’s learned. He wonders what he’s gotten mixed up in and begins having doubts about his chosen profession. With a sudden hankering for coffee, he heads to a nearby Waffle House, where someone bursts through the door and shouts, “Cole, you’re a dead man!”

Earlier, while Ethan had been sitting on the park bench, he’d finally come up with a reasonable theory of the case, at least where the jewels were and what the play was. He’d had many thoughts and questions, but it finally coalesced into a unified picture for him. It was a pretty clever scheme, he had to admit, but for proof, he needed to do some further digging. This is what he figured must have happened:

Ten years ago, Mama George Pratt had stolen the jewels from Carla Torrello, who went to her big brother Vito to steal them back. Vito dispatched two of his goons, one of them Tony Ferraro of the high squeaky voice, to go to work for Mama George, who happened to be looking for bodyguards right about then. They were to find where she kept the jewels and steal them back, but young Ruby and the stable bum, Joe McGonigal, stole them first. That’s when Mama George had originally hired Ethan to find the jewels, which he did in Morocco, accompanied by Tony.

When she had gotten them back, Mama George hid them so well that Tony never could find them and limped back to Vito, who let things lie for a few years. When Vito’s restaurant began failing, mainly due to Covid, it never recovered its former glory, and Vito was strapped. This reawakened his interest in getting Carla’s jewels back, since she had promised him a substantial reward for finding them for her.

Vito had heard through the grapevine that Mama George was not well, and he bribed a medical assistant at her primary care physician’s office to send him her medical records. She had a disease that was driving her to senility and paranoia, and she probably didn’t have long to live. So, he devised a plan for Tony to go back to work for Mama and to convince her she needed a bodyguard. He was to tell Mama George he’d heard Ruby was after her jewels once more and would stop at nothing to steal them again.

Vito’s plan was not only to get Carla’s jewels back but the entirety of Mama’s estate in the bargain. Tony was to become so endearing to her that she would cut Ruby, whom Mama had long ago forgiven, out of her will and insert Tony into the will instead.

Mama hid the jewels in her house while Tony watched, but Mama’s failing memory caused her to forget where she’d hidden them. Tony convinced her that Ruby had stolen them, but neither he nor Vito figured on Mama’s hiring Ethan Cole again to find them.

Now it became necessary to throw Ethan off the trail, so Vito got Carla, who wasn’t missing at all but who had simply retired from singing, to impersonate Ruby and hire Ethan to find the “missing” jewels. So, Carla was the lady in red, but where was Ruby?

An interesting theory of the case, but now Ethan realized he wasn’t really working for anyone. Certainly not Carla through Vito, and, in her current state of mind, Mama George probably wouldn’t even remember hiring him.

The only thing Ethan couldn’t quite square was that velvet pouch placed on the table in front of Vito back at The Tap Room. What was in there? The flunky who set it on the table had no idea what Vito and Ethan were discussing. For that reason, it wouldn’t be the jewels, and Ethan was fairly certain they were still at Mama George’s house anyway. A gun perhaps? Not likely. There were enough goons around watching this table that Vito wouldn’t need his own. Vito was a blimp—a heart attack waiting to happen—so Ethan figured it was probably his evening pills discreetly proffered, to be taken with his meal that would soon be forthcoming.

This was the point in his thinking when Ethan headed for the Waffle House to clear his mind and decide what to do next over a cup-a-joe. And, while talking to the cook, a man burst through the door like he owned the place. “You’re a dead man, Cole.”

With gun drawn, the man went straight for Ethan and stuck it in his back. He was a little guy, wearing a lousy suit. Funny-looking, with a big overbite and a pencil-thin mustache over thick lips. “Come with me, Ethan, and don’t nobody else move,” the little runt squeaked.

Unable to react quickly enough to draw his own gun, Ethan preceded the man out with the gun at his back and into the backseat of a waiting car. Behind the wheel, drumming his fingers against it, sat none other than Joe “Corky” McGonigal himself.

“Jesus, Joe. You send your brother in to threaten my life?”

Joe turned around to face the back seat. “What’ja say to him, Liam?”

Ethan answered for him. “He said, ‘You’re a dead man, Cole.’ Comes in and interrupts a man trying to relax over a cup of coffee. Why couldn’t he a just asked me to come politely?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“Hey, I’m right here, guys,” said Liam.

“Alright, I’ll say it to your face. You’re an idiot.” He turned back to Ethan. “Don’t pay him no mind, Ethan. Whad’ja find out from Vito?”

Ethan turned to Liam, sitting beside him with the gun still on him. “Would you put that thing away before you hurt yourself, Junior?”

Liam hesitated, then stuffed it in his pocket and sat back, sulking.

Turning his attention to Joe’s question, Ethan said, “So, you gave me the tip, then tracked me here so you could find out what I learned. What’s your big hurry, Joe? Couldn’t you a waited for my return?”

“I don’t know where Ruby is, and I’m gettin’ kind of frantic, old pal.”

Ethan could tell from the look on his face and the tone of his voice that this wasn’t the guy who earned the nickname “Corky” by slamming a corkscrew through a man’s hand. He was seriously frightened.

“Yeah? Well, here’s the plan, Joe.” Glancing at Liam, he said, “Drop off the dead weight next to me and find us a nice, quiet place to talk. Cuz I get the feelin’ you ain’t tellin’ me everything.”

Author Notes CHARACTERS

Ethan Cole: A private investigator and the main character.

Ruby Pratt aka Strawberry Shortcake: She is the 28-year-old daughter of Georgina Pratt.

Georgina Pratt aka Mama George: A famous jewel thief who is Ruby's mother. She hires Ethan Cole to find her missing jewels.

Gigi: The bleach blonde, buxom cocktail waitress at Ethan's favorite bar.

Joe "Corky" McGonigal: Owner and bartender at Far Away Joe's tavern. Former lover of Ruby Pratt.

Tony Ferraro: One of Mama George's bodyguards.

Vito Torrello: Chicago restaurant owner and brother of Carla Torrello

Carla Torrello: Vito's sister. A renowned lounge singer whose jewels were stolen by Mama George 10 years ago. She has been reported missing for a couple of years.

Liam McGonigal: Joe's little brother. A would-be thug.

With much thanks to Carol (Begin Again) for helping me with the noir style.

Chapter 13
Speak Easy

By Begin Again

Joe "Corky" McGonigal's eyes sliced through the rearview mirror, locking onto Ethan like a thief to jewels. He noticed Ethan staring into Liam's lap.

"What's the show back there, boys?" he asked.

"There's no show, Joe," Liam shot back, his grin as sly as a fox.

"The hell there isn't!" Ethan growled. "This goon of yours can't stop playing with his little piece. He's got me on edge, I tell ya."

Corky swung to the curb with practiced ease and shifted gears, his brow narrowed. "Get out, Liam!" he commanded, his tone leaving no room to argue.

"What's the dealio, Joe?" Liam's eyes widened, confusion breaking through his bravado.

"Just get out, Liam. I'll send a lackey to scoop you up." The moment he stepped out, Corky's face softened for just a beat, a fleeting flash of pity. But as the tires rolled away, the boy looked like a stray dog abandoned on the corner of a rainy street.

"I apologize, my old friend," Corky said, his tone slipping back to its usual roughness. "Liam's a bit... special, and he knows Ed if you catch my drift."

Ethan nodded, masking his thoughts behind a cautious smile. Corky had a way of tossing around words like discarded wrappers and crude assessments of his own flesh and blood.

"Where are we headed, Joe?" Ethan asked, curiosity enveloping him.

"Just a little place, I know. Far Away Joe's. We can speak easy there over a couple of Old Fashions," he said, his lips curling into a grin.

"Think that's wise?" Ethan raised an eyebrow.

"Of course it is, my old friend. Besides, I know the owner," Corky shot back.

Inside the bar, Corky led Ethan through the drunken shadows to a door labeled Janitor, sandwiched between two doors, one marked men and the other Dames'. Corky twisted the knob pushing it open with a creak that sounded more like a sigh of a building long past its glory days.

"Close the door, Ethan," said Corky, the gleam in his eyes suggesting secrets waited just beyond. Ethan complied, his back to the door as he watched Corky's foot nudging beneath the bottom shelf. With a deft move, Corky lifted it, and an ominous click filled the air—a secret door exposed, swinging inward with another creak that echoed like a ghost left behind.

"Let's go," he motioned, stepping into the abyss of a dark hallway. The sound of locking mechanisms clicked behind them, swallowed up by silence, interrupted only by the buzz of flickering fluorescent lights overhead.

"Clever," Ethan remarked, following Corky deeper into the unknown as the past seemed to breathe around them, waiting to reveal darker tales.

The hallway narrowed, the air clotting with a musty smell of old wood and rusty nails. The unpleasant aroma continued as they turned the corner. The rattling of pipes gave him a jolt as someone flushed the john.

"Here," Corky said, handing Ethan a small flash. "Just in case the darkness takes over." Ethan watched as the lights ahead flickered.

"What's down here, Corky?" Ethan asked, his chest aching as his curiosity swelled.

"Just some old business," Corky replied, his tone leaving the exactness hazy.

The walls supported old posters. Some were faded jazz shows, others with faces of long-forgotten patrons smiling under the glow of a neon atmosphere. Corky's eyes browsed over the remnants, and for a brief moment, nostalgia showed in his expression.

"You ever wonder why you hang around?" Ethan ventured. "I mean, you've got the looks, the charm—"

"Charm only gets you so far, Ethan," Corky interrupted, a sharp edge in his voice. "Sometimes, it's about loyalty and the past. You can't just walk away from blood, no matter how tainted it is."

They paused before a heavy door at the end of the corridor, wood weathered and scarred, the kind that told stories of countless attempts to break in or out. Corky placed his hand on the old brass knob, hesitating for a fraction of a second.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes searching Ethan's.

"Let's do this," Ethan replied, a rush of adrenaline assaulting his veins.

With a hard push, the door creaked, then swung open, revealing a private room shrouded in shadows, lit only by a single bulb dangling over a sizeable wooden desk. Smoke circled the room like an old abandoned house. Across the cherry wood desk stood a man, smoking a fat cigar, his face obscured by the low light and fog, but the silhouette suggested authority.

"Corky," the man greeted, voice low and gravelly, almost familiar in a disconcerting way. "You brought a friend."

"Business," Corky replied crisply, his demeanor shifting from relaxed to guarded.

"Concerning Mama George's missing jewels, I suppose, or maybe her daughter's whereabouts, this infamous Strawberry Shortcake?"

Ethan had entered a world he had only heard whispered about, a realm where old loyalties ran deeper than blood, and the stakes were life and death. It became clear that as the secrets began to unravel tonight, he would have to delve further into Corky's shadowy existence, where trust and betrayal intertwined uncomfortably.

Chapter 14
Meet Mickey Oâ€™Rourke

By Begin Again

When the smoke cleared and Ethan could make out his face he couldn't believe it was no other than former captain of Chicago police department Mickey O'Rourke.

Mickey had been charged with embezzlement and corruption but the FBI never had enough evidence to indict him so Mickey was forced into early retirement. His ties to the Irish mafia, the Mulligan Family ran deep and his loyalties rested with them.

"Nice to see you Ethan, it has been awhile. You were always a good cop. You threw us all a curve ball when you left the force to become a gumshoe. You had just made detective and were climbing the ranks but that's a story for another day. I want to get right down to business as time is of the essence."

Ethan looked curious to hear what was coming next.

"You know the Mulligan family and Tollero family are huge rivals. When they heard of Carla's missing jewels they immediately thought The Mulligan family was somehow involved and they were right. I work for them doing "odd" jobs and so does Shortcake, who happens to be my neice," he continued. "You can imagine the high stakes both Vito and Shortcake faced when they were an item. Anyway, let's stay focused on the here and now."

Ethan was anxious to get to the heart of the matter. "I agree. Let's get to the point. Our history is water way under the bridge."

"Ok, I will tell you what you need to know. Telling you more would just put you in even more danger. Mama George was in love with Seamus Mullligan, head of the Irish Chicago mob. Together, they plotted a scheme to steal jewels from Carla as payback for some unfinished business Vito pulled."

"You're making my head spin. Can you get to the point?" said Ethan lighting up a Lucky Strike.

"Be patient, it's coming," said Mickey irritated and unaccustomed to being interrupted. "Ethan, Shortcake is in danger and while I can tell you she's safe right now, we don't know how long that will last. The thugs that Mama George think are working for her are actually working for Vito."

Ethan let out a long sigh and a puff of smoke. His heart always skipped a beat hearing her name. He had to rescue her from any danger and decide for himself if she's trouble or in trouble.

"Can you take me to her?" Ethan asked with a crinkle in his voice.

"We don't have to go far. Joe, can you do the honors?" he motioned to Joe who is loosely affiliated to the Mulligan family. He is very low level on the food chain and is rarely in the know. He got "connected" while dating Shortcake.

Joe got up and twisted the knob to another door in the room and out emerged the one and only Strawberry Shortcake. Her ginger hair, tousled beautifully, framing her porcelain face and her ruby red lips and sultry green eyes.

Ethan's heart went from an adrenaline rush to cardiac arrest as she was so stunning. He also felt this conflicting edginess and protectiveness at the same time.

"Shortcake, this is Ethan, the PI I told you all about. Now, tell him what you want."

"I remember you," her voice low and raspy-seductive. "I was impressed in Morocco and now that our paths have crossed again I need your expertise and will pay handsomely for it."

"What is it little Miss Shortcake?" unable to hide his curiosity and attraction.

"I want you to kill Vito. It is the only way I know I'll be safe. I double crossed him when we were lovers over the jewels and he wants revenge. Saying yes is you're only option. I want this done immediately and without a trace. What questions do you have for me?"

Author Notes Hope you enjoy this installment after Steve set up so many possibilities! Look forward to what you think and where it goes next! Lori

Chapter 15
To Catch A Rat or Two

By Begin Again

Ending of Chapter 14 —
Meet Mickey O'Rourke
By Lori Mulligan

"What is it, little Miss Shortcake?" unable to hide his curiosity and attraction.

"I want you to kill Vito. It is the only way I know I'll be safe. I double-crossed him when we were lovers over the jewels, and he wants revenge. Saying yes is your only option. I want this done immediately and without a trace. What questions do you have for me?"

*****

Chapter 15
To Catch A Rat or Two

Chills ran up and down my spine!

I figured she'd ask for a way out. Maybe a little protection. Maybe a shot at getting those jewels back. But a hit job?

The dame wanted Vito dead, a new wrinkle I wasn't sure I wanted to iron out.

She leaned in, eyes smoldering. "You say no, and I find someone else."
I had no doubt she would.

I lit a Lucky Strike and took my time with the first drag. I watched the smoke twist and turn between us. "You don't want a killer, sweetheart. You want a solution."

She crossed her arms, the glow from the cigarette catching the red in her hair. "I don't see the difference."

I exhaled. "That's why you need me."

She leaned in, putting her best assets front and center. Then she kissed me. Slow. Like she had all the time in the world.

For a moment, I thought I could kill for more of that — but I knew I had a better plan.

By morning, the word on the street was Strawberry Shortcake was dead.

A private wake at McGinty's Bar. The jewels — her jewels — (if you asked her, but of course, you couldn't) were on display one last time before being buried with her. Anybody who wanted a piece of that fortune would be there.

Vito. The Mulligans. Mama. Joe. Every two-bit thug with a grudge and a dream. In other words, every crook in town.

Joe spread the word like a rat spreading the plague. By sundown, the trap was set.

*****

McGinty's smelled like sweat and regret. In honor of Shortcake, it was a shot and a beer night. I chuckled — if only they knew. I was calling the shots, and they were guzzling the beer.

It was a celebration they wouldn't soon forget.

A closed casket sat on the bar. A bouquet of roses — white for purity, red for the blood about to spill.

The case sat under the low light, jewels gleaming like a promise nobody could keep. The kind that gets men killed.

Vito walked in first, slick as oil. Mickey O'Rourke wasn't far behind, the old cop's face carved from stone. The Mulligans slipped in next, moving like sharks in a tidal pool.

I sat at the bar, watching. Nursing a drink. Waiting.

Vito stepped up to the case and tapped the glass. I could see the hunger in his eyes. He licked his lips and moaned, "Shame to bury all this."

I tapped my glass against the bar. "It sure is."

The doors slammed open, followed by badges, shotguns and cuffs.

Cops poured in like a flood.

Vito went for his gun. Bad move. A cop had him eating the counter before he could blink. The Mulligans tried to scatter, but there was nowhere to run.

Mickey just smiled and raised his hands. "Guess retirement's overrated."

Handcuffs snapped shut. Thugs screamed for their lawyers. The kind of music I could listen to all night, but not tonight.

We slipped out the back while the sirens howled.

Shortcake turned to me, breathless. "How did you — "

"You're not the only one who knows how to play the long game," I said, taking her hand and leading her down the alley. "Lay out the cheese, snap the trap. Game over."

A waiting car. Plane tickets. Morocco bound.

Onboard, she leaned in, voice low. "You saved my life."

I smirked. "Yeah, well. You owe me."

She gave me that slow, knowing smile and reached into her dress.
She dropped the jewels in my lap.

I smiled. "That's good for starters."

She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. "And what are you willing to do for the rest?"

I took a slow breath, her scent curling around me — something rich, something dangerous. Was it her perfume that made me dizzy, or was it just the thought of what she was asking? This dame was trouble.

Author Notes This is Chapter 15 ...Your are invited to participate by messaging me or we might end it and start another story if anyone is interested. Thanks for having fun with this and I appreciate everyone who joined in. Thank you!

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