| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted February 26, 2025 | Chapters: |
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Ethan meets Vito at The Pump Room
A chapter in the book Trouble In Red
Whiskey Neat, Side of Rocks
by Jessica Wheeler
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.
Artwork by Sgoolsby at FanArtReview.com
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© Copyright 2025. Jessica Wheeler All rights reserved.
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