| Mystery and Crime Fiction posted February 27, 2025 | Chapters: |
...6 7 -8- 9... 
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Someone's Gonna Turn Up Dead
A chapter in the book Trouble In Red
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
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.
 Recognized |
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!
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