The Last Call

Detective Sam Carter sighed as he walked into O’Malley’s, a dimly lit bar on the east side of town. The stale scent of whiskey and regret clung to the air. A jazz tune played softly from the jukebox, setting the mood for the kind of conversations people had when they wanted to forget.

At the far end of the bar, slumped over a half-empty glass of bourbon, was his informant, Jimmy “Two-Toes” Vasquez.

“You look like hell, Jimmy,” Carter muttered, sliding onto the stool beside him.

Jimmy smirked, his lips barely lifting from the rim of his glass. “That’s funny, ‘cause I feel like paradise.”

Carter signaled the bartender for a coffee. “Tell me something useful before you pass out.”

Jimmy exhaled sharply. “I got something, alright. You know Benny Greco?”

Carter’s jaw tightened. Benny Greco was a small-time hustler, but he had a habit of getting involved in things way above his pay grade. “What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

Carter’s stomach dropped. “Dead?”

Jimmy nodded slowly. “Yeah. Found him in an alley behind 12th Street. Two shots to the chest. But here’s the kicker—he made a call before he died. A call to you.”

Carter’s blood turned cold. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his missed calls. Nothing from Benny. “You sure about that?”

Jimmy tapped his temple. “My guy at the precinct says Benny called your number five minutes before they found him. You telling me you didn’t get it?”

Carter shook his head. Something wasn’t adding up. “Who found the body?”

“Beat cops. But get this—before they showed up, someone wiped Benny’s phone.”

Carter’s gut twisted. Someone wanted to make sure that last call never saw the light of day.

“You think it was about that job last week?” Jimmy asked, his voice dropping lower.

Carter clenched his jaw. A week ago, he had busted a shipment of stolen diamonds coming into the docks. Greco had been sniffing around that case, but Carter never figured him for anything more than a bystander.

“If Benny called me, it means he knew something,” Carter said, finishing his coffee. “And someone made sure he didn’t live long enough to say it.”

Jimmy leaned in, his voice barely a whisper. “So, what’s your next move?”

Carter stood, tossing a few bills on the bar. “Find out who erased that call. And who pulled the trigger.”

As he stepped outside, the night air was crisp, laced with the scent of rain. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Unknown number.

He answered. “Carter.”

A raspy voice came through. “Benny found something he wasn’t supposed to. You’re next.”

Click.

Carter stood frozen for a moment, the weight of the message sinking in. His pulse quickened. Benny had died trying to warn him. He had to figure out what Benny had uncovered, and fast.

He glanced down the street, eyes scanning the shadows. Whoever had killed Benny wasn’t finished yet. And now, Carter was in their sights. He couldn’t let fear take over.

He slid his gun from his holster, the cool metal comforting in his palm. It was time to take the fight to them.

His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it. He had no time for games anymore. Only answers.

And there was no turning back.