Two men grabbed Zeke from behind and lifted him off the ground. He didn't fight—wasn't being robbed. He knew who these guys were. Heavy cologne, black suits, not FBI. Their dress shoes clicked on pavement as they walked him around the corner into the alley. At least they had good taste in footwear.
It was dark, but the man standing there waiting was unmistakable. Jet black suit silhouetted in the dim light of the alley. The orange glow of his cigarette burning as he pulled and then tossed it on the ground.
"You've been avoiding me, Mr. Cross." He stepped to the left.
Razor. The cologne gave him away before Zeke even saw his face—something expensive trying too hard. Slicked-back hair, white handkerchief in his suit pocket. The guy dressed like he'd studied Goodfellas frame by frame.
"Razor, buddy, you know how much I enjoy our visits."
— THE FRAME, coming soon
See the OpeningsThese are real story openings I'm considering. Click the one that makes you want to keep reading. Your vote shapes what I write next.
The body wasn't supposed to be there. That was Marcus's first thought—not horror, not panic, just the cold recognition that someone had made a serious mistake. The warehouse was his territory. Had been for three years. And nobody left packages without his say-so.
He pulled out his phone, then stopped. Calling this in meant questions. Questions meant looking into his operation. His thumb hovered over the screen while the blood pooled toward his shoes.
Dr. Yolanda Chen had seventeen minutes to live, and she knew it. The numbers didn't lie—they never had in her thirty-year career, and they weren't starting now. She pulled the lab results closer, double-checking what she already knew to be true.
The question wasn't whether she could stop it. The question was who else would go with her.
"You're not listening," the man said, and something in his voice made Detective Reese finally look up from her notes. In fourteen years of interviews, she'd heard every shade of desperation. This was different. This was certainty.
"I'm telling you exactly where the next body will be found. I'm telling you when. I'm even telling you why you won't be able to stop it." He leaned forward, and his handcuffs clinked against the metal table. "The only thing I'm not telling you is how I know."
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