Longer Stories, Mystery

Brothers Malone: The Break

Nancy's Notes 🖊️🎶

Our friend Fandango and I share a fascination with
noir crime and detective stories. He recently wrote
a story called “Five Years Later”; it was great and
I was hooked. If you haven’t read his story, click the
link above. I noticed his MC and a character I have
previously written about share the same last name.
My imagination kicked in and I asked Fan if he’d
mind if I wrote a story that intertwined with his;
he said to go for it. Here it is …. longer than my usual
so make yourselves comfortable and enjoy the read.

Image by Me and Copilot

The rain came down like broken promises cracking the pavement. I watched Eddie from the bar across the street …. my brother, my Judas …. as he slipped through the front door of the J-M Hotel like a ghost returning to haunt its own grave.

Five years. Five years of rot and rage fermenting in my gut while Eddie walked free. Five years since that hotel room upstairs became a nightmare, since the muzzle flash lit up our brotherhood and burned it to ash.

I crushed out my cigarette and crossed the street.

The J-M hadn’t improved with age. The same peeling wallpaper, the same tired chandelier casting shadows across the lobby. Different clerk behind the desk, though. The last one was six feet under, courtesy of a bullet that was meant for me or Eddie …. we never did figure out which.

“Help you?” the clerk asked, not looking up from his racing form.

“Room 312. Who’s registered?”

He looked up then, taking in my worn suit and the bulge under my jacket. “That information’s private, friend.”

I slid a twenty across the counter. “So’s my business …. friend.”

The money disappeared. “S. Laurent. Checked in two hours ago.”

Stella. Of course it was Stella. The dame who’d wrapped us both around her finger and squeezed until we bled. Hair like spun gold and a body that could make a man forget he had a soul to lose. She’d wanted us both, played us against each other like we were pieces on her personal chessboard. And we’d let her, because when Stella looked at you with those green eyes, you’d burn the world down just to keep her warm.

I took the stairs. The elevator was too slow, and I’d waited long enough.

The third floor hallway smelled like mildew and regret. Room 312 sat at the end, door slightly ajar, spilling a wedge of amber light into the gloom. I could hear voices …. Eddie’s nervous laugh, Stella’s low purr that always meant trouble.

I kicked the door open. Eddie spun around, his face going white as a fresh gravestone. He’d put on weight, softened around the edges. Prison would’ve been hard on him. Good thing he’d let me take that ride instead. Stella lounged on the bed in a red silk robe that left little to the imagination, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette dangling from her crimson lips. She didn’t look surprised.

“Hello, Dirk,” she said, exhaling smoke like a dragon. “I wondered when you’d show.”

“Dirk…” Eddie started, hands up like that would stop what was coming. “Dirk, lemme explain…”

“Explain?” The word tasted like battery acid. “You left me to rot, Eddie. Five years in that cage while you played house with her. Hank Jackson had a wife. Three kids. He was bringing towels to the wrong room at the wrong time, and you ran like the coward you always were.”

Eddie’s jaw worked. “You pulled the trigger.”

“We were both on that gun!” I moved closer, my fists clenched so tight my nails drew blood from my palms. “We were fighting over her, over this blonde poison who couldn’t choose between us, and when that gun went off, you disappeared into the night. Left me standing there with Hank’s blood on my hands.”

“The police were coming,” Eddie said weakly. “I panicked.”

“You panicked. I did five years hard time. Five years of wondering if my own brother ever thought about me, ever lost sleep over what he did. If it wasn’t for new evidence coming to light, I’d still be locked away in that cell.”

Stella stubbed out her cigarette and stood, her robe sliding open just enough. “Boys, we don’t have to do this. What happened was unfortunate but we can move past it …. can’t we?”

I laughed, a sound like grinding glass. “You’re still playing the same game, Stella. Still think you can string us both along.”

She moved closer, her perfume cutting through the stale air …. jasmine and lies. “I loved you both. I still do. Why choose when we could all be happy together?”

“Because some things break, Stella. And what you broke doesn’t go back together.” I turned to Eddie. “I didn’t come here to kill you, brother. Much as I’ve dreamed about it. I came here to tell you that you’re going to the cops. You’re going to confess that you ran, that I took the fall for both of us.”

Eddie’s face hardened. “And if I don’t?”

I pulled the revolver from my jacket …. not to use it, just to let him see it. The same model that killed Hank Jackson. “Then I’ll make sure the police know where to find you. I’m a private investigator now, Eddie. I’ve got connections. That new evidence I mentioned? Proof you were here five years ago. And you, too, Stella.”

The room went silent except for the rain hammering against the window. Stella moved closer to me. “Dirk, don’t do this. Just let him go.”

“He killed a man, Stella.”

“It was an accident.” Stella was close to me now …. real close. She placed her hand on my chest. After all these years, her touch still felt like lava burning a hole through me.

“You always did play the hero, Dirk.” Her voice dropped low. “Where’d it get you? You lost me. You lost everything.” Her fingers traced my collar. “But you don’t have to lose Eddie, too.”

I caught her wrist. “Back off, Stella.”

She pressed closer instead, her mouth finding that spot just below my ear. “Remember how we used to be, Dirk?”

I did. God help me, I did. Her lips met mine and for one stupid moment I forgot why I’d come here. Forgot the five years in the joint. Forgot ….

The door slammed. I shoved her back, but Eddie’s footsteps were already echoing down the hallway. They played me like a fiddle.

“Damn it.” I grabbed my hat.

Stella studied her fingernails, her eyes never meeting mine. “If you go after him, he’ll never forgive you.”

“Maybe.” I opened the door. “I’ll take that chance.”

The hallway was empty.

“When you talk to Eddie …. and you will, Stella …. tell him to turn himself in or I’ll drag both of you in myself. Either way, the truth comes out.”

The rain was still falling when I hit the street, washing some of the grime away but not enough. Never enough to make you clean again.

I lit a cigarette and walked into the neon-soaked night. The streets were empty; wherever Eddie was, it wasn’t here. I crossed the street to the bar. I needed to forget the taste of betrayal and the memory of a brother I used to love.

Some things you can’t go back and fix. You just learn to live with the scars.


NAR©2025

This is “Brother” by Alice In Chains

All text and graphics are copyright for Nancy Richy and are not to be used without permission. NAR©2017-present.

37 thoughts on “Brothers Malone: The Break”

        1. I’m curious, Sadje. Have you seen any of the old B&W gangster, and private investigator movies? Are they available for viewing where you live? The inspiration for my stories comes from those classic movies with actors such as Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall, and James Cagney. The dialogue is clipped and witty with nefarious overtones; the entire feel of the movies is specific to that noir genre. Movies today cannot compare to these classics.

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  4. Pingback: Five Years Later — The Sequel – Facts, Fictions & Fantasies

  8. Well done, Nancy as you created the perfect noir story filled with cynical, morally ambiguous worlds, complex characters (a flawed detective and femme fatale), and atmospheric style, which features dark, shadowy visuals and snappy dialogue, offering an escape into gritty realism, challenging mysteries, and explorations of human darkness and fate.

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    1. Now that’s what I call a comment! Thank you, Jim. I’m so glad you enjoyed my story. I love this genre; for something seen usually in grainy B&W, it can be the most colorful! Writing this story took a while, but I had great fun with it. Reading or hearing the classic clipped noir dialogue is always entertaining. Thanks again!

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        1. You’re so right, Christian. All the AI bells and whistles these days detract from the “meat” of the story. Over-the-top violence, blood, and gore never appealed to me. I find it unnecessary and a complete turn-off. Give me Bogart and Cagney and Edward G any day, even with their camping dialogue. For me, that can’t be beat! Thanks, Christian. Enjoy your weekend.

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          1. I love Bogy. When I was a teen, I had a life size poster of him on the inside of my bedroom door – from Casablanca!😀

            I also love Edward G. Robinson and James Cagney. And let’s not forget about the stunning ladies: Ingrid Bergman, Marlene Dietrich, Grace Kelly, Katharine Hepburn…too many to name!

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  14. Okay, whoever said a sequel is never as good as the original needs to read this post of yours. You hit it outta the park and you left your readers hungering for more. I’m so glad you picked up the baton and ran with this. And I also apologize for the mixed sports metaphors I used in this comment.

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