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One Empty Chair
– by Mario Crescibene
Case Filed July 11, 2026 | Cleveland, Ohio
There’s a particular ambiance that settles over Little Italy on a July night, once the tourists have started to clear out of La Dolce Vita and the espresso machines have gone cold. The windows of my office were open to let in the summer breeze, and an open bottle of whiskey was sitting in the center of my desk.
Frankie and I were sitting on either side of the desk with our legs kicked up, leaning back in our chairs, enjoying a drink after a long day of detective work. It seemed that me and Frankie were always at odds with each other, but for once we had reached a consensus.
I took a swig of my whiskey and lifted a finger. “One empty chair,” I said.
Frankie nodded slowly, his head a bit heavier than usual from the effect of his drink. “One empty chair,” he concurred.
I swung my legs down from the desk and refilled our cups. “You and I never agree, Frankie, so let me run through this one more time just to make sure we’re on the same page. We know that Ramirez and Martinez are coming back from the IL on the other side of the All-Star Break. And we already saw Ingle get sent back down after his debut looked a whole lot like Brito’s.”
Frankie interrupted, “A lot of bad defense, and not any offense.”
He took another swig and I continued. “So now we’ve got Halpin, Watson, and Arias as the likely suspects to lose their spot when Ramirez and Martinez come back. Three guys, one empty chair.”
I swirled the whiskey in my glass, settling back into my chair, and Frankie continued where I’d left off. “Halpin is a good defender to come off the bench. But he’s a placeholder, not a long-term solution.”
“Agreed.”
Frankie continued, “Watson has a higher ceiling and was hot early on, but he’s cooled recently. He needs to get sent back to Columbus so he can keep getting consistent at bats and developing.”
“Agreed, again,” I said. “And that leaves us with Arias.”
Frankie tilted his fedora back on his head. “The kid has earned his spot at this point, Mario. His improved offense isn’t just recent either. Arias was hot when he had his rehab stint in triple-A, hitting 3 home runs in 15 at-bats. And then once he got back to the majors he hit .212 and slugged .333 in June, but he’s hitting .320 and slugging .560 in July.”
I chimed in, “So that means we would have an outfield mix of DeLauter, Kwan, Martinez, Schneemann, and Fry. And then Arias would fill in for Ramirez, Rocchio, or Bazzana as needed.”
Frankie shot back excitedly, “And don’t forget that we’ve got Angel Genao pushing Arias from Columbus. If Arias can’t stick, Genao is going to be making his case. You got Ralphy Velazquez making a case for a call-up later in the season too. But for now, the Guards will stick with Arias, and they’ll give him time to prove his value. Halpin will get sent down to AAA. Watson will get demoted so he can keep developing. And if Arias doesn’t stick or gets traded, then we’ll have a list of prospects to choose from to take this spot.”
I summarized, “So Halpin and Watson go down when Ramirez and Martinez come back. Arias gets first shot, with the others waiting in the wings.”
A silence fell over the office — comfortable instead of tense — the kind that only shows up once two minds that usually can’t agree on anything have finally reached a consensus. Frankie drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down on the desk with a soft click.
“Nothing left to deduce tonight, champ,” he said, pushing himself up out of the chair and reset his fedora. “I’ve had enough of your whiskey for one night. I’m walking home.”
With that, he was gone, leaving me along in my office with the summer breeze as my only companion. I heard his footsteps head down the stairwell, unhurried, fading out into the Little Italy night — and then it was just me.
I looked across the desk at the chair where Frankie had been as I took a long swig from my glass.
One empty chair.
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