THE HAMMER FILES: Old Town Frank

Cartoon. Noir. Gray scale. Jack Hammer is getting out of a beat-up cab in a run-down, gritty "Old Town" neighborhood. The street is dark and rain-slicked, with a few flickering neon signs in the distance. The scene is dramatic and high-contrast, with deep shadows, capturing the somber, contemplative mood as he steps into the familiar, tough environment.

This entry is part 5 of 16 in the series Chapter 1: The Case of December's Debt.

The whiskey didn’t burn so good anymore. It just sat there, a cold reminder of the target on my back. Rocco Racini’s name was a brand, a promise of pain. I could try to outrun it, or out-shoot it, but that wasn’t my style. Jack Hammer plays by the rules, even when the other side doesn’t. And my rules said you face the music, but you don’t do it alone.

A Debt to Family

I ran through the names in my head, a mental rolodex of faces I’d known in the shadows. Most of them were just that—shadows. But one name kept coming back, a name that tasted like cheap cigars and old grudges: Frank. My uncle Frank. My father’s brother. He was dirty, sure, but it was family dirt. The kind you don’t scrub off. He was connected, knew every rat and every cop in this city, and he’d built his own empire out of the scraps. I’d even worked a few cases for him back in the day, when my hands were cleaner and my heart was a little less scarred.

He was a shark, but he was my shark. And right now, I needed a bigger fish on my side.

Back to the Sewers

There was only one place to find him: Old Town. The run-down slum I grew up in. The kind of place the city planners forgot, and the honest folks left behind. The streets were narrower, the buildings older, and every brick held a memory. It was where I learned to fight, to run numbers, to survive. It was where Frank still held court, a king in his crumbling castle.

The cab ride was a slow crawl through the city’s underbelly. The neon faded, replaced by the dull glow of streetlights that seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the darkness. The air grew heavier, thick with the smell of stale beer and desperation. It was a long way from the polished glass towers where Rocco Racini made his deals.

I stepped out onto the cracked pavement, the familiar chill of the old neighborhood seeping into my bones. Every shadow seemed to hold a story, every alley a whispered secret. This was Frank’s territory, a place where the rules were written in blood and loyalty was the only currency. I knew he wouldn’t be happy to see me. Not with the kind of trouble I was carrying. But I also knew he’d listen. Because family, even dirty family, still meant something in Old Town.

I just hoped it meant enough to keep me alive.

Series Navigation<< The Hammer Files: Rocco’s Game and The GirlTHE HAMMER FILES: Old Town Frank’s Welcome >>

Chapter 1: The Case of December's Debt.