Jack Hammer-A Rip in Time Part 2: The Hard Line

The Hard Line

I pushed up from the desk, the hard line of phantom pain in my chest a dull, sickening throb. The roar died in my throat, choked by the realization of the cruelty. I was trembling, the rage absolute.

“If that bastard thinks he can play with me like a cat plays with a mouse,” I grated into the silence, my voice catching on the dust and the ash.

Riiing.

One sharp ring. A space. Riiing. Riiing. A space.

The blood went cold in my veins. The sound was an archaic code, a language only heard in nightmares. The timing was perfect, cold, and utterly calculated.

The Controller.

I snatched the receiver off the hook, my knuckles white against the black plastic.

“Listen here, you bastard—”

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” The Controller’s voice cut across mine—a smooth, digital lullaby laced with mockery. “What did you expect? You set yourself up as a bank manager? A bank manager? I didn’t write that script. You did. And you set yourself up in front of a bank full of money. Without a gun? Are you kidding me? You’re Jack Frickin’ Hammer for God’s sake.”

He was right.

I was silenced. Stunned. Somehow I knew I wrote as much of that script as he did. The perfect life was the ultimate weakness, a choice I’d subconsciously made to drop my guard.

The Controller sighed, the sound like static on a deep-space broadcast. “Jack, you drag me as much as I tug you. I was in bed. You woke me up to get that out. Sometimes the mechanical star God gets a little ahead of himself. But don’t worry, you’ll get back there.” The warmth returned to his voice, chillingly casual. “After all, the only one who knows you’re dead is you. No obituaries been written. There hasn’t been any funeral.”

Then the needle dropped.

“But I thought you should know, Rocco Raccini’s brother Dutch whacked your Uncle Frank.” The name hit me harder than the shotgun blast. “And next time you decide to jump back to the quiet life, choose a safer profession. Now leave me alone. I’m going back to bed.”

And with that, the line went dead. The silence was heavier than before.

I stood there, the dead phone in my hand, staring at the floor. The Controller gave me a choice, laid out cleaner than a police report. Jump back into that four days of sun and quiet, or stay in the muck and settle a debt.

Blood and loyalty are the only currency that spends in this world. And I owed Frank a fortune in both. He was family. He was the anchor before the storm. Yes. I would go back and be a janitor in that bank if that’s what it took to see Angela and Jackie Angel again.

But not yet. Dutch was breathing the city air, and he had a score to settle. I owed Frank a debt in this world. And I was damn sure going to pay that debt first.