THE HAMMER FILES: On the Lamb.

A grayscale, high-contrast graphic novel panel shows two men, Jack Hammer and Jamie, running through a rain-slicked, gritty city alley at night. Jack, a burly man in a fedora and trench coat, leads, while Jamie, a slightly younger man, runs alongside him, both looking troubled and burdened. The scene is rendered with stark lines and deep shadows, reflecting a pulp-noir aesthetic. A grayscale, high-contrast graphic novel panel shows two men, Jack Hammer and Jamie, running through a rain-slicked, gritty city alley at night. Jack, a burly man in a fedora and trench coat, leads, while Jamie, a slightly younger man, runs alongside him, both looking troubled and burdened. The scene is rendered with stark lines and deep shadows, reflecting a pulp-noir aesthetic.
This entry is part 15 of 16 in the series Chapter 1: The Case of December's Debt.

Jamie’s Streets and Shadows.

The world was a smear of wet neon. We moved through the night like ghosts with Jack at the lead. I jumped at every shadow, shied from every light. My own silhouette was a threat in the periphery. Every siren in the city was calling out to us, and with every wail, I felt the phantom weight of the dead man I left lying in the street. The cold rain was a poor distraction, trying to wash away the memory of his last breath. But it wasn’t enough. It never will be.

Jack Hunts for a Den.

I was a cat moving through a jungle, my nose to the air catching every scent. Jamie was a ghost at my side, his body moving with the restless energy of a caged animal. He didn’t belong in this world. And I was the one who pulled him into it. We found a side street, and then a few more until we finally stumbled onto a bar. The kind of place with a neon sign that advertised something you couldn’t quite make out, and a door that looked like it hadn’t been opened in a decade. Sanctuary.

A Stiff Belt for Jamie’s Jitters.

The streets and violence behind me were a nightmarish blend of shadow and sin, a twisted dance lit by a neon sign. A bar. Jack opened the door and ushered me into a dim table in the back. He went to the bar and came back with two double glasses and a bottle. He filled mine to the rim and said, “Here. This will help.” I poured the glass down. As soon as the glass hit the table, Jack had filled it back to the top. As the soothing elixir began flowing through my blood to my bones, I considered the insane events of the past hour. What started as a game and the promise of a jackpot had cost me my very soul. My despair was thick, and Jack could smell it. “You’ll be alright,” he said. “You only did what you had to do.” “I pulled the plug.” Jack was trying to soothe my soul, to give me absolution by taking my sins as his own. But I knew who killed Rocco. And Rocco’s fate was sealed the moment I put my slug a whisper from his heart. I killed Rocco. Jack just made his death a few moments quicker. I’ll carry the stone of Rocco’s death for the rest of my life. But I’ll never tell him that.

The Lion in his Den.

We came across a gin joint. Instincts, I guess. Jamie was sick. The last hour had been a bitter poison, one I didn’t think he could stomach. I grabbed two glasses and a bottle and started to pour the medicine down his throat. I did the same favor for myself. As the powerful prescription began to reduce the fever in my brain, I settled back as the volume on my muted thoughts began to rise. Jamie wasn’t talking, and that was good with me; I didn’t feel like talking either. I filtered over the last hour and the days and the years that lead to it. I thought of the angel in the street, far too young to have had her wings clipped. I thought about all the missed tea parties, the birthday cakes, the dances, the prom. I had found and then so quickly lost so much. I thought of Jamie, how I had lured him into a world where he didn’t belong. Was all this because of me? Am I to blame? Is the angel back in heaven because of me? My actions? Or is it just because I was born Jack Hammer? Whoever I was, I no longer am. I know change has come. Time to retire? I went to the payphone and called a cab. Me and Jamie left the bar.

On the cab ride home, I assured Jamie he had done no wrong. That I had made the kill shot. And he believes me. But I know. Rocco was dead the second Jamie’s lucky shot scraped his blackened heart. But I’ll never tell him that. Jamie got out of the cab at his home, and we said good night

Series Navigation<< THE HAMMER FILES: The Dead ReckoningTHE HAMMER FILES: My Home My Office >>