THE HAMMER FILES: A Deal with Diamond

A grayscale, high-contrast pulp-noir graphic novel panel shows a busty cocktail bunny in a classic uniform (ears, bow tie, corset, tail) holding a tray of martinis at a dimly lit, gritty bar. A trench-coat-clad figure sits at the bar in the background. A grayscale, high-contrast pulp-noir graphic novel panel shows a busty cocktail bunny in a classic uniform (ears, bow tie, corset, tail) holding a tray of martinis at a dimly lit, gritty bar. A trench-coat-clad figure sits at the bar in the background.
This entry is part 10 of 16 in the series Chapter 1: The Case of December's Debt.

Ace reporter and private eye Jack Hammer strikes a deal with Jamie Diamond, setting the stage for a high-stakes card game and a new chapter in the ongoing noir saga.

The Meeting at High Rollers

I met Jamie Diamond at the High Rollers Club, a private sanctum for the city’s elite. The air, thick with the faint scent of cigar smoke and expensive perfume, hummed with the singing jingle of chrome one-arm bandits. It was the perfect scene for a set-up. Safe. Members only. No prying eyes or riffraff. Jamie and I exchanged pleasantries, the kind of meaningless words you offer when you’re sizing someone up. We settled into a quiet booth, away from the glittering noise and the casual eyes of the other patrons. It was here, in the secluded comfort of the club, that I laid out Uncle Frank’s new hand. A messenger had delivered the intel moments before, a discreet little envelope that now felt like a lead weight in my pocket. The game was an inside job, a high-stakes card game in a warehouse on the bad side of town, where the windows all had bars. The door was a steel plate with no markings, and the key to getting in was a secret knock—the rhythm to “Shave and a Haircut – two bits”—and a password.

The Password

“The password is ‘I’m looking for Jack’,” I told him, watching his face for any sign of a tell. But Jamie Diamond doesn’t melt. He’s cold as ice, a man carved from a block of the stuff. He simply took a slow sip of his whiskey, the ice cubes clinking softly against the glass. There wasn’t even a flicker in his eyes. “The deal stands,” he said, his voice as flat as the tabletop. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. The kind of statement that didn’t need a response. I leaned forward, dropping my own voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The rules are simple. Five grand to sit at the table. I’ll spot that. Winner takes all. You don’t walk away till you’re broke or dead, and any sign of a cheat, you’re dead.” A low, humorless chuckle rumbled in Jamie’s chest. “Five grand? You think I’m a rookie, Jack?” He slid his glass around the condensation on the table. “I only need a grand. I’ll make the rest up in the first hour.” He met my gaze with a glint in his eye. “But I wouldn’t insult you by taking less.” I held his gaze, a wry smile touching my lips. “That’s why you’re my guy, Jamie. You’re sharp. I’ve seen you—you can tell me the order of every card dealt in a six-man turn of blackjack. You don’t have a photographic eye; you’ve got a photographic mind. Names, dates, details—you’re a trap. If there’s a whiff of a clue to be found, you’ll sniff it out. And you’ll remember. I couldn’t do better myself.” Jamie’s smile widened just enough to be a smirk, and he took another sip of his whiskey. “That’s why you came to me.”

The One-Man War Room

“I’ve already cased the joint,” I said, a little colder this time. “The game’s in a three-story building, which would be a problem if it weren’t for the four-story flea-bag hotel right across the street. I’ve rented a room on the top floor that gives me a perfect, unobstructed shot of that steel door. It’s a one-man war room in there—cameras, telescopic lenses, the whole shebang. If I can get some good photos, maybe we can get a lead on who’s running this thing. My eyes on the street, your mind on the table. It’s the perfect setup.” Jamie leaned back, a genuine, if brief, smile on his face. “With all that equipment, Jack, maybe a camera isn’t the only thing you should be ‘shooting’ from that room.” I looked down, a wry smile of my own on my face, shaking my head. “If only it were that easy, Jamie. If only.”

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