September 4, 2025

THE HAMMER FILES: The Daughter I Never Knew

Jack Hammer05 mins
Grayscale, gritty pulp-noir image of detective Jack Hammer standing in a dimly lit living room, speaking with an older, authoritative man seated in an armchair, surrounded by subtle hints of a powerful "family" and their shared past. Grayscale, gritty pulp-noir image of detective Jack Hammer standing in a dimly lit living room, speaking with an older, authoritative man seated in an armchair, surrounded by subtle hints of a powerful "family" and their shared past.
This entry is part 6 of 11 in the series Chapter 2: An Inheritance of Grief

The Family Credit

The front door was unlocked, as always. The bell chimed a lonely echo in the silence of Old Town Frank’s house. He was in his armchair, a ghost in a worn suit, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. The TV was on, the sound muted, a silent parade of smiling faces on the evening news. He looked up, his face a roadmap of every debt paid and unpaid in the city. A smile, as thin as a razor’s edge, spread across his lips.

“Jack. The prodigal son returns,” he said, setting his glass on the coffee table with a slow, deliberate grace. “What can I do for you?”

“I came by to thank you,” I said, my voice steady. “What you did for me with Rocco… it was more than I deserved.”

The Family’s Eye

Frank waved a hand, dismissing the debt. “Family is family,” he said. “Always. What’s the real reason you’re here?”

I took a deep breath. “I just left Erma Bennett. The old woman from the old neighborhood. She told me something. Something I always suspected, but never wanted to believe.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “I had a daughter, Frank.”

Frank’s smile vanished. He didn’t flinch, didn’t show a flicker of surprise. He simply nodded, a slow, grim acknowledgement.

“I know,” he said.

I stared at him. “You know? You always knew?”

“The family keeps track of its own, Jack,” he said, leaning forward. “Always. Some of us stay in the life. Some of us, like you, step out. It makes no difference. Family is family.”

He looked me in the eye. “We always knew about Angela, too. Your summer of love. And the little one. Jackie Angel, wasn’t it?”

A cold dread seeped into my veins. If the family knew all this time, why hadn’t they told me? The answer was a hard slap to the face. They had tried.

A War Unwaged

“We tried to protect them, Jack. We put money in her mother’s account, got her out of a couple of tight spots,” Frank’s voice dropped. “But some things… some things we can’t touch. Not without starting a war.”

He looked me in the eye, and the cold dread became a concrete fact. “The Racini family had her, Jack. They got their hooks into her, and we couldn’t get her out. She was Rocco’s girl… we were helpless. We lost her to the streets before she ever had a chance.”

He picked up the glass on his coffee table, turning it over in his hands. “And Angela… we lost track of her years ago. Maybe they have her too. Maybe she’s also gone.” He looked at me, his eyes full of a sorrow that went deeper than his lines. “We couldn’t help you then, Jack. But we can help you now.”

I stood there, the full weight of his words crashing down on me. I had a box of letters, a photo, and a name: Racini. The first two were clues. The last was a target. I left Frank’s house and stepped back out into the cold, damp night.

Series Navigation<< THE HAMMER FILES: A Gift from Christmas PastTHE HAMMER FILES: Jack Misses the Mark >>

Chapter 2: An Inheritance of Grief

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