Manhattan, NY – December 1980
Jack and Adhira sat in their agency-issued vehicle in front of the hotel where their subject was staying.
“We’ve been on this job for a couple of months and although I’ve enjoyed our time together, Jack. I don’t know what to think now.”
“Yea… He goes to New York, and he wanders around the city and not much else. Then he leaves. We follow him to Atlanta, he meets with a friend and then he’s back in Hawaii. Now here we are back in New York again. It’s just weird. But I believe he’s still thinking about doing something.”
December 7
Jack and Adhira followed their subject as he walked around the city. Keeping a close tail but far enough away to seem inconspicuous. It was pretty easy in a city as populated as Manhattan. They were standing near the 72nd Street subway entrance when they saw their subject speak to someone for the first time since they’d been following him.
“Look, Jack. He’s talking to that guy over there. I wonder what that’s all about? Planning something with him?”
“I don’t know, but doesn’t that guy look like the singer, James Taylor? It’s uncanny.”
“Yea, that’s funny. He really does look like him. Let’s just stay close.”
December 8
It was early morning. Jack and Adhira sat in a cafe across the street from the Sheraton Hotel. They watched as their subject walked out of the hotel lobby.
“He’s on the move. Let’s go.”
They followed him to a local bookstore. He was inside for a few minutes and then exited the store. They again followed him to 72nd street just off Central Park. He just hung out in front of a large apartment building chatting with people and the doorman. Jack watched from across the street and Adhira went to get the car.
Later, they sat in the car parked nearly in front of the building. They watched their subject just hanging around the entrance.
“This is boring, Jack. He’s just standing around. He’s not doing anything. Maybe his connection is late or something. This doesn’t make sense. All we’ve seen is a guy chatting with people and that one lady with the little kid he said hello to. But I don’t think he really knows any of these people.
10:45pm
“Jack, we’ve been here all day watching this guy. What time is it?”
“Nearly 11 pm. Are there any of those fries left?”
“Here.”
“Thanks. You know what? Stay here. I’m gonna get out and stretch my legs. I’m going to go talk to this guy.”
“What are you going to say?”
“I’ll think of something. Move into the driver’s seat, in case we have to leave again, okay.”
“No problem. But after this, you’re buying me some real food and some strong drinks.”
“You got it.”
Jack exited the car and approached the apartment building’s archway entrance. The subject stood off to his left.
A black limousine pulled up in front of the building and caught Jack’s attention. Two people exited the limo and walked toward the entrance.
Jack was right behind the subject at this point. Adhira watched from inside their car. The man and woman walked past the subject and Jack thought he heard the subject say the man’s name. The subject then reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun.
From years of training, Jack was ready. He was always ready. This was what he did for a living.
The hunter.
The equalizer.
The problem solver.
Jack emptied the clip of his .38 automatic into the subject’s body. Headshot first followed by a hail of bullets into his body. The subject fell to the ground as the woman with the man screamed and ducked behind her husband. The man and woman turned and looked into Jack’s face.
But only for a moment.
Blood began to pool around the subject’s head as he died on the pavement in front of the building. Guards grabbed the couple and pulled them inside the lobby.
Jack was already on the move and leaped into the car as Adhira hit the gas. Within minutes they were far from the scene.
“Oh my God! How did you know, Jack?”
“It’s what I do. Just keep driving.”
Los Angeles, CA – December 9
Jack sat alone at the bar in the club on Sunset Strip. He was approached by one of the servers.
“Marty will see you now, sir.”
Jack walked into the back room and sat down in front of Marty’s desk.
“You did good, Jack. Real good.” He placed a briefcase on the desk in front of him.
Jack looked at him and took a sip from his drink. “No.”
“No? but, there’s extra in there.”
“You keep it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yea. This one’s on me.”
I wrote this story back in 2020 in memory of one of my fallen heroes who was taken from us too soon on December 8, 1980.
If only things could have been different…
Rest in peace, John.
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Merry Christmas, everyone.
Phicklephilly 