Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2

JACK BE NIMBLE By Gavin Hunt

Breathing steady, the heart rate slowed down as anticipation grew.

Every sound heard but not one made by myself. The thick walls muffled the talking inside the house. There was never a good time to go in, when the right time came, I would take it.

Centred on the lock, the wooden door held no resistance as it splintered on impact. Two smoke grenades rolled in, fumes billowed out filling the room in a blue dust. Hands grabbed for guns as men scrambled to their feet, chairs and tables kicked out from beneath. Through the thick smoke, they could see nothing. The sound of the breaking door meant they knew the direction to fire and they all obliged. Bullets flew, striking nothing but wall.

I was no longer there. Swiftly moving inside, stealth now became my best friend. Hugging the walls, I made my way around. They realised too late that I now stood behind them. Slashing the throat of the first, the knife coated with death as blood spurted forth. My second victim stood in close proximity.

Dropping to my knees, he spun around seeing his friend’s dead body fall to floor. Firing where I once stood, he played the game of chance that the I stood close. His mistake. The first knife pierced straight through leather, skin, blood and bone, pinning his foot to the wooden floor. By the time he registered the pain, the action repeated itself on his next foot. Panic washed over his face. It lasted seconds. Rising from the crouched position with a third knife in hand, I stopped my enemy’s heart from the back. With the smoke dissipating, time began to run out. I had no option.

Drawing two guns from the rear waistband, my quick fire turned the scene into a bloodbath. Two more bodies fell, blood covering walls and floors. The last figure made a run for the door. There was no way anyone was leaving here alive. A bullet in the head stopped him dead in his tracks. With the ground floor clear, time to get down to the series business. In an upstairs bedroom was what I came for.

Marcus Reynolds, fat, bald and the wrong side of fifty, yet he still surrounded himself with young women and girls. He sat upon the bed, two naked girls cowered in a corner, arms wrapped one another for support, bed sheets draped over naked flesh. I ordered them to get out. I set them free from Marcus’ wrath and the life of forced prostitution.

I made my request simple. “I want what’s in the safe.”

“There’s nothing in there and even if there was, I don’t have the combination.”

“Don’t make me ask again. Open the safe, give me what’s inside and I’ll let you live.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Is that a chance your willing to take?” I pulled out my second gun. Both of them trained on his chest.

“You have any idea who you’re fucking with?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise would I now Marcus.” His blatant disregard was not winning me over. The sound of his name made him more alert. I could hear the clocks hands ticking away inside my head. “Give me the contents of the safe and I’ll let you live.”

Marcus laughed right back at me. “Don’t take me for a fool. You will kill me as soon as it’s open.”

“You have my word that I will not take your life.”

“Somehow I don’t trust you.”

I squeezed the trigger. “The next one won’t miss. I know how much you like that sad excuse for a prick.”

Lodging itself in the mattress between Marcus’ legs, the bullet came closer than anticipated. His bravado soon left as he gave up the combination. About to leave with what I came for, Marcus made a big mistake. Pulling a gun from under the pillow, he took his shot at me. Clipping the doorframe, his aim as useless as the limp dick lying between his legs. One would have been suffice but Marcus deserved the four bullets I put in his overweight body.

“I never said how long I’d let you live.”

The first bullet opened a hole in the stomach the size of a fist, the second struck him between the eyes. The last two in the chest for my own pleasure. I made my exit with the money from the safe piled into a holdall I found under the bed. I thought about taking it all but pride won over greed. I didn’t need it all. The USB device I really came for now in my possession. Enough money left to give me probable cause for breaching the property. Sweeping the house, I assessed the destructive scene. Twenty minutes and I called the incident in to dispatch.

“This is Jack Starke of the nineteenth precinct. I have six dead bodies at three-two-six Libertine Gardens. I need ambulance, police and CSU on scene ASAP.”

Thirty minutes later, the scene awash with emergency service personnel. They discovered the six dead bodies reported. I was long gone by then, along with the five million dollars in drug money and the USB device.

Six months later…

New Years Eve arrived, thousands of people out in the city to see in the New Year. As the midnight hour approached, everything ready to go with a bang. Loud cheers sounded, drinks flowed and even strangers hugged and kissed, wishing someone they would never see again, a prosperous year ahead.

In the centre of the downtown metropolis, the bell tower chimed, seeing one year out and a fresh one in. Fireworks lit up the nighttime sky, a spectrum of colours, flashes and shapes holding everyone’s attention above. Deep underground, in the sewage tunnels snaking their way beneath the streets, a thunderous boom went unheard. Metal doors flew clean off hinges. No one heard it except for the three masked figures making their way inside First National Bank via an old, unused and long forgotten entrance.

With the door no longer standing in the way, they were inside one of numerous back rooms in minutes. Red and green blinking lights pierced the darkness, flashlights illuminated stacks of moulded plastic devices. Wires sprouted everywhere, connecting boxes together and running into other devices, reading and crunching binary data into tangible material. With power lines cut, the alarm disabled and the security cameras offline, they had free reign of First National bank.

The clock was ticking. Burns security firm was responsible for monitoring First National Bank. Unable to get a system reboot, it would take thirteen minutes for the police to arrive at the scene. Even after checking the front and rear doors, the police would still not discover what was occurring inside. In eight minutes, they would be in and out with all they sought.

The cameras inside did not need disabling. If they had recorded the events, it would have shown two females and one male. Jack, Faith and Kirsten were ghosts. Dressed all in black, the skin-tight clothing hugged body shapes. Faces hidden away. Each wore a gas mask covering the whole face in black rubber, leaving just two large plastic lenses for sight.

Jack’s gas mask decorated in white, taking on a skull image. The breathing apparatus positioned on the left side, gave the masks a strange and haunting style. Straps at the rear of the head pulled tight to the skull, the female’s hair bunched out, covering the straps. On Jack’s shaven head, the straps had already begun to leave red markings.

The heist executed with perfection. In and out of First National bank inside of eight minutes. From the control room they made their way through dark corridors and rooms via torchlight to the rear of the bank. There the vault stood before them. With the power down the vault remained locked tight. Set on a separate breaker for just an instance like this.

The circular vault door made from concrete and reinforced steel. Twenty-five metal cylinders set inside the six-inch thick door held the twin interlocking mechanism in place, accessible by its dual combination keypads, each with an individual ten-digit code. After that, there remained two fingerprint scanners, verifying identification. The data held on file belonged to two individuals, assistant and branch manager.

The dynamite used on the sewer door would be useless on the vaults door. Even a thermal lance – burnt iron rods in pure oxygen from an oxyacetylene torch – would not get them inside. A lesser man may have given up, but not Jack Starke. The vault was no match for him.

Stepping up to the first combination lock, his fingers hovered over the keypad. Breathing steadily, he inputted the first sequence of numbers from memory. The three red blinking lights at the top, signifying the lock in place, turned into a constant glowing three green light. Beneath the keypad, the blue touchpad scanner with crisscrossing white lines shone in the darkness. Jack touched it with an object pulled from his pocket. Loud clicks came from inside the vault as ten metal cylinders unlocked.

“How the fuck?” Kirsten asked.

“Beats me.” Faith whispered in return, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t even want to ask as I don’t think I’d like the answer.”

Moving over to the second keypad, Jack repeated the process. This time the blinking red lights continued to flash. Jack paused, deep in thought.

He ran his fingers over the numbers once again. No mistake. He put all ten digits in correctly. Trying it for a second time, the result came back the same. One try left before total lockdown.

There was only one reason the number failed; Martin Nutt had given him a false code. The bank manager had lied. Jack could have killed him, if he hadn’t done the act already.

Martin Nutt had not given up the code as easily as the assistant manager, James Billingham. Fear struck James Billingham. There was no doubt the number he spoke was correct. His voice wavered unsteadily as sweat glistened on his brow. Jack had no time or compassion. A bullet in the head was the thanks James received for the information. Martin Nutt was a different proposition.

His resistance was admiral in the face of the shotgun. For a man working in such a high profile job, his home was easy to breach. Jack sat in the living room, waiting for Martin to arrive home. The colour drained from his face upon seeing Jack sat in his armchair.

It took an hour of torture before Martin eventually relented and gave up the vaults code. By that time, Jack had beaten Martin senseless; swollen eyes, busted lips, broken nose, bruised torso, sexual organs that his wife would be getting no pleasure from for a while – if he had stayed alive.

There had been a glint in Martin’s eyes as he spoke forth the numbers. It passed Jack by at the time. Now as he stood before the vaults keypad with the memories of a time two months ago, he saw now, what he did not see then.

The bastard lied!

In a flash, an idea came to Jack. It seemed hopeless but was the best he could muster at the time. What did he have to lose? If it didn’t work, then Jack would walk away and return another day. He would not be without what truly belonged to him, after only securing it months before,

The lights changed from red to green. The ten-digit code inputted in reverse order, to what Martin Nutt had given up. The fingerprint scanner allowed access with ease.

The circular wheel door handle spun as the twenty-five pin locking mechanism opened. He was inside. As Faith and Kirsten concentrated on the money, Jack’s attention turned elsewhere. The money was all but a diversion to what he really sought. In safety deposit box number one-zero-two, was a treasure of immense wealth. Pulling the key from his pocket, the door opened easily. How he came across the key was another story. It had not ended well for its previous owner.

The metal box inside made from the same material as a flight data recorder on aircrafts; fire resistant, bomb proof, indestructible. In no time, Jack had the small USB device in his pocket. The data it held could be devastating in the wrong hands.

In less than two minutes, they were leaving. Four holdall’s placed on a dolly that they wheeled to the opening in the control room. With the bags dropped down to the sewer tunnels below, three masked figures exited the bank the same way they came in.

The plan a success. Or so Jack believed.

Jack Starke was a wise thirty-two year old man. Menacing in size, weighing two-hundred and fifteen pounds, muscles evident in all parts of the body. With a square jaw sat slightly askew to the left, matched by his broken nose from a street fight that had been a defining moment in his life, Jack remained an alluring figure to women. Jack bared the scars of that fight, his opponent not so fortunate. He never ate solid food for the rest of his life and walked with a permanent limp.

Jack Starke had been asleep for four hours before his cell phone rang. In thirty minutes he was showered, dressed, and sat before a good friend in Sarah Cartwright. For a woman in her early forties, she was nothing short of stunning for her age. Since her divorce from Doug a year ago, Sarah had played the field like any young single woman on the bar scene. She became a cougar in her prime.

Jack’s meeting with Sarah Cartwright began professional, regular afternoon meetings, twice weekly in her office. Two months later after some progress and even more flirtations than found in a shrink’s office, the meeting place changed to a more formal setting.

Striding into Sam’s coffee house, Jack eyed the steady flow of customers before the early morning commuter rush began. A quarter of the tables and booths taken up with solitary coffee drinkers. There was no queue as Jack approached the counter and ordered two Americano coffees, to go. Sam himself served Jack. A burly man, overweight, thinning hairline and a scar on his left cheek, Sam now spent his days pouring hot drinks in his establishment rather than serving his country with death on the battlefield.

“You look like shit Jack.”

“At least I’m not fat.”

“Just more of me for Lisa to love.”

“Not what she was saying last night Sam; then again, she did have her mouth full. Said she hadn’t seen your cock in years; couldn’t find it under all the rolls of fat.”

Jack and Sam stared each other down. Neither flinched from the standoff. Both were arrogant men but had mutual respect for the other. Sam’s lips quivered first. Jack soon followed as together they burst into laughter with a hearty handshake.

“Why do you always have to bring my wife into it?”

“Got to treat her delicately like fine china otherwise she’ll break.”

“You expect me to take relationship advice from you Jack. I’ve watched you coming in here every week for the past four months to have coffee with the cute blond.” Sam nodded his head to the corner booth where she sat. “You asked her out yet?”

“I only see her on a professional level and anyways Sam, it’s none of your goddamn business. Now where’s those coffee’s?”

Jack took the two Styrofoam cups, bidding his friend a good morning. Placing himself in the booth facing Sarah, he slid one of the cups in her direction.

Sarah kept her head lowered to the table. “Happy New Year to you too Jack.”

As she looked up, the first thing Jack saw were her eyes. Large blue orbs, piercing and full of life. Her smile radiated warmth that enveloped him. Around Sarah, Jack relived his lovesick teenage years, he could truly be himself.

“Don’t you look a picture of health this morning?” Sarah said as her eyes lay upon Jack’s tired face. “Trouble sleeping or up all night partying?”

“Something like that, you decide,” Jack replied sipping his coffee.

“What’s with the red marks on your head?”

“Slept on the couch again, laid on some books. I tell you, not as comfortable as a pillow.”

Sarah moved the conversation on with a slight roll of the eyes. “The suspension going well then?”

“I’m keeping busy.”

“Hope it’s all legit?”

“What do you take me for Sarah?”

“Let’s see what I know. Former Detective and now just plain old officer Jack Starke of Chicago PD. Suspended from duty pending the conclusion of an investigation into the theft of contraband money. A career with questionable ethics. Your record shows two sides to the page. One says you are the best ever to grace the department. The other says you side more with the criminals in Chicago, rather than those trying to put them behind bars.”

“And which side of the page do you read Sarah?” Jack didn’t wait for a reply before changing tact. “Allow me to ask this, why did you call me this morning?”

“You’ve not heard yet then? First National Bank was broken into last night. They came in from an old entrance in the sewers. How they got into the vault is still open for debate presently. Two codes and two fingerprint scanners couldn’t keep these bastards out. Police are en route to the manager’s home as we speak.”

“What makes you say there was more than one person responsible?”

“Two different sets of prints were found inside the vault where the money was stolen. Currently being run through AFIS.”

“And why are you telling me this Sarah?”

“I don’t know, maybe I want you to sit there and tell me you’re not responsible. That somehow, this has nothing to do with you and that it’s just a coincidence that whilst you’re on suspension, someone breaks into the vault and steals the evidence that could see you go to prison for a very long time. I like the Jack I have gotten to know over the past few months. Why do I attract all the bad guys?” Sarah’s last sentence said aloud to herself.

“Who said I was a bad guy? You’re condemning me with no evidence.”

“Then tell me, just how did Jack Starke see in the New Year?”

Jack slammed his closed fist down upon the table, rattling the cutlery that sat untouched. “With a bang.”

“Did you steal the five-million dollars Jack? Strange that out of everything in the bank, it was the police’s contraband money they stole.”

“There are far more riches in that vault than five million dollars Sarah.”

With a resounding crash, Jack Starke’s life changed.

Sirens wailed outside, red and blue flashing lights lit up the early morning gloom. Police cruisers arrived outside Sam’s coffee house from all sides. Jack’s eyes danced between the growing scene on the street and Sarah Cartwright’s face. Sarah’s eyes were full of sorrow. Jack found all he needed to know in them. There was no need for words.

Jack found himself frozen stiff. He wanted to move, his brain and body uncommunicative.

“Run you fool.”

Those were the last words Jack heard as he thrust himself from the table as two police officers rushed through the front door.

“Jack Starke! You are under arrest. Put your hands in the air and do not move.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Jack retorted.

And with that, Sam’s coffee house erupted in gunfire. Jack dived for cover as bullets flew past him, burying themselves in the cushioned seats, blowing out the foam inside. Jack had no time to lose. With his Glock 22 now in hand, he rose from concealment. The two officers went down with a pop-pop of the trigger finger.

Two bullets, two kill shots. Precise and deadly.

It was not how Jack wanted it. Only ever going to be one outcome when it’s your life of theirs. No turning back now, he was a cop killer. There should have only been one decision for Jack to make. He did not disappoint. Jack never looked for the easy way out. It’s what they wanted. A trap would be waiting. It was only five months ago that he had been on the other side, catching people like himself. He still thought like a police officer. Life was a little different these days.

Instead of heading behind the counter and through the door into the kitchen, which in turn would deliver him to an alleyway and an exit, Jack headed for the front door. Four police cruisers stood outside; six officers in total. More on the way a certainty.

Jack be nimble. Jack be quick.

He took them all by surprise. Seeing their fellow officer’s fall, red mist clouded their vision apart from one. Daniels, a rookie cop, now found himself on the front line, staring down a wanted criminal. As Jack threw the door open, they locked eyes. Jack had seen it before. Five simple steps to aid his escape; fear, uncertainty, youthfulness, hesitation, opportunity.

Any other officer in the rookie’s position would have taken Jack down, no questions asked. His failure to do so was all to Jack’s advantage.

Jack came out firing, his Glock 22 held a magazine of sixteen bullets and one in the chamber. Jack emptied the full clip in the direction of the cruisers. Windows shattered, siren lights broke, doors and car hoods pinged and dented. As bullets flew, Jack moved speedily to his left, his last bullet leaving the chamber as he vanished from sight around the corner.

The police followed in hot pursuit. Tentatively they peeked around the corner. People had scattered from the sidewalk, leaving the streets deserted with no sign of Jack Starke. Fanning out, two on either side of the street, they edged along. One remained on the corner, dispatch called for immediate backup. The last remaining officer ran down two blocks before heading along a parallel street in the hope of cutting off Jack.

Running hard, distance between himself and his pursuers, Jack was near to safety when another obstacle faced him. Two blocks away and an officer approached. Lowering his head, Jack walked calmly along. Red faced and heavy breathing from his run gave him away. Along with the fact that the officer in question recognised him.

“Jack Starke stand your ground and put your hands in the air.”

His orders heard loud and clear by Jack. With a gun now trained on him by his counterpart, he had but one choice. Pulling his Glock 22 out, Jack pointed at the officer. He remembered the first time he had been at the other end. Many officers after graduating never get to fire their weapon in the first year. It took Jack just six weeks. Called to a robbery in progress at Harland’s Jewellers, Jack got there as the perp exited with his loot. A foot chase through the packed streets of Chicago’s south side, ended down a one-way alley in the warehouse district. There was no escape, or so Jack thought, until the perp pulled a revolver on him and began firing. Youth, nerves and no training in firearms got in the perp’s way. Bullets flew everywhere around Jack, one grazed his lower right leg and that was a lucky shot. Jack did not hesitate. He took down the perp with no remorse. Jack found out that day, he had the power to take a life. He could kill and he liked it.

Twenty feet stood between Jack and the officer, guns aimed like a scene from a duel long ago. Questions now rushed through the officer’s mind. How many bullets had Jack fired outside Sam’s coffee house? Had he reloaded once on the run?

“You don’t want your life to end today.”

“I’m the one with the law on my side. Place the gun on the floor and kick it towards me.”

“As you say officer,” Jack said crouching down, placing his Glock 22 on the sidewalk.

His hand rested atop the gun as he pulled it slightly back ready to slide its release. His eyes never veered from the officer who had relaxed his stance in seeing Jack’s co-operation.

A bad mistake.

Jack seized his chance.

His foe taken by surprise as a Glock 22 came towards his face at speed. Finger on the trigger, he had time to fire off one bullet, by then Jack had moved. Lunging forwards, Jack and the officer came together with a resounding crunch. Hitting the concrete floor hard, they grappled like a pair of wrestlers on prime time television. The officer was on top and swiftly started throwing punches. Street fighting more his style.

Jack had learnt how to take a beating over the years, allowing the officer to tire himself out before fighting back. Jack gave him a swift punch to the gut, instantly taking the wind from his sails. Followed with a knee to the groin, the officer rolled off Jack onto the sidewalk, breathing hard in pain. Jack had not finished yet. He still needed to escape.

Making the decision, he spared the officer’s life. There had been enough destruction to start the New Year. With a hard strike to the back of the head with the gun’s handle, he left the officer unconscious on the ground. Throwing his jacket in the doorway leading to an apartment block, Jack made his exit in the opposite direction. His misdirection would give the police trailing him a false lead, allowing Jack the time he needed to get across the city and the safety of Faith’s apartment.

The knock came at the door, answered swiftly by a red-haired beauty in a short silk kimono, hanging open, showing flesh whilst keeping the delights hidden.

“Was wondering when you’d show ya face.”

“I’m here now,” Jack replied walking straight past her into the apartment.

“Nice to see you Jack,” Faith replied closing the door, following him to the open-planned living/kitchen area. “Me? I’m fine,” she said under her breath but loud enough for Jack to hear.

“We got top story on the first news of the year,” Kirsten said excitedly from her seated position on the couch.

“You proud of that fact?” Jack remarked.

“Anybody would be. Another little victory for us.”

“Might be just a moral victory but it won’t last long. Fingerprints were left behind you stupid bitch.”

Faith and Kirsten exchanged a glance between themselves. Both knew they had worn gloves and neither had taken them off. So just how did their fingerprints get inside the vault?

“That’s bullshit! No fucking way!” Kirsten exclaimed loudly. She was the dominant one out of the two friends, never afraid to speak her mind.

Faith was a little more grounded. “Are you sure?”

“Information from a reliable source. Police are running it through AFIS. We all know if the fingerprints belong to either of you, they will get a hit. You’re both in the system for the crimes you’ve pulled over the years,” Jack replied directly. His attitude quickly changed. “Everything could now be for nothing! All that time spent planning the perfect heist.”

“How can you say that? We got the five million dollars back and…”

“It was never about the money!” Jack angrily interrupted.

Faith rolled her eyes. “…I was about to say, you got what you were really after.”

“And what would that be exactly?” Jack asked with puzzlement.

“Don’t take us for fools Jack!” Kirsten shouted jumping to her feet from the couch. “We saw you take the USB device.”

“You saw nothing.” Jack said pulling his Glock 22 into sight.

I left with the knowledge that I had transferred fingerprints. I’d said my goodbyes to Faith and Kirsten. The police would find their dead bodies soon enough, along with four million dollars in bundled cash.

My car parked two miles away. In under an hour, I was outside the city. Before disappearing, I had a phone call to make.

“Sarah, I’m at Sunrise Diner on Interstate ninety-four. I’ll wait thirty minutes and not a second longer.”

“They’re hunting everywhere for you,” Sarah replied concerned. “Tell me one thing Jack, did you break into First National Bank?”

“What do you think?” I replied. It was rhetorical and I continued without pausing for breath. “If you care about me, join me. If not then I bid you goodbye Sarah. You will never see or hear from me again. Jack Starke will forever exist as a ghost in this world.”

I hung up the payphone in the diner, fingering the USB device now concealed in my jacket pocket. The weight of its contents heavy now in my possession. I had not seen the data for myself yet. Hundreds of files heavily encrypted, revealing the secrets of government officials. It included many high in office, across a multitude of top ranking positions, naming them as spies to the American constitution. A powerful weapon now in some unsafe hands many would say.

I ordered myself an all day English breakfast with enough fat and grease to clog my arteries and kill me.

What can I say, big or small, I will risk it all.

Jack Starke was a name Chicago PD and the whole city will never forgot.

My breakfast arrived as I waited to see if Sarah would do the same.

BIO:

Gavin Hunt was born in Middlesbrough, England, in 1978, where he still lives today with his growing family. His is the author of First Down – Bound in Blood and Second and Ten – All Eyes on Me featuring Homicide Detective Jim Blackburn.