The Jack Hammer

by Derek Ciccone

  By the time Cam located the gun’s whereabouts, his father was sticking it back into the back of his jeans. He shook his head sadly. “When you have the opportunity in life, you better take it, son, because it might be your only chance. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that?”

  Cam rushed his father and thrust his fist into his already injured cheekbone, sending him ass-first to the ground. He screamed out, echoing off the mountains.

  “That’s for, Geoff,” Cam shouted out as he crushed his ribs with a kick. He dedicated the next ones to Tim and Teo.

  His father actually smiled. Cam sent another kick at him, but immediately knew that he’d been baited. His father blocked it with a forearm that was like a metal pipe. And with Cam off balance, it didn’t take much to send him to the ground.

  The monster rose to his feet, appearing to be enjoying the competition. If he just wanted to remain hidden, he could have made another move to another town with another name, or killed them quietly.

  “Get up,” his father commanded. “Are you just going to let me kill her without a fight? I’m embarrassed to call you my son.”

  “I’m not your son!” Cam rose up and bull-rushed him again, and hit him with another combination of punches.

  His father just stood there, strong, without fighting back. “Is that all you got?”

  He dangled his hands at his side, letting Cam attack him. The last punch wasn’t dedicated to the others he’d killed, but for himself. For the burdens, the pain, the abandonment. It ripped though his father’s strong chin, and he fell in a heap.

  The Jack Hammer crawled to his knees, a smile on his face. “Don’t say I never gave you a chance, Camelot.” He removed the gun from his jeans. “Those punches might have felt good for you, but it didn’t finish the job. And now I’m going to teach you and your a girlfriend a lesson in killer instinct.”

  They both looked to the spot where Sam had been kneeling—she was no longer there.

  “He might not have killed you, but I will,” she said as she attacked him from behind, choking him.

  She was no match for his strength. He pushed her away, shoving her down. He seemed a little worn out, his age taking a toll, and he gasped for air. But he didn’t get any. Sam wasn’t finished—hitting him with a large douse of pepper spray.

  Five feet away, Cam was coughing up his insides, but his father seemed barely affected by the poison. Sam quickly realized that she’d awoken a grizzly. She began to run, but he grabbed her by the hair and drove her back to her knees. He then dragged Cam to her side by the hood of his sweatshirt.

  He looked at Cam, almost daring him to make a move. “She’s going to die, Camelot. That’s just a fact of nature. But you still have a chance to live.”

  “I told you—I don’t know anything.”

  He laughed. “I can’t believe your mother wasted all that money on sending you to law school. You’re facing the death penalty, and any lawyer worth his salt would know it’s time to cut a deal.”

  Cam looked skeptically at his father. “What kind of deal?”

  Chapter 85

  “You will walk out of these woods, and tell the world that Blake Fisher saved you from a crazed gunman in the woods. The dangerous man you tracked down to Sedona, believing he killed Tim O’Connell, and now his sister. You’re right, your mother would never forgive Jack Myles, but she would be indebted to Blake Fisher for saving her one remaining son.”

  This time Cam laughed. “You really think she won’t know it’s you? You can’t be serious?”

  “People see what they want to see, and I think your mother will want to believe you … and me. And even if she’s skeptical, I will be able to prove it beyond any doubt.”

  As crazy as this was, going along would accomplish the one thing they needed right now—buy time. He looked to Sam, who subtly nodded her approval. “Fine, so what do we do? Call the police?”

  “First things first,” he said, and extended the gun in his direction.

  Cam looked at him with confusion.

  “First, you need to prove your loyalty. That way I can be confident that you won’t go back on your word.”

  He now understood what he meant, and felt sick. He wanted him to be the one to kill Sam. Her face suddenly didn’t look so approving of the deal.

  “For all your tough talk, you’re nothing but a coward.”

  “Watch your mouth, son.”

  “You’re the one who can’t go through with it—that’s why you have others do your dirty work for you. Geoff, my grandfather … you didn’t have the balls!”

  But Cam knew that wasn’t true. He had no problem murdering Tim O’Connell in cold blood, or blowing up Anna’s building. Crazy, yes, afraid to pull the trigger, no.

  Except when the targets were those directly connected to his mother. The ones she wouldn’t be forgiving of. He had to disassociate himself from those, because the sick bastard still believed that they could have a happy ending together. Cam would take his chances that he wasn’t willing to kill Katie Barrett’s firstborn, effectively ending his quest.

  He walked to his father as if he was going to accept the gun. But when they got face to face, he spit in his eye. “I’m not a killer like you.”

  He hit a nerve. And that nerve reacted by driving Cam to his knees, right next to Sam.

  “I gave you the opportunity to live, Camelot. What else can a father do for his child?”

  The tears began streaming down Sam’s face like a waterfall.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Cam softly told her.

  She gave him a ‘you can’t be serious’ look.

  “Have I ever lied to you?”

  “You just met me like two days ago. And McDonald’s really isn’t the best restaurant in Sedona, so technically yes.”

  “We’re going to get out of here alive, and when we do, I promise to fly you to Paris for dinner to make up for it. Deal?”

  She looked deep in his eyes, and surprised him with her resolve. “I trust you, Cam.”

  “I wouldn’t bother making those reservations,” his father said coldly, and placed the tip of his gun right between her eyes.

  He held the gun confidently on her face, from the front, as if proving the manhood that Cam questioned. “Any last words, before I send you to see your brother?” he taunted.

  “Just leave Milla alone, that’s all I ask … please!”

  “Milla?” Cam and his father both asked her in unison.

  Sam continued sobbing. “She’s my daughter—she’s only two years old and has nothing to do with this. Do whatever you want to me, but please leave Milla alone!”

  “How come you didn’t tell me?” Cam instinctively asked.

  “Would you really have let me come if I did?”

  “Probably not.” And wished more than anything that he hadn’t.

  “I just hope she’s okay,” she said between sobs. “I called Anna, hoping that Henson would get her into protective custody, but I have no way to reach her, so I can’t be sure.”

  Once more, his father released an arrogant laugh. “If you’re counting on Henson, I wouldn’t be very confident.” Then something seemed to compute in his mind, causing him to take pause. “Hold on, what do you mean you called Anna? Anna is dead.”

  “It’s a different Anna—one of Henson’s assistants,” she attempted a lie, and not a very good one.

  “That better be true, or I will have to have a meeting with Milla and explain to her that her mother was a liar.”

  When it came to her daughter, Sam was a pushover. “Fine—Anna is alive. She wasn’t home during the explosion.”

  “She’s with Henson, and they’re on their way here. So you better get this over with, and get out of here, or you’re going to end up in the gas chamber,” Cam shouted as loud as he could, hoping for the one in a zillion chance that someone could hear him. A random hiker—a pack of coyotes—anything. “Don’t say I never gave you a chance, Dad.”

  He laughed again. “Th
e one guarantee in life is if the Jack Hammer is present, then Lee Henson is nowhere near.”

  He raised his gun, and despite his earlier confidence, Cam was convinced he was about to pull the trigger.

  A sudden sound of footsteps caused his father to turn. And it wasn’t a hiker, or coyotes. Entering the desolate area with gun drawn was Lee Henson, escorted by what seemed like half the Arizona state police. As if he heard his name.

  “Not this time, Myles, drop your weapon,” his words echoed.

  “The only one named Myles here is Cam Myles,” he responded.

  “Put down the weapon, Myles!”

  In a flash, he bent over and dropped his 44-Magnum to the ground. He acted like he’d been preparing for this moment. He put his hands straight in the air and announced, “My name is Blake Fisher, I live at Sandpiper Road here in Sedona, and the permit for the gun is in my truck. These people called me due to car trouble, then they threatened me.”

  Cam was surprised by the submissive response. A gunfight would have been more predictable from Mr. Killer Instinct. But instead, he chose a surprising strategy of passive retreat.

  Henson nodded a signal for the officers to cuff him. “So Blake Fisher is the name you’re going by these days, Jack? I get very confused. First you were Kushka, then you were Myles, followed by Stepania, then Kushka again … and now Fisher. How do you keep them straight? I can barely remember what I had for breakfast.”

  “I demand to know what I am being charged with.”

  Henson played along, with a smile decades in the making. “Mr. Fisher, I’m Federal Agent Lee Henson and you have the right to remain silent …”

  Henson read through the rest of his rights and then almost cheerfully described the offenses they were charging him with. He started with espionage and spying, then read through a laundry list of murders starting with a US Senator named Barrett and ending with a used car salesman in New Mexico named Eggert.

  One specific offense caught Cam’s attention. It was for abandonment of a family. It was small potatoes compared to the others, but it affected Cam as much as any.

  His father remained quiet throughout. Henson was close enough that he could have licked his face. It was like he wanted a good look at the man who avoided him for so long. “Do you understand your rights as I read them?”

  He said he did, and Cam got the idea that everything he did or said since they came in contact was well understood and thought out. He was then placed in the back of a police car. Not the fireworks ending that would be expected from this decades-long battle. But Cam got the idea that it wasn’t the end, and by the look on his father’s face, it seemed he thought the same.

  Henson approached Cam, who was embracing Sam. “Are you two okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Cam said.

  “If you ever pull a stunt like that again you are not going to be as happy to see me. But I’m the good cop … wait until I hand you over to your mother.”

  Cam knew he was forever in Henson’s debt, not a place he wanted to be, but better than being in an unmarked grave on Schnebly Hill.

  “Thank you for saving our lives, Agent Henson,” Sam said, and meaning every word.

  “The person you should be thanking is Anna—her smart thinking is what sent me here.”

  Henson escorted them to the state police cruiser he’d traveled here in. On the walk, Sam turned to Cam. “You kept your promise.” She smiled a smile that made his heart melt. “Guess I should brush up on my French.”

  “I only promised that because I thought we were going to die,” he replied, grinning. “I was under duress … it would never hold up in court.”

  “A deal is a deal.”

  “I can always have him arrested for kidnapping,” said an eavesdropping Henson. Sam seemed to be mulling it over.

  Cam watched from the back of the vehicle as his father was driven away. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the heavy weight on his shoulders. He turned to Sam. “I was hoping that it wasn’t him, but I guess it is true, our heroes do always let us down. I’m sorry.”

  She looked back at him. “Sometimes they come through.”

  They morphed into silence as they were driven back down the canyon.

  “So you’re a mom,” Cam finally said, breaking the torturous quiet.

  “Yes I am,” she said hesitantly, gauging his reaction.

  “Milla is a really pretty name.”

  Just the mention of her made Sam light up. “You better like it.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because her full name is Camilla. I named her after my childhood hero … Cam Myles.”

  Chapter 86

  The May temperatures were scorching, but still couldn’t match the heat inside the Phoenix Federal Courthouse overlooking Patriots Square.

  It was a sellout crowd for the initial hearing of Blake Fisher, two days following the arrest of the obscure Arizona auto mechanic, which made worldwide headlines. If they could have sold seats it would have been a hotter ticket than the Super Bowl.

  The crowd was predominantly a mixture of a skeptical media, and half the population of Sedona, which had come to support their hero. This came as quite a surprise to Cam. They were less than 48-hours removed from his father admitting his crimes to him and Sam, and then being caught red-handed holding them at gunpoint by a former FBI agent. It seemed like an open and shut case.

  But Fisher’s lawyer, Barney Cook, claimed that his client had been lured by a phone call from Cam Myles, which was on record—and that he and Sam O’Connell were the aggressors. Cam, vulnerable following his brother’s death, had been convinced that his father was alive. According to Cook, this occurred during a recent meeting in New York with Lee Henson, whom Cook portrayed as a rogue vigilante who was obsessed with the thought that Jack Myles was alive. So much so, that he was willing to go to any length to push his agenda, including the mind boggling idea that Myles was living as an auto mechanic in Arizona. Cam had to admit—it did seem farfetched.

  Salvino, who would represent the government in their case, had explained to Cam and his family that proving Fisher was Myles was only half the job—they would still have to convince a jury that he committed the atrocities he was being charged with. Toss in the overwhelming public opinion against them, and a lingering and protective worship of the legacy of Jack Myles—the media was already referring to them as “attention-seeking ghost chasers”—and the case was about as appealing as their climb up Schnebly Hill.

  As they waited for the circus to begin, Salvino wiped a river of sweat from his brow. “How can they not have air conditioning in this place? It’s like a thousand degrees in here.”

  Cam sat next to him at the prosecution table, which was about as close as he would ever come to putting his law degree to work. “They say it’s a dry heat.”

  “So is thermonuclear war,” Salvino said back, and began fanning himself with a legal pad.

  Cam’s attention moved to those seated in the front row. Despite the heat, all were dressed in funeral black, which might have been appropriate. His mother sat next to Irina Kushka, making for an interesting dynamic. Sam was on the other side of his mother, seated beside Anna.

  They were outnumbered by the many Blake Fisher supporters, including his girlfriend, Jineane Hill. She was a hefty, style-challenged woman. Cam had seen her last night on the news, where she made a passionate case for Blake Fisher’s innocence. Next to Jineane sat a boy, perhaps eleven or twelve. Cam could tell it was her son by the way they argued. And wondered if he was another in a long line of half-brothers and sisters he’d never known existed. George, the amiable man they met in the McDonald’s, was seated on her other side. He flashed Cam a look of disappointment. Cam agreed with the sentiment, but for different reasons—this whole thing was beyond disappointing.

  As the delay continued, the tension in the courtroom ratcheted up. Cam felt like he was listening to the pulse of the room through a huge stethoscope, where he could
feel every whisper and heart palpitation. Part of him wanted to make a dash toward the open window and leap out, hoping it would take him back to the time before all of this began. Take him to one of those summer days on the beach in Fairfield, playing in the sand with Geoff, while his mother watched over them from a distance.

  Salvino must have noticed his sudden urge to leap, and patted him on his shoulder. “Well, I guess this will be good practice for your baseball return—playing on the road in front of a hostile crowd. Do you think I’ll get booed when I make my opening statement?”

  “I just wish the game would start.”

  Salvino adjusted his suit coat, and looked at his watch. “They’re probably just seeing if they’ve got enough straightjackets to take us away in.”

  The small dash of humor broke the tension, but it wouldn’t last long. Seconds later, The Honorable Luis Rivera entered his normally bland courtroom. He looked as surprised as anybody by the hoopla awaiting him.

  The judge calmly explained that they were here for the preliminary hearing of Blake Fisher, and warned the media against any use of phones and cameras in his courtroom. And then just like that, he asked for the accused to enter.

  A side door opened and a strapping man in a prison-issue orange jumpsuit was led before the judge. A collective gasp could be heard throughout the room.

  But the grand entrance had little affect on Cam. He had seen him up close and personal, just days before, with gun to the head. Nothing could compare to that type of shock value. Part of him still wondered if his father would have pulled that trigger. But he knew how foolhardy it was to play the ‘what-if’ game. You couldn’t turn back time. And if Cam had the ability to roll back the clock, he would have gone back far beyond that day in Sedona.

  Cam glanced at Sam, who looked more angry than scared—the pissed off sister. The normally golden-tempered Anna also looked more ready for fight than flight. By all accounts, she didn’t have a mean bone in her body, but she really looked like she wanted to break every mean one in her father’s body.