The Jack Hammer

by Derek Ciccone

  He agreed, joking that he’d have his people call her people. He didn’t even want to ask where she was headed to—probably some prince was flying her to Monte Carlo for breakfast. She strutted away toward her friend Tatiana, who was standing by a limo, and looking annoyed by Natasha’s detour.

  Ten minutes later, the cavalry arrived. Sam, dressed more for a ski trip than a baseball game, in a parka and winter hat—whoever thought it got this cold in California?—met him with a big hug and smile. “I see my batting tips are finally starting to pay off.”

  Milla, just turned four, and proudly wearing a Cam Myles Giants jersey, greeted him by slapping him five. “Let’s go, Cam! Let’s go, Cam!” she mimicked the chants of the crowd when he got his big hit.

  Salvino was not far behind, moving much quicker now that he was thirty pounds lighter. He scooped the little girl up into his arms.

  “Who do you think you are? My client just doesn’t give away his autograph for free these days,” he said with a big grin.

  “I’m Milla,” she exuberantly stated, as if anyone could forget.

  “Well, Cam is gonna be a Milla-ionaire if he keeps hitting like he did tonight. So be really nice to him, and maybe he’ll buy you an ice cream.” She seemed to like the idea.

  He set the girl down and looked at his Cam. “Is that a cash register I hear?” he said, cupping his ear.

  He had a stake in his success now that he was his agent. After losing his final case—although, most observers thought it was one of the most brilliant jobs any prosecutor had ever done, considering the odds against in the trial of the Jack Hammer—he decided to switch gears, and start using his law degree for something he was truly passionate about. So he became a certified baseball agent, with his first client being Camelot Myles.

  Like Cam, baseball was in Salvino’s DNA. The thing about putting the bad guys away for a living, was that you never let go of the ones who got away. And like Henson, the Jack Myles case would gnaw at Salvino for the rest of his life. In baseball, even the best players fail seven out of ten times—so you really learn how to savor the good times.

  His first hire was a recent law school grad who had a similar love for the game named Samantha O’Connell. He gave her an opportunity to start on the ground floor and work her way up, and she took it and ran with it.

  “So which steakhouse will I be taking you to dinner at? Alfred’s?” Cam asked with a smile.

  Salvino extended his arms over his head and yawned.

  “Are we keeping you up?”

  “These cross-country flights are really wiping me out. I think I’m just going to head back to the hotel and call it a night.”

  Cam couldn’t hide his surprise. “Really?”

  He smiled. “Well, not really. But I am thinking about opening a San Francisco office for Salvino and Associates to help service my west coast clients. That way we could cut down on the travel. I think Sam could be the one to run it.”

  Cam looked at her, and they held a stare for what seemed like a minute. “You would really leave New York?”

  “I went on a trip out west last year, and it really opened my eyes to this part of the country. I think it’s time for new beginnings.”

  Following the trial, everything happened so fast, and before he knew it, Cam was in Scottsdale, Arizona of all places, for spring training with the Giants. The offer from the Giants was clearly the best one, not only from the standpoint of money and opportunity, but it would also allow him to move to the west coast, where he could begin to carve out his own identity without the past hanging over him.

  He did seriously consider a couple of teams from back east, his heart tugging him to stay close to home. He claimed it was because he didn’t want to be too far from his mother in this tough time for her, but he knew the real reason had more to do with a redheaded girl with a genuine smile. But it wasn’t like she was even his girlfriend, and she had her hands full with school and Milla. So in the end, he made the prudent choice to go to San Francisco.

  But things took an unexpected surprise when Sam joined Salvino’s team, and he would send her out west for monthly meetings with his only client. The meetings always ended with “business” dinners where they talked about everything and anything but business, deep into the night. He was always sad to see her go, but he could tell she was antsy to get back to Milla. He still owed her that dinner in Paris, and she planned on holding him to it, now that the season was over. Usually decisions made with a gun to your head don’t work out for the best, but Cam thought that one might be different.

  Cam looked to Salvino. “You do know that I’m your only west coast client, right?”

  “Hey—Jerry Maguire only had one client, and look how that turned out,” he said with a grin, proud of his matchmaking abilities.

  “And by west coast office, he doesn’t exactly mean premiere office space downtown. I’ll be working from the apartment that I’m going to share with Anna—did you hear that she got accepted to the Stanford School of Medicine?”

  Cam had seen Anna last week during the games in New York, but in her typical humbleness she failed to mention it, only interested in talking about his baseball games. He did have his usual communication with her after the game tonight. Whenever he’d go to a new city during the season, Cam would make a trip to the pitching mound, long after the game, with nobody around, and sprinkle some of Teo’s ashes on the mound. He would then send Anna a brief video he’d taken of it with his phone, so she could be part of the ceremony. It might sound macabre to some, but it made Anna believe that Teo had finally reached his version of heaven. And tonight he sprinkled the last remains, so that Teo got to pitch in the World Series, his dream.

  It saddened Cam every time he thought of Teo’s baseball career being cut short. He could have been one of the greats. While it might seem inconsequential mourning something trivial like baseball when he lost his life, Cam had seen how a ballplayer like his father could affect people, inspire them, cause them to come up to his son years later to recall a memory. People no longer came up to Cam to discuss the great Jack Myles, and he thought the world was lesser for it.

  But it couldn’t take away from the perfection of this current moment. There was only one thing missing. “Where’s my mother?”

  Cam never asked her about when she’d learned of his father being alive. It didn’t matter. All he knew was that she would do anything to protect her children, and that’s what she did. That's what parents are supposed to do.

  Salvino shrugged. “She said she had to catch a flight. Something about finishing a story she'd been working on.”

  Still running after all these years, Cam thought with a shake of the head.

  Chapter 92

  Blake Fisher ordered another round of drinks for himself and George.

  They had been at Maxwell’s since the World Series game began at five p.m. It should have been his crowning moment. How many fathers have sons who hit a dramatic home run in the World Series? But instead of pride, he felt loss. It was as if his son, the one that most resembled him physically, was a living, breathing reminder of what he was forced to miss out on in his own life—playing on the world’s biggest stage. And when the camera focused on Katie in the crowd, wildly cheering, he felt a wave of depression come over him.

  It was at that point that he realized that his dream of returning to the top of the mountain had passed him by. The headlines following the verdict declared him a “Free Man.” But nothing could be further from the truth.

  He remained trapped as Blake Fisher—auto mechanic and youth baseball coach from Sedona, Arizona. The one positive was that he no longer had to maintain his charade with Jineane. But he remained close with Trent, and the boy would often crash at his apartment to cool off after another fight with his mother.

  The bartender set the drinks in front of Blake and he dropped a couple of dollars in his tip cup. The look he received didn’t contain the reverence that Blake Fisher once garnered in Sedona, and he coul
d hear the distrustful whispers as he walked down the street. But for the most part, the community had his back, which is why he decided to finally plant roots. Sooner or later, all great athletes have to stop running.

  As he gathered the drinks, a young woman approached him. She wore a low cut black dress with spaghetti straps, so tight it looked like she could burst out of it at any moment.

  Blake had spotted her earlier, and was shocked how young she looked up close. He doubted she was of drinking age. Her long, straight blonde hair that fell to the middle of her back, reminded him of how Katie wore hers when they first met. And her legs were long, fresh, and young … just the way he liked them.

  “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you, but aren’t you that Blake Fisher guy?”

  He was always wary of those trying to set him up since the trial. “Who wants to know?”

  She ordered a gin and tonic. Blake motioned to the bartender that he’d pay for it.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not a groupie or anything like that, I just wanted to tell you I thought you got a bum deal.”

  Blake gave the girl his most deadly pickup smile. She grinned right back at him, and it seemed to be love at first sight. Or more likely, two lonely people at last call. And the groupie comment wasn’t off base. He had developed a certain following since his trial—one that he’d taken advantage of on many occasions. Woman coming from all parts of the country to take a shot at the sexy auto mechanic who may or may not have also been a spy. The bad boy never went out of style.

  “Gin and tonic—sounds like my kind of girl. Although, you seem a little young for that type of drink. I’m not sure you can handle it.”

  “You seem like you like them a little young.”

  He loved the game, especially since he never lost. “So what are you doing here? Maxwell’s isn’t exactly the usual hangout of hot young girls like yourself.”

  “My boyfriend and I drove up here from Scottsdale for our anniversary. He was acting like a total asshole, so I ditched him.”

  “That boyfriend of yours isn’t too smart,” he flirted right back and lit up a cigarette.

  The girl pulled out a cigarette of her own and grabbed his right out of his mouth. She used the lit end as a lighter. “I’m just looking for some fun. To make me forget.”

  “Maxwell’s is much better for forgetting than for fun.”

  She reached out and slowly ran her fingertips down his chest to his abs. “I have a feeling that neither of us are going to forget tonight.”

  The Shania Twain song “Still the One” blasted out over the jukebox. “So are you going to ask me to dance or what?” she said.

  He took her hand and led her to the dance floor. He looked over at George and grinned. George shook his head in disapproval. Always the worrywart.

  They immediately got as close as they could to each other. She moved her hands to the back of his jeans. He reached under her short skirt, and wondered what the younger generation had against underwear ... not that he was complaining.

  “I can’t believe they were going to put a hot guy like you in jail. It’s bad enough all the good ones are either married or gay,” she breathily whispered in his ear as he nuzzled on her neck. “What do you say we get out of here?”

  He didn’t need to be asked twice. “My place is five minutes away.”

  “I got a better idea. I have my boyfriend’s car outside; I took it from him when I ditched him. Last time he took me here, we found this quiet place up by Schnebly Hill. I liked how I could scream at the top of my lungs, and nobody could hear me. Do you want to hear me scream?”

  “I know every inch of the canyon. I’ll find you.”

  She ran her hand up his thighs as they kissed. She abruptly pulled away and started toward the exit … but not before turning to flash him one last flirtatious smile.

  Blake moved back to George, finally bringing the drink order he sought before he got sidetracked. He greeted his friend with the grin of a man who was about to get laid.

  “Be careful, Blake. She’s young. This one could be jail bait.”

  “She’s definitely eighteen, George. You worry too much.” He set the two drinks down on the table. “And it’s your lucky night, because you’re getting an extra free drink on me.”

  “It’s just that they watch you very close these days. I worry that they’re trying to set you up. How can you be sure she’s eighteen?”

  “I got a pretty close look at her, George,” he said and laughed. “Besides, the only person I worry about setting me up is Jineane, and if I go to jail she has no paycheck, which means her kid doesn’t eat.” He laughed again, took a last swig of his drink, and staggered to his feet.

  George remained concerned. “Just please be careful, Blake.”

  “Driving or with the girl?” he asked as he moved toward the door.

  “Both,” George yelled to him.

  Blake reached the door and turned back. “Don’t wait up for me, George … and you worry too much!”

  The Jack Hammer drove his truck up Oak Creek Canyon—even at night with a slew of drinks in him, he was able to maneuver masterfully. He shut his lights—he’d made this trip so many times he could do it in the dark. He saw her boyfriend’s Cherokee right where he thought it would be, and smiled.

  He stumbled out of the truck. It was pitch dark and only a dim moon lit the landscape. Even in the darkness, he saw the female figure approach him.

  When he got close enough, his horny smile changed to a look of surprise. “Hey you’re not … what are you doing here?”

  ****

  The gun was already drawn. The first shot ripped through his heart and killed him instantly. But this was personal and the rest of the chamber was emptied into his lifeless body as it crashed to the ground.

  Like the first time he died, there would be numerous investigations, rumor and innuendo. There was no lack of motive. Was it connected to the Jack Myles case? Was it an angry husband of one of the many women he’d bedded in this very canyon? Some old friends from the KGB who thought he knew too much?

  There would be no real suspects, trial, or justice. It would be one of those great mysteries that over time became a myth mixed with more rumors than facts. The mysterious woman from the bar was never identified. A long blonde wig was found in the canyon, along with a black dress. Only a vague description of her came from a couple of patrons at Maxwell’s who thought she used the name Tanya, or something close to that. But their level of inebriation added to their lack of credibility.

  All the usual suspects were interviewed from Jineane Hill to Katie Barrett to Cam Myles, with all being exonerated. Irina Kushka had an airtight alibi, as did Lee Henson. It would end up in the unsolved file.

  But wherever the Jack Hammer landed, and whether he was looking up or down, he was surely grinning.

  He always knew Natasha had the killer instinct.

  _______________________________________________________

  Thank you so much for reading the Jack Hammer!

  Reviews appreciated:

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  Email: derekbkclb@yahoo.com

  Also by Derek Ciccone:

  Painless

  The Heritage Paper

  Officer Jones

  The Truant Officer

  The Trials of Max Q

  Kristmas Collins

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks once again to the best book-making team going. Charlotte Brown for another great editing job, and for continuing to make my books a top priority. It’s hard to find an editor who cares about the book as much as the author, so I consider myself lucky. To Damon at Damonza for a standout cover that really captured the story. For the proofreaders, who truly prove that the details make the difference, especially Sandra Simpson. And last but never least, Curt Ciccone, for his formatting expertise.

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