About a year earlier, Jack's wife Christina to whom he had been married for seventeen years and their only child, a lovely fifteen-year-old beauty named Samantha died in a tragic automobile accident. Prior to the accident, Jack had been attending Gamblers Anonymous meetings regularly, trying to get his head straight and was doing quite well at fighting his addiction. He always wore his wedding ring proudly, affirming a new commitment to staying away from gambling of any type and rededicating himself to his wife and daughter. His ring became more than just a symbol of his love and his marriage; it became a talisman, and a source of strength, which he used to battle the war raging daily inside of him.
However, once his loving wife and daughter were taken from him, he fell into an uncontrollable downward spiral of drinking, followed by reckless gambling. He still treasured the ring, what it symbolized for him, and always would. But it no longer seemed to hold any of its original power, real or imagined, to help him fight his inner demons. The accident left him a broken, empty husk of a man and killed any desire to refrain from acting on his impulses. Jack fell off the gambling wagon in a big way and headed full speed down the road to self-destruction. Before long, he was over fifty thousand dollars in debt to Emerson Washburn.
Washburn was a large and powerful man who had come to Camden as a young man without a penny to his name. Washburn had scraped and clawed his way up from the streets to a position of power in local New Jersey back-alley gambling activities. Rumor had it that Washburn was also into extortion, prostitution, pornography, drugs and other such vices. He made a very lucrative living with his small, close-knit group of thugs and yet still managed somehow to operate below the radar of the police as well as the major New Jersey crime syndicates.
Washburn understood his own limitations and always made sure not to step on the wrong toes or to allow his business to grow bigger than it absolutely needed to be. The bad thing about this philosophy was it kept him from making a lot more money. However, the good thing about it was his low-key operation permitted him to not be of interest to the police, which in turn kept him out of jail; or the mob, which kept him alive. Although many people in the business knew and feared Washburn, he understood and accepted his place in the pecking order of the New Jersey crime families and prided himself on knowing how to make a lot of money while still keeping a low profile.
He occasionally did a favor for and when necessary, paid fees to competing crime syndicates, just to kept them all happy and off his back. A shrewd businessman, Washburn understood he had to keep his ego and greed in check and never cross the syndicate bosses. This was because no matter how powerful he thought he might be, they could easily crush him like an insect in a heartbeat, and they would not hesitate to do so.
Another negative aspect of running such a limited size operation was he had to do some of the muscle work himself. This was not to suggest Washburn didn't enjoy doing that sort of thing, but it did take him away from the more important duties of running his enterprises. As a result, he always had a few of his crew who specialized in doing whatever was necessary to convince anyone who was late with a payment how important it was to not keep Mr. Washburn waiting for his money.
However, whenever someone was in debt to the tune of say fifty thousand or more as Jack Moran had been, Washburn often found it critical that he take care of such situations personally. It was a matter of his need to command respect; and not just the respect of the person who might be behind in his payment, but also the respect of his crew. Washburn wanted his boys to know he was not opposed to getting his own hands dirty. Washburn did not like asking someone to do something he would not be willing to do himself.
That was how one night, almost thirteen years earlier, Jack Moran had been brought before him, bleeding and beaten, pleading for his life, swearing on the departed souls of his wife and daughter he would find a way to pay Washburn back and would do so quickly. Washburn had no desire to kill the man, since it was impossible to get money from a corpse. Likewise, he knew crippling the man would hinder his ability to earn a living and pay back the debt as well. However, he did think the insolent actions of this Jack Moran could not be ignored and the man needed to be taught a lesson.
His boys has roughed the man up a bit, and Jack had been crying and pleading for another chance, but Washburn felt something more meaningful was needed to drive home the fact that he would not tolerate any more impudent actions on the man’s part. When the word spread on the street, it would also serve to remind others of what would most definitely happen to them, should they likewise cross Emerson Washburn.
That was when Washburn decided what action he would take. So with two of his goons holding Jack down, with the man's hand positioned flat on a table top; Washburn pulled out a short tin shear and without showing the slightest bit of emotion he methodically cut off Jack's ring finger, ring and all.
Jack screamed in agony as his blood pooled onto the top of the table, pumping and spurting from the severed stump in perfect rhythm with his now racing heartbeat. Washburn nodded to one of his henchmen; one of the two remaining men who were not busy holding Jack down, and the man secured a gag tightly across Jack’s mouth, muffling his screams. Tears streamed from Jack's eyes as he moaned uncontrollably beneath the gag.
Washburn backhanded Jack across the face and the shock of the blow brought Jack back from his world of pain to the reality of his current potentially fatal situation. He realized he could very well die within the next few minutes depending entirely upon Washburn’s mood. Jack forced down his agony as he eyes blazed with a mixture of hatred and terror. Washburn sat quietly staring at Jack contemplating the direction his decision would take. After a few moments, Washburn held the bloody severed finger with the ring still in place, just a few inches from Jack's eyes and spoke.
“I know how much this ring means to you Jack, not to mention, I suppose, the finger it was attached to." The goons holding Jack began to chuckle until Washburn gave them a hard look and once again all sound ceased. "I know about the accident which took your wife and daughter, and I know what this ring symbolizes to you. I'm afraid it's obviously too late for the finger, but I may be willing to give you back your ring and spare your life.”
“I’ll tell you what I am going to do with you, Jack, my boy,” Washburn said. “You seem like a reasonable, level headed young man. I think perhaps I will give you one more opportunity to make restitution.”
Jack’s look of defiance disappeared, quickly replaced by one of hope, of acquiescence to whatever demand Washburn might make.
Washburn said, “I hope you realize what I am about to suggest to you is going to make my associate, Gino, over there quite angry, since he would like nothing better than to make you suffer long and hard. Isn't that right, Gino?" Washburn looked over Jack's shoulder toward a mountain of a man standing in the shadows. He had not been one of the men holding Jack down but a much bigger, more menacing figure. From his vantage point and because of the poor lighting in the room, Jack could not determine if the figure said was that of a man or if it were some sort of horrible inhuman creature. The shadowed figure said nothing but instead made an unintelligible grunting sound.
"You see, Jack," Washburn explained, "It's not that Gino is angry or upset with you as I am, or that he even cares about you in the slightest. He's simply one of those special individuals that enjoy hurting other people. He is very serious about his work and tends to become disappointed when I decide to take away one of his playthings such as you. But sadly, I'm afraid he will have to live with his disappointment for now and wait for another opportunity. And we all know when it comes to gambling addicts such as you; there will always be another opportunity. Your type always ends up right back here in the same exact predicament."
Washburn hesitated for a beat then said; "So then, let’s get down to business, Jack. I realize you are not really an experienced thief, but simply an out of control gambler and liar who has had a few bad breaks. But I think I've come up with a way for you to get
me the money you own me by tomorrow night and still manage to keep yourself alive in the process.” This made Jack look suspiciously at Washburn. He didn’t trust the large man as far as he could throw him, yet he was eager to learn about what he might have to do in order to survive this ordeal. He had no desire to even look back again at the huge man named Gino who was still hiding in the shadows, nor could he begin to imagine the idea of the man-monster actually torturing him to death.
“I am going to offer you one of two alternatives," Washburn said. "Either you can go out between now and twenty-four hours from now and do what I tell you to do to get me my money by tomorrow night or else I will hand you over to Gino. I realize it doesn’t sound like much of a choice, but unfortunately for you, Jack, it’s all I am offering. Either you get me my money or Gino gets you.”
Jack mumbled beneath his gag, and Washburn nodded his head to one of the henchman to remove the obstruction. Jack sobbed for a moment, took a deep hitching breath and asked. "But... but... what can I do? How... how... can I possibly... get that much money?"
Washburn said as if speaking to a child, "Now don't worry about that, Jack. I have a plan; it’s called armed robbery.”
"But...I...never robbed anyone before... I wouldn't even know... where to start," Jack said terrified.
"Well, Jack," Washburn countered, "lucky for you, Johnny and Santos here do.” Washburn indicated the two men who had been holding Jack. First, they are going to take you to get you hand stitched up Then they’ll take you to places we know have cash. They’ll give you a big unloaded gun and then you will just walk into the stores and rob them. Then you bring the money out to Johnny and Santos and move onto the next target. By the end of the night if the cops don’t catch you or you don’t get killed, you will have brought me more than enough money to pay me back. Then maybe you will get your precious ring back."
'But... but..." Jack tried to interject.
"No buts, Jack," Washburn warned. Then he signaled to the dark figure in the back of the room and the massive man-beast walked slowly to toward Jack. The hulking creature was beyond huge and was rippling with muscles. His enormous Neanderthal head was colossal with a low hanging hairy brow and deep-set dark eyes. His eyes appeared to be void of any emotion, what Jack thought of as “dead eyes”. The man's face was covered with scars and his nose was broken and twisted. He wore a tight black tee shirt and dark pants that did little to disguise his massive muscles.
"Now Jack, if you don't do what I say then Gino here is going to take you into the other room to get to know you better, and I would guess that after only a few minutes alone with Gino, you’ll be cursing your own mother for ever giving you life."
The huge ape-man's eyes began to sparkle with obvious pleasure at the thought of having Jack to himself as a sinister smile curled up on his thick simian lips. Jack was unable to come to grips with the idea that the monstrous creature looming before him was actually human. The term “sub-human” came to mind, but that didn’t feel quite right to him. Perhaps “non-human” or “other-than human” would be a more accurate way to describe the heinous man-beast. Whatever the man’s true nature, Jack understood no matter how much he might try to imagine the horror which would await him in that back room, he would never be able to come up with any image equal to that of the actual pain and agony he knew he would endure at the hands of this animal.
Jack quickly turned back to Washburn, unable to keep looking at the monster of a man. "Alright... I'll do it... I'll get you your money...but after I do what you ask...will you keep your word and let me go?"
Washburn looked at jack with such a fury that Jack began to wonder if perhaps the man would kill him immediately, himself instead of giving him another chance. "I always keep my word, Jack!" Washburn shouted angrily. "You should know that.”
Then Washburn seemed to visually push his anger aside as the dark cloud of fury left his face returning him to a calmer demeanor. He said with confidence, “And, Jack, we both know that even if you succeed and get me my money, it will only be a matter of time until you are in the same boat and will end up owing me again. When that day comes, Jack, maybe I will let Gino work on your remaining fingers or some other part of your body instead." Washburn looked deliberately down at the crotch of Jack’s pants.
Jack felt a cold chill run down his spine, as he recalled how the stump of his finger screamed with agony and throbbed unmercifully bringing with it the realization of just how true Washburn's words were. Even if somehow he managed to get himself out of that scrape, as long as he continued to stay in New Jersey and gamble the way he had been doing, he would once again find himself in debt to Washburn or someone just like him and once again be facing the consequences.
As Jack Moran stood in the dark kitchen of the now dead Emerson Washburn, looking down at the missing shadow, which was once his finger, he recalled the rest of that night and how he had dutifully done his best to rob the various businesses, which Washburn's goons had designated.
The first several attempts had all gone surprisingly well with little or no resistance; the menacing gun Jack was brandishing helped quite a bit with that aspect of the process. Everything had been going so smoothly, Jack believed he was well on the way to getting all of Washburn’s money in no time at all. In addition, whatever drugs the back-alley physician had given him for his pain, had not only numbed his aching hand, but it had also seemed to numb his emotions, removing all of his fear and anxiety. He actually felt very much at ease during each of the robberies, almost as if he were invincible.
That was until he got to the sixth target of the night, a convenience store, where everything suddenly went wrong. Jack recalled how while in the middle of the robbery he had been overpowered by an off-duty policeman as rotten luck would have it, who happened to be in the store at the time. Then Jack thought about the twelve long years of an original fifteen-year sentence he had spent in prison paying for his failed crime.
As one might suspect, Washburn's men had not come to his aid. They fled the scene at the first sign of trouble, which Jack assumed they had been instructed to do by their boss. For all Jack knew, the last store he was told to rob might have been one frequented by cops, and Washburn and his goons may have known it as well. Jack estimated by the time he was caught he had probably gotten most of Washburn’s money anyway. Maybe this was the sadistic Washburn's idea of a sick joke. Sure Washburn may have lost some of his money, but Jack was certain the man didn't care. He assumed the man got more pleasure out of knowing Jack would be rotting away in a prison cell than he ever would have ever gotten from the money alone.
That was what Jack Moran thought about every day while he was stuck in prison, fighting off rapists, perverts and psychos and simply hoping to stay alive for one day longer. Each day he thought of nothing but revenge and reclaiming his precious wedding ring. For all he knew, Washburn may have flushed his most treasured memento down the nearest toilet, but he didn’t believe so. He had a feeling Washburn would have kept it as some form of perverse leverage to hold over him, in the event they met again someday. Jack was certain Washburn knew their last encounter would not be able to go unanswered.
And now some twelve years later thanks to good behavior, crowded prison conditions and early release, Jack was standing in the kitchen of the Pennsylvania home of the man he despised with all of his heart and soul; the man he had sworn revenge against; the man who had apparently killed himself in a bathtub, several months earlier.
Jack put aside his thoughts of the past and tried to focus on the business at hand. He believed somewhere in the house the ring, his ring, was still hidden. Most would think such an idea preposterous. Why would a man of great wealth and power like Emerson Washburn keep a ring with virtually no monetary value? And if the ring was worth anything why would he have not sold it years ago? So then, the question became, would Washburn hold onto a worthless ring out of spite, just out of some twisted sentimental purpose or perhaps to remind him of the night he took it from Moran al
ong with his finger, his dignity and his freedom? Jack believed so. He also thought Washburn might be just vile enough to hold onto his memento for the past twelve long years. If the ring was still in the house, Jack would find it and he planned to search all night if necessary to do just that.
Being careful to keep the flashlight pointed downward, Jack switched it on and was startled when the dark kitchen was suddenly awash with extremely bright light. He would have dropped the thing to the kitchen floor had he not first passed his hand through the security wrist strap. Jack realized flashlights certainly had changed over the previous decade or so. He never expected to see such a bright illumination from such a small light. He quickly switched the light off once again, but not before he was able to get a quick glimpse of the large kitchen layout. He instinctively looked behind him to make sure no one was outside, but the coast was clear, as he knew it would be. The momentary flash of brightness had simply set off his already tense nerves.
With the brief glimpse he saw of the kitchen, Jack was able to determine the room was an extremely oversized country-style kitchen. There was a large table and eating area off to his left with six chairs surrounding it. The table had appeared to be a high-end expensive piece of furniture. The floor on which the table rested had looked to be some type of imported Italian tile, equally expensive he was certain. He had seen a brief image of a stainless-steel refrigerator and industrial grade stove, also off to his left as well but could not recall any particulars. All he could say was the area appeared to be immense. To his right he believed he had seen a long granite counter with a double-bowl sink halfway up its length, and a curtained double window above it. In front of the sink was a large island also with a granite top. Directly across the kitchen from where he stood, Jack had seen a door, which was somehow braced open, apparently leading to a darkened hallway. He could not believe the size of the kitchen and wondered just how much money Washburn had sunk into its renovation.
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