Had Jack arrived a few minutes late, Roy would have been lying in a pool of his own blood. He could still recall the incident like it was yesterday. The violent scene of smashed ceramic washbasins, stall doors with holes in them, mirrored glass shattered and two men with multiple gunshot wounds in their back replayed in his mind.
However, it wasn’t their deaths that stood out so much as it was the look of shock when Roy watched the video after and the realization that his son was behind it dawned on him.
After that he became a different man. His instructions were clear, son or no son, he was to die. Roy was a hard man given to rules that weren’t to be broken — no exceptions. It was how he built a name for himself, rose through the ranks to make people fear him. Backing off because it was his flesh and blood wasn’t in the cards. It was all about sending a message to those on the streets.
Jack closed the camcorder’s LCD display and set it on a wooden table.
Angelo slowly nodded and chuckled. “You think killing me changes anything? It doesn’t. It won’t. If it’s not me, someone else will get to him.” He laughed again. “Maybe one day, Jack, it will be you.”
“Why?” Jack asked, unable to grasp how he would turn on his own father. He understood reaching for power, there were countless men who envied Roy’s position but they didn’t have a foot in the door, they weren’t his flesh and blood. Angelo had lived a lavish lifestyle, wanting for nothing, unlike Jack who had suffered at the hands of an abusive father and stepmother. Gafino had pulled him out of the city’s gutter, given him a place, a purpose and an identity. In Jack’s mind loyalty was the least he could offer in return.
“You’re asking me?” Angelo said. “Surely you can’t be that naïve.” Jack walked around him and stared. “Or maybe you can.” Angelo laughed and rocked his head back. “One day you’ll understand, Jack. One day.”
Freddy took the rag and jammed it back into Angelo’s mouth, and then Jack leaned forward, brought the knife to his chest and began to slice beside tattoos of an 8-ball and the Virgin Mary with a rose. Muffled cries dominated. His death wouldn’t be quick. Roy had made that clear. He wanted him to suffer.
Twenty minutes later, Freddy encased Angelo’s mangled feet in “cement shoes” — one bucket filled with thick slop that would rapidly solidify below the freezing cold surface of the New Jersey Harbor.
Jack crossed the room and returned with a bucket of bloodstained water and tossed it over his face. After removing his rag, Angelo gasped; his swollen eyes snapped partially open but he couldn’t summon the strength to lift his head.
“Take him out and toss him in the harbor.”
Louis and Freddy went either side and dragged his limp body away. The metal bucket scraped across the container’s floor, some of the liquid cement pouring out like gray breakfast oatmeal.
“Please, Jack. Don’t do this.”
Jack ignored his pleas and fished a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from his leather jacket and placed one between his lips. He then slipped into his jacket and shut the doors on the torture chamber. There were many places like this throughout New Jersey; he just never thought his closest friend would see the inside of his.
Outside, a cold September air blew against his skin, chilling him to the bone. Jack cupped a hand over the cigarette and lit a match. Smoke rose with his breath as the end glowed in the darkness. He flicked out the match and followed his two colleagues to the isolated dockland slip as they dragged him closer. Without hesitation they tossed him into the Elizabeth Channel.
“Jack!” Angelo’s final scream was drowned as he sank into a watery grave.
Chapter 1
Twenty-three years later
A warm band of summer light bathed Jack Winchester’s face in the guest room of John Dalton’s home in Los Angeles. He touched his neck where a scar reminded him of the violent past he’d left behind but could never forget. Rolling to his side, he pawed at his eyes before scooping back the covers and rising. He ambled over to the window and placed a hand against the frame, and looked out over the concrete jungle before checking his phone messages from Dana Grant. She’d encouraged the seven-day trip, as it had been a while since he’d caught up with his old friend. Dalton’s work at the Unified Rescue Mission on Skid Row along with Jack’s constant travel had kept them both busy. But that had all changed fourteen months ago, and for the better. With Dana back in his life, and a healthy amount of cash squirreled away from his time in San Francisco, he’d finally put roots down in Telluride, Colorado.
Seated on the edge of the bed, Jack turned at the sound of a rap on the door.
“Hey Jack, you decent?”
Jack grunted back a tired response.
Dalton poked his head in and noticed the scars on his back, left over from beatings and countless knife fights on the streets of New York. He rarely showed them but the reaction was always the same. Dalton hesitated then said, “Ah… breakfast is nearly ready.”
“Enough time to take a quick shower?” Jack asked.
Dalton nodded and ducked out. The aroma of eggs, bacon and toast carried on the air making his stomach grumble as he headed for the bathroom. While on vacation, he’d also assisted Dalton down at the mission, serving soup to
