CHAPTER 4 BLACK JACK
1290 Words
Beneath the glittering skyline of Los Angeles, far from the glamour of Rodeo Drive and the bright lights of Hollywood, there existed another world, dark , coiled in the shadows, run not by fame or fortune, but by fear. This was the domain of the underworld,the air smelled of cigars, fine whiskey, and power, unfiltered, and unapologetic.
At the center of it all, seated on a throne-like chair carved from dark mahogany and crowned with dragon motifs, was the man they only referred to as The King. A man only few had seen, and even fewer had dared to cross.
His real name had long been erased from history. Whispers claimed he once ruled two continents with fear, that presidents knew his name but feared to speak it. Some called him Don, others simply K, but everyone in the underworld knew one truth,this man was not to be crossed.
Tonight, the mood in the chamber was thick with tension. His most trusted men, Kiro,Serena, and Malek,stood before him like students summoned before a ruthless headmaster. A single wrong answer could cost them their lives and that of their families.
The King sat motionless, clad in a charcoal suit tailored to perfection. Gold rings glinted on his fingers. His eyes, a piercing shade of steel gray, scanned his inner circle with the cool patience of a predator.
He raised a hand, ringed with an obsidian signet that bore the symbol of a raven holding a dagger.
“Speak,” he said simply, the word carrying the weight of thunder.
Kiro, a lean, wiry man with a jagged scar slicing through his right eyebrow, stepped forward. He swallowed hard. “We’ve scoured every known alley and digital trail. Black Jack is… gone.”
The King’s expression didn’t change. “Gone?” he repeated.
Malek, a hulking brute with tattoos curling around his bald skull, nodded solemnly. “Like a ghost, boss. He hasn’t used his old aliases. No offshore accounts accessed. No familiar contacts reached. No business deals. Not even a whisper in the darknet markets.”
The silence that followed was bone-deep.
Serena, the youngest and only woman,most cunning of the trio, with sharp green eyes and a voice like velvet laced with poison, stepped forward carefully. “We even checked the encrypted chatter from ShadowLoop and CrimsonWire. We traced every known safe house he’s ever used. Each one abandoned. Empty for years.”
The King tilted his head, thoughtful. He picked up a crystal glass of whiskey from the side table, swirled it slowly, then took a measured sip.
His gaze drifted past them, as if scanning time itself.
“Do you know why Jack mattered?” he asked suddenly, voice low and deliberate.
Kiro glanced sideways at Malek, unsure whether it was a trick question.
The King stood, the scrape of his chair legs against the polished black floor slicing the silence like a knife. He walked slowly toward the wall lined with portraits, men and women of the past, all leaders of the syndicate, all now dead.
“Black Jack…” he began, “He knew everything. Codes, assets,deals,business partners,shipment schedules. He knew my suppliers, my competitors, my enemies. He knew things I hadn’t even decided yet.”
“And if a man like that disappears,” he continued, “he either plans to rise… or burn everything to the ground.”
He turned slowly, facing them once more.
“If he’s vanished, he’s watching, waiting to strike.”
The trio stiffened.
“That’s what troubles me,” the King continued, voice a whisper now. “He never moves without purpose. He never cuts ties unless he’s preparing for war. He is up to something and it has been 10 years now, he is definitely planning something big.”
Malek spoke, voice laced with confusion and fear. “But he walked away himself”
“Walked away?” the King chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. “No one walks away from here Maleek.”
Serena said finally. “He’d either be dead… or hiding for a damn good reason.”
King tapped the edge of the table once. A quiet, deliberate motion.
“Dead men leave blood,” he murmured. “Jack left nothing.”
The room fell into another bout of silence. Tension rose like smoke.
Then, the King exhaled slowly and turned away from the portraits. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it chilled the room like arctic wind.
“Find him,” he said. “I don’t care what it takes. I want Jack found. Alive.”
Malek adjusted the cuff of his jacket nervously. “Boss, with respect… if Jack is this well-hidden, we may need to involve outside eyes. Ghost trackers, ex-agents, maybe even call in that Romanian hunter……..”
“No outsiders!” the King snapped, spinning around, his voice thunderous now. “This stays within the circle.”
Serena nodded solemnly. “Understood.”
“Besides,” the King added, “outsiders can’t be trusted, we don’t know who is in cahoot with him.”
He walked slowly to a heavy cabinet and pulled out a leather folder sealed with a blood-red wax stamp. With a flick of his finger, he broke the seal.
From within, he pulled an old, faded photograph, an image of Jack. Younger, sharper, but unmistakably him. Dressed in black, smirking at the camera, with a silver ring on his finger and fire in his eyes.
He stared at it for a moment, then placed it on the center table. “This man is a myth to them,” he said. “But to us… he’s unfinished business.”
Kiro’s jaw tightened. “We’ve pulled up his last known location: a shipping yard near the L.A. Harbor, ten years ago. After that, nothing. The CCTV footage from that night? Gone. Wiped clean.”
“And the bodies?” the King asked.
“Five dead,” Serena answered. “Two guards, three of ours. Silent shots, all head wounds. Classic Jack.”
The King nodded, then glanced toward the corner of the room where an elderly man stood, silent as a ghost. His name was Abram, a former warlord turned intelligence handler. Many didn’t know he was still alive, but the King kept him close for moments like this.
“Do you have anything to say Abram?” the King ordered.
The old man stepped forward, his cane tapping softly against the marble.
“Jack used to speak of redemption,” Abram said, his voice thin but sharp. “He said he wanted to right the wrongs, disappear, rebuild under a different name. He was tired of blood.”
The King’s brows furrowed. “Redemption?” he scoffed. “Wait, did you just say rebuild under a different name?” Abram nodded.
“Why are you just telling me this vital information? Why didn’t you say anything over the years?” King was furious.
“You never asked”
“But if he meant it,” Serena said, trying to ease the tension “maybe he created a new identity. Started over.”
Kiro shook his head. “We ran checks across every known alias, every ID in the Bureau’s ghost file. Came up empty.”
“Then look deeper,” the King said with finality. “Search every false identity until only the truth is left. He is definitely using a new identity.”
Suddenly, a phone rang, a sharp, urgent tone that echoed in the chamber. It came from Serena’s pocket. She stepped aside, answering swiftly.
“Yes?”
A voice buzzed through. Faint. Distorted.
“You’re looking for Jack,” it said.
Serena froze.
“Who is this?”
- Writer
