Prologue

In high school, they called me the Hammer. Not the biggest. Not the tallest. But built like steel. Defensive line. I hit hard. Never missed a tackle. Never broke a sweat. Girls wanted me. Coaches worshipped me. I owned those hallways. Pride was my currency, and I spent it everywhere. Always walking tall, swinging my dick like it meant something.

The name didn’t stick when I joined the force, but the mindset did. I hit the job like I hit the field. Head-on, no hesitation. Every day, it’s the same: pimps, pushers, two-bit killers. They see the badge. They see the gun. They see the look in my eye. They know the Hammer’s still swinging.

When they needed someone to work Benny Rosenthal, they called me. A low-level dope runner. Small fish flopping in a filthy pond. All we wanted was the name of the big supplier. One word from Benny, and the big dogs would light cigars and slap my back. My job was simple: make Benny talk. Simple doesn’t mean easy.

Benny’s a tough man to pin down. They call him the Ghost for good reason. No address, no routine, no favorite dive to stake out. He’s a shadow that moves where the light doesn’t reach. The crooks always know how to find him. We don’t.

For weeks, I worked the bars. Whispered his name to bouncers, barkeeps. Neon Jack’s. The Stagger Inn. Half a dozen dives too filthy to remember. No one knew Benny Rosenthal. No one could produce him.

It’s like he was smoke. Rumor said he burned every bridge in Grayson City. Too many enemies. Not enough friends. A ghost with no place to haunt.

The Hammer’s edge? He doesn’t wait for Benny to slip up. He makes Benny slip. Small-time or not, Benny’s got an itch. Product means cash, and cash is Benny’s religion. The play’s easy: drop word about a load of primo Colombian snow hitting the streets, big enough to make anyone’s head spin.

The streets do the rest. Rumors spread, tongues wag, and sooner or later, Benny hears the siren song. A haul like that? Too good for him to ignore. He’ll sniff around, maybe send someone to feel it out. But Benny? Benny loves cash. Big piles of it. More than his own mother. More than anything. Wave enough green under his nose, and he’ll crawl out of whatever hole he’s hiding in. Guys like him can’t resist the smell of a score. He’ll show, sooner or later. They always do.

All I have to do is sit back and wait for the fish to bite. And when he does, I’ll be there, hook in hand.

The sting was set in a spot no sane soul would step into without a gun or a prayer. An abandoned warehouse on the edge of Grayson City. A dead zone in a city that gave up on itself. Used to be a book depository back in the day. A final resting place for tattered encyclopedias, useless almanacs, and novels nobody gave a damn about. Now? The books are long gone. Just broken glass, rusted beams, and shadows that move when you’re not looking. Everything’s digital now. Who needs books when you’ve got a screen?

The air inside hung heavy, thick with dust and the stink of rot. Every creak and groan of the structure warned you that it had been left behind for a reason. A perfect place for a deal, or a double-cross. Benny wouldn’t resist. Guys like him never do.

I staked the place out five nights straight. Nothing. Benny was a no-show. But on the sixth night? Headlights cut through the dark. He drove past slow, twice, maybe three times, casing the joint. Making sure it wasn’t a setup. He was wrong, but he didn’t know it yet.

The way I operate? It’s just me. No backup, no squad waiting in the wings. If things went south, there’d be no cavalry galloping in to save the day. Hell, I didn’t even wear a wire. Too risky. Too obvious. This was my game, my rules. Benny didn’t know it yet, but the Hammer was about to drop.

I waited on the ground floor. Suitcases out. Spread out across an old desk. The coke was stacked. Looked legit. The precinct chipped in. Lent me a case of seized blow from a raid last month. Wasn’t the best shit, but pure enough to lull Benny Rosenthal out of hiding.

They told me to play the part. Take a bump if he got cagey. Make him believe. I don’t touch the junk. Never have. But for Benny? For the case? I’d fake it. A quick sniff. Enough to seal the deal. You do what you gotta do. Dirt sticks, but the job gets done.

Benny rolled in a few minutes after ditching his ride. Rocking an ugly brown trench coat that looked like it had seen better days. Topped it off with one of those detective hats straight out of an old movie. His eyes darted everywhere, sharp and twitchy, like a rat sniffing out a trap. “Is it just you?” he asked, his voice wound tight, ready to snap.

I let out a low laugh, took a slow drag off my cigarette. Calm, steady. “I’m an anxious guy,” I said, blowing smoke his way. “The name’s Hammer.” A solid cover. Simple. Benny liked simple.

“Benny,” he said. No last name, no frills. Just Benny. He stepped closer, eyes cutting through the room, darting at every shadow. Still twitchy. Paranoid. The kind of jittery that screams short shelf life in his line of work.

“You alone?” he asked again.

I nodded, flicked ash onto the floor. “Just me. Didn’t figure you’d like a crowd.”

He grunted, eyes on the suitcases. “That it?”

“Colombian. Pure. White Gold.” I tapped the nearest case. “Enough to buy you a seat at the big table.”

Benny smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re not lying to me, are you, Hammer?”

I leaned back, casual. “I don’t lie, Benny. It’s bad for business.”

“What’s your angle?” he asked, voice low, still eyeballing every shadow like it owed him money.

“Angle?” I played dumb, tapping another ash off my cigarette, keeping it cool.

“Yeah,” he said, taking another step closer, his eyes flicking from the suitcases to me. “You drag a couple of suitcases all the way to the city’s fringes and sit here unarmed, all by your lonesome. Usually, you fellas are packing serious heat.”

I let the question hang, took another drag, slow and easy. “Maybe I’m just confident,” I said, exhaling smoke into the stale air. “Or maybe I know that if anything happens to me, you won’t make it five feet out that door.”

Benny didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed. He was sizing me up, calculating risks, weighing his options. Guys like him always do. I didn’t blink. Let him stew in it. Sometimes the best weapon is silence.

“And I ain’t ever heard of the Hammer,” Benny said, sneering. “I know a lot of players in town.”

I shrugged, casual. “I ain’t a player,” I said, brushing ash off my lap. “I’m a businessman. The quiet kind.”

Benny’s eyes narrowed. “Businessman, huh? What kind of businessman shows up unarmed?”

I leaned back, nice and slow. Pulled the jacket just enough. Let the .45 catch the light. His eyes froze on it.

“The kind who lets his work speak for itself,” I said.

Benny didn’t smirk this time. He just nodded, once. Message received.

“How much you got?” Benny’s eyes stayed on the suitcases.

“Enough to make you rich,” I said. “You like Maui?”

“Never been. I stay continental.”

“Smart move,” I said, lighting a fresh smoke. “Planes go up. Planes come down. Too many ways to die.”

He grunted, still staring at the cases. His brain working overtime. Mine staying steady.

He took one more step toward me, his hand dipping into his pocket. My fingers brushed the grip of my .45.

“Relax, Hammer,” he said, pulling out a cellphone. “Mind if I make a call?”

“Not a fan of interference,” I told him, my tone flat.

He smirked, flipping the phone open. “Relax. Just checking your references. Hammer, huh?”

“The one and only,” I said, keeping my hand where it was.

“It ain’t short for anything?” he asked, his smirk widening.

“Yeah,” I said. “Short for you wasting my time.”

Benny fumbled with his phone, fingers stiff. He didn’t take his eyes off me. Not once. He brought it to his ear.

“It’s Benny,” he said after a beat. “I’m here. He calls himself Hammer.”

His gaze stayed locked, his head bobbing like the guy on the other end could see it. Fool move, but seems like something a guy like Benny would do.

“I don’t know,” he said into the phone. “He’s alone. Couple of suitcases with him. Says it’s ‘Colombian. Pure. White Gold.’ His words, not mine.”

After a few more seconds. He hung up the phone. “My people are willing to take a chance on you.”

I popped the suitcase open. A few bricks stacked neat, wrapped tight. Pure as a preacher’s lie.

“Care to sample?” I asked, my tone casual. “Best salesmen know their product inside and out.”

Benny’s eyes lit up, but his face stayed cold. He leaned in, ran a finger along the edge of a brick. “You always this generous?”

“Only with good customers,” I said, lighting another smoke. “You planning to be one?”

Benny moved in slow, eyes on the bricks, on me, on the room. He didn’t touch anything.

“You first,” he said, standing straight, arms crossed.

Smart. Benny had a brain. Not much, but enough. I pulled out a knife, sliced a corner off the wrap. Dabbed a little on my pinky.

“Fine by me,” I said, sniffing it like I’d done this a hundred times. He watched, face blank, wheels turning. Smart guy, Benny. But smart only keeps you alive so long.

The hit came fast. My pulse jumped, my eyes went wide. I hated it. I loved it. Everything felt sharp, electric. Rachel would blow her top if she knew. But Rachel wasn’t here, and Benny needed a believer. Tonight, that was me.

Benny grinned, another cautious step closer, finger reaching for the powder. Stupid move. My time to strike.

I grabbed his head and slammed it into the table. I heard a crack. Blood spraying. His nose? Maybe. Didn’t care. He howled, hands darting for his jacket. Reaching for his piece, no doubt.

I caught his arm, twisted hard. Fingers snapped. The first and second digits. Crack, like a twig. Then, I shoved him flat to the ground, drove my boot into his chest. He wheezed, sucking air. Eyes told the story. He saw the double cross coming. I think he knew the second he walked in. Just didn’t want to believe it. He screamed. I laughed. “Hammer’s rules now, Benny,” I said.

I lifted my foot, let him catch his breath. Crouched down, grabbed him with both hands, and hauled him up. Skinny guy. A buck thirty soaking wet. I shoved him against a wall, hard enough to make it rattle. Leaned in close. “You’re a slippery one, Benny. Hard to catch. But I told my people, if anyone can catch Benny Rosenthal, it’s the Hammer.”

Blood poured down his face, thick and steady, dripping from his nose and mouth. He spat at me, a wet glob hitting my cheek. I didn’t flinch, but inside, it burned.

He tried to speak. I cut him off with my knee, driving it into his balls. He let out a grunt, low and guttural, and crumpled in my grip. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over.

“I hate doing this, Benny,” I said, my voice calm, almost friendly. “But this? This is the only way I can get through to you. I want to work with you.”

“Police?” he croaked, spitting more blood.

I didn’t nod. Didn’t shake my head. “My bosses want to lock you up, Benny. Throw away the key. Me? I think you’ve got potential. A guy like you? Could be useful.”

He hesitated, his chest heaving, then let out a shout. “This is police brutality!”

I tossed him to the floor. Watched him curl up, clutching himself like a wounded animal. I crouched, reached into his jacket, and pulled his piece, a cheap little .38. I emptied the shells and tossed the gun out a broken window.

“We’re willing to offer you a deal,” I said. “If I were you, I’d take it.”

He looked up, tears streaking his bloody face. “Deal?” he whimpered.

“You work with us,” I said. “Give us names. Give us details. You won’t do any time. Free to do whatever it is that you do in your spare time. Within reason, of course.”

Benny sat there, bloodied and broken, thinking it over. “If I agree to this, they’ll know,” he said, his voice shaky. “I can’t walk out of here empty-handed.”

In one motion, I knocked a suitcase off the desk. Bricks of cocaine tumbled to the floor, landing next to him in a messy pile. “Take it all!” I screamed. “Sell it, snort it, shove it up your ass. Whatever you want. Call it a gift from the Grayson City Police Department.”

He stared at the drugs, then back at me. “And if I say no?”

I pulled my .45 from my pocket and fired a shot into the ceiling. The echo was deafening. Benny flinched, shrinking into himself, and I swear I saw a dark stain spreading across his pants. “Then the next bullet’s for you,” I said, cold and flat. “Signed, sealed, delivered.”

“If you don’t kill me,” he croaked, “They won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

They. The names I wanted. The people who really mattered. Benny Rosenthal was just the scum under my shoe.

I laughed, loud and sharp, then kicked him hard in the ribs. He yelped, folding over. “Benny, you’re already on borrowed time. What’s a little more risk at this point?”

"I got family!" Benny shouted, tears streaking through the blood on his face. "A sick mother, a sister who’s slow. If they find out, they’ll kill me. Who’s gonna take care of them?"

"Not my problem," I said. "You don’t cooperate, I book you. Trafficking charges. Enough blow here to bury you in a cell for life."

He wailed. Pathetic. Weak. But it hit something in me. A sliver of sympathy, buried deep under years of hard cases and harder choices. You deal with enough criminals, you start to remember, they’ve got their own mess. Family. Problems. Same as anyone.

But I couldn’t let him see it. Couldn’t let him smell weakness.

“Last chance, buckaroo,” I said, voice cold. “What’s it gonna be?”

He shook his head. Maybe muttered something like surrender. Hard to tell through the sobbing.

I crouched, popped open a second suitcase. Inside, next to the bricks, was a burner phone. I grabbed it and tossed it next to him. He lay there on the dirty cement, a heap of blood and sweat. “We’ll be in touch,” I said. “Don’t disappear. The Hammer always finds what he’s looking for. Next time, you won’t walk away.”

I took one last drag off my cigarette, flicked it near his face. The ember smoldered on the concrete, faint smoke curling into the stale air. “You’ll get a call tomorrow. You’d better answer,” I said, turning for the door. “If not, it’s your funeral.”

I walked away. Stopped at the door. Looked back. Benny hadn’t moved, still curled up on the ground like yesterday’s trash. I pulled my cellphone from my pocket and dialed Hodges. He picked up on the second ring.

“It’s done,” I said, and hung up. I didn’t stay on the line long enough to hear the congratulations.

I got to my car. Pulled a mini bottle of bourbon from the glovebox. Took a swig. Burned all the way down. Settled in my gut like fire.

I dialed Rachel. She picked up right away. She sounded concerned. “Jim, where are you? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Sorry, honey,” I said. “Hodges needed a favor. I’m on my way home.”

She didn’t answer right away, but I heard her sigh on the other end. Relief.

“When I get in,” I said, voice low, steady, “I want you waiting naked on the bed. Daddy’s hungry.”