JACK BULLET: THIRSTY FOR VENGEANCE: PART ONE

Last week, you met Jack Bullet.

This week, I'm posting the first part of his first story.

Shit's about to get crazy.

Oh, you want to know who Jack Bullet is? LET ME TELL YOU (you can just skip this part if you read it last week)!

WHO IS JACK BULLET?

JACK BULLET IS ONE BAD MOTHER. HE IS A MAN WITHOUT A GOD. HE IS A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY. HE IS A MAN WHO LIVES BY ONE RULE AND ONE RULE ONLY…

JUSTICE MUST PREVAIL.

JACK BULLET HAS THE BODY OF VIN DIESEL, THE SWAGGER OF IDRIS ELBA, THE SMIRK OF JASON STATHAM, AND 10 TIMES THE RAGE OF A SCREAMING SAMUEL L. JACKSON. HE DOES NOT PREFER HIS MARTINI TO BE SHAKEN OR STIRRED BECAUSE JACK BULLET KNOWS THAT CLEAR LIQUOR IS FOR BITCHES.

JACK BULLET MOVES WITH THE QUIET, LETHAL GRACE OF A JUNGLE CAT. HE FIGHTS WITH THE UNBRIDLED FURY OF A WILDFIRE. EVERY PUNCH HE THROWS LANDS ON ITS VICTIM WITH THE DEVASTATING FORCE OF A TSUNAMI.

JACK BULLET IS NOT A MAN TO CROSS. WHEN HE IS NOT KICKING ASS AND TAKING NAMES, HE IS FUCKING YOUR GIRLFRIEND. EVERY WOMAN THAT HE’S EVER BEEN WITH WOULD ARGUE THAT NO MATTER HOW MANY MEN THEY’VE HAD BEFORE HIM, THEY WERE VIRGINS UNTIL JACK BULLET.

AS FAR AS HUMANITY IS CONCERNED, JACK BULLET IS EVERY BIT AS DANGEROUS AND ESSENTIAL AS THE SUN.

JACK BULLET IS THE MAN.

STORY ONE: "THIRSTY FOR VENGEANCE"

PART ONE

“WHISKEY. NEAT.”

The bartender said, slamming a drink on the counter. She looked like Salma Hayak’s younger, bigger-titted sister.

“I didn’t order this.”

“Jack,” she said with a smile. “You didn’t have to. You order the same thing every time I see you.” She turned to the man sitting next to him.

“And for you?”

“I’ll have a rum and coke. Which is the same thing I order every time you see me.”

“Sure, hon.” She said, but her eyes were already fixed on Jack again. “You know, if you want anything else from me, all ya have to do is ask.” She winked.

“Smokin’ hot.” The man next to Jack said, casting an appreciative glance at the bartender as she walked away. The man’s name was Dragon McCool. He was a mountain of a man and he wore a leather jacket and an eye patch. “I can’t believe you hit that.”

Jack Bullet shrugged before taking a long sip of his drink.

“Bullet, you son of a bitch! If I wasn’t getting married next week, I’d be wasting a lot of time and a lot of money trying to get a woman like that to look at me, and here you are acting like it’s nothing. She’s a perfect ten!”

Jack grumbled. “I wouldn’t put her in my top ten.”

“If I didn’t know you so well, I’d call bullshit.”

Bullet and McCool had known each other for nearly twenty years. Both were specialized assassins. Both were deeply feared and respected. McCool worked for AMMO, a secret government agency. Bullet worked freelance. They’d met when AMMO hired Bullet to help McCool take down the leaders of a drug cartel in Mexico. They worked well together, and teamed up several more times over the years.

“Where the fuck’s that little cutie with my drink? She better not be expecting a tip. I don’t care how hot she is, this is straight-up bad service. She could show me her tits, I ain’t gonna tip her.”

Jack turned slightly in his direction, vaguely raising an eyebrow.

“Fine. Maybe. Maybe then I’d tip her.” He slapped his palm on the table. 

“Could I get some service over here? I’m gonna jump over the counter and make my own damn drink.”

“That won’t be necessary!” a woman’s voice shouted from across the bar. It was a different, considerably less attractive bartender. She rushed over to them, holding a tray with three drinks.

“Here’s your rum and coke! And here are two shots of top shelf tequila on the house as an apology for keepin’ you boys waiting.”

“How much for the rum and coke?” asked McCool.

“For a fine piece of man like you? It’s on me,” she leaned over, looking Dragon square in his good eye. “And if you play your cards right Sweet Thang, you could be, too.” She turned and walked away, ass shaking with every step.

“Figures that one would want me. Face like a rhino’s taint. Ass is nice though.”

It was true. She had a body any woman would kill for, with a face that would kill any boner.

“You’ve done worse, McCool.”

“No denying that. Best thing about marrying Tawny is I’ll never have to bone a butterface like Ol’ Sloppy Joe over there again.”

“You’re a lucky man.”

“No denying that either.” He raised his tequila glass “To Tawny, the future Mrs. Dragon McCool!”

Jack took a long sip of his whiskey.

“Bullet, what the fuck? Take a shot with me. Don’t disrespect my woman.”

“I’m not disrespecting your woman, I’m respecting myself by not drinking this shit. Tastes like piss.”

“Who cares, Asshole? A free drink’s a free drink.”

“Free piss is still piss.”

“Look at you. A goddamned connoisseur.”

Jack showed the faintest hint of a smile, and raised his whiskey glass.

“To Tawny.”

McCool raised his glass again. “To Tawny!”

As Jack was downing his drink, he heard a loud thud. McCool’s head had slammed into the counter.

Jack had been a killer for most of his life, and was immediately sure of two things- McCool had been poisoned, and he had died instantly.

The other shot of tequila remained untouched on the counter. Jack knew it was probably poisoned. Chances were, whoever killed McCool wanted Bullet dead too.

A door slammed. The stank-faced bartender had run out of the bar.

Even if Jack hadn’t spent his life as a killer, he would have known that she was responsible for the death of Dragon McCool.

Jack Bullet looked at the corpse of his best friend and greatest ally, and he did not grieve.

JACK BULLET sprang into action.


Come back next week for part two... if your bitch ass can handle it.