Decoder Ring Theatre Presents Black Jack Justice, episode 36 Journeys End by Gregg Taylor
Show Notes: Welcome to the first of what I hope will become another regular feature for fans of the Decoder Ring Theatre audio drama podcasts â€“ the opportunity to read the scripts as recorded as each new episode comes out, either directly through Issuu or on our Fan page on Facebook. If you've somehow stumbled across this without having the slightest idea of who we are, Decoder Ring Theatre creates all-new audio drama in the tradition of the Golden Age of Radio and sets it loose on an unsuspecting world. Please drop by decoderringtheatre.com and see us sometime! First of all, as you can see, this episode, which aired as #36, was actually meant to be episode #37 of Black Jack Justice... and was meant to open next season rather than close this one. A nasty file error that somehow escaped my attention for months required retakes for the original episode #35, entitled Hush Money, which will air next year. That moved up #36, Small Mercies by two weeks and meant that Jack met his destiny on the road he took to avoid it at the end of the current season of Black Jack. This resulted in many emails, fan-board postings, tweets and other expressions of concern that this was actually the end of the series. It ain't. In addition to our stalwarts of Christopher Mott as Jack and Andrea Lyons as Trixie Dixon, Girl Detective, the lovely Julie Florio brought Dot to life for us, and new cast member Eric Fournier strutted his stuff as Greer. My favorite effect of this episode is the coal scuttle, but this isn't a big technical show. This is just some damn fine actors throwing it down old-school. Enjoy! - Gregg Taylor
Black Jack Justice - Episode Thirty SevenJOURNEYS END ANNR: Once again, Decoder Ring Theatre presents another page from the casebook of that master of mystery, that sultan of sleuthing, Martin Bracknell’s immortal detective: Black Jack Justice; starring Christopher Mott as Jack and Andrea Lyons as Trixie Dixon, Girl Detective. Music TRIX: The name's Dixon. Trixie Dixon, girl detective. They say that one often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it. Or I assume that they say that anyway. The only place I've really heard that particular chestnut is on a small slip of paper at the heart of my fortune cookie from Jimmy Wong's, but it seemed a little too thoughtful to be an entirely original product of the cookie industry. It does, however, have the most important trait of the very best proverbs. It doesn't really mean much of anything in particular, and whatever you do and whatever the result might happen to be, the cookie in question can look at you smugly and say “see? I told you so.” Sometimes though, even the most half-baked of bon mots can seem eerily prophetic, and I suppose Jimmy Wong's cookie was due. The surly one and I had been working one of those cases that just seems to get away from you. It had started off as a little peeping tom work on behalf of Little Joe D'Marco, who had the usual thirty-one flavors of sneaking suspicion about his wife, Big Joe D'Marco. Before you ask, her name was Josephine and she was a foot taller than her husband and built like a brick outhouse as they say. But when the question “who watches the watchers” is answered by the phrase “disgruntled dirty cops with no sense of humor”, it's usually bad times for your local PI. And so it was. I'm generally a fan of the beginning, the middle and the end, usually in that order if at all possible. But there are exceptions to every rule, and if finding old square-jaw somewhere down the road he took to avoid his destiny means taking a few narrative liberties, then that's just the way it's going to have to be. JACK: What theDOT: Lie still. JACK: (groans) DOT: I did try to warn you.
4 JACK: Yes. Yes you did. There's more to this headache than hangover, isn't there? DOT: You've suffered some sort of head trauma. You may have a concussion. Lie still. JACK: This isn't a hospital. DOT: What makes you so sure? JACK: The ceiling's all wrong. I've woken up in enough of them to know. DOT: I'm sure you have. JACK: I was doing something. What was I doing? DOT: When? JACK: Before I was wherever I am now. DOT: You don't want to know where that is? JACK: Just let me... One thing at a time, I've got a bad feeling this is important. DOT: Twenty minutes ago you were laying face down in a puddle outside my patio door. Does that seem important enough? JACK: My shoulder hurts. DOT: Yes, I imagine it would. JACK: Why does my shoulder hurt? DOT: Clinical diagnosis is not my forte, but I'd say it has something to do with the bullet you have in it. JACK: I've been shot. DOT: That is the standard procedure for implanting a bullet. JACK: I've been shot! DOT: We've established that. JACK: Greer.
5 DOT: And now you've lost me again. You were so nearly making sense too. Try and lay still. JACK: This is your home. DOT: Now don't you get any ideas. You're not up to any fresh stuff and you're not my type. JACK: All right, first of all, it would take more than a single bullet and a sap to the back of the skull to put me on the bench where â€œfresh stuffâ€? is concerned. Point the second, you're not really seeing me at my bestDOT: Calm yourself, Romeo. JACK: And thirdly, that isn't really what I was after just now, but thank you for playing, we have some lovely consolation prizes for you backstage. Oh, boyDOT: Nausea? JACK: No thanks, I've already got some. But only when I move at all or lie very, very still. DOT: You took a bad knock to the head. Tell the truth, I'm more worried about that than the bullet. I've got a pressure bandage on that, and it looks like a flesh wound. JACK: You're a nurse. DOT: Nothing gets past you, Mister Justice. JACK: You're a Nurse who had time to rifle through my pockets. DOT: You're only guessing that because I was able to haul you inside, lift you up on the couch and treat your gunshot wound. Yes, I'm a Nurse. But it wasn't my idea to check your ID. JACK: Whose was it? DOT: The policeman, silly. JACK: What policeman? DOT: On the telephone. I found what appeared to be a armed, wounded thug on my patio, who do you think I called, the Audubon Society? JACK: Where am I, exactly?
6 DOT: You're in my sitting room. JACK: The street. The number. DOT: 42 Arlington. JACK: Arlington? Near Baxter and Logan? DOT: That's right. JACK: Which would make this the eighth precinct. DOT: I'm sure I don't know... what are you doing? JACK: Hello, I must be going. Oh no... DOT: I've told you, you have a concussion. You can't just stumble out of here. The policeman said he'd call an ambulance. He said he'd take care of everything. JACK: How long ago was that? DOT: Maybe twenty minutes. JACK: Hear any sirens yet? DOT: Well... no. But I explained that you didn't seem to be in any immediate danger. JACK: Oh, sister, you don't know how wrong you are. I'm in danger and as long as I'm here so are you. DOT: I don't think so. JACK: ...Excuse me.... Nurse... I'm sorry, we haven't been properly introduced. DOT: Maxwell. JACK: Really? No... wait.. I'm sorry? DOT: Maxwell. Dorothy Maxwell. JACK: Of course. It seems to me that I was carrying a pistol when I landed in the puddle on your patio. Unassuming little steel-grey thing, about yay big? DOT: Yes.
7 JACK: I couldn't help but notice that I don't seem to have that pistol just now. DOT: You didn't expect me to leave it for you to... It isn't enough to bring you into my home and treat your wounds, you expect me to leave you armed, is that it? JACK: You have hidden my gun, haven't you Dorothy Maxwell? DOT: I have. JACK: You have hidden my gun, I seem to be unable to move under my own power, and you have called the wolves upon me. You are an angel of mercy, Dorothy Maxwell. DOT: Don't keep calling me that. Dorothy Maxwell. JACK: Too motherly? DOT: My mother didn't call me Dorothy Maxwell. JACK: Neither did mine. Look, if you won't give me my gun back, will you call me a cab? DOT: I've called you an ambulance. JACK: You've called me a hearse. And one for you too. His and hers hearses. Try saying that ten times fast. DOT: What are you talking about? JACK: I'm a private detective. DOT: I know that. JACK: I'd berate you for snooping again, but I might choke on the irony. The eighth precinct is the dirtiest in town, everybody knows thatDOT: I don't know that. JACK: Then you're not from around here, Dorothy Maxwell. DOT: No, I'm not! JACK: And if you're a private detective who has been snooping on behalf of a certain husband... a certain husband whose certain wife has been performing certain activities far outside the comfortable confines of her home, the last thing in the world you want to find
8 out is that her lover is a certain watch commander at the eighth named Greer. A very married watch commander, who would not appreciate being caught al fresco with the wife of a small time crook. DOT: In flagrante. JACK: What? DOT: In flagrante means â€œred handedâ€?, more or less. Al freso means outside. JACK: It really bothers me that this is what you choose to take issue with. DOT: I get that a lot. You should lie down. JACK: Are you listening to me at all? DOT: Not really. It seemed like the best way to go. JACK: You called the eighth precinctDOT: I called the police. JACK: Fine. You called the police and told them, what exactly? That you had found a wounded, unconscious man carrying a gun? DOT: Something like that. JACK: So why do you think you haven't heard any sirens yet? DOT: I told you. I said that you were in no immediate danger. JACK: So the ambulance driver stopped for a coffee, is that it? DOT: I don't know. There could be an emergency, there could be any number of reasonsJACK: The ambulance isn't coming, Dorothy Maxwell. DOT: Don't call me that. JACK: What should I call you? DOT: You can call me Dorothy if you like. Or Dot. JACK: All right, Dot. That's nice.
9 DOT: Thank you. JACK: The ambulance isn't coming Dot. DOT: Of course it is. JACK: No, it isn't. It isn't coming because he never called it. DOT: Why would he lie? JACK: Let me answer that question with a question. What would you do if you were a police commander who had just put a bullet into a particular nosy parker who may or may not be carrying a camera with pictures of you and your small-time crook mistress? DOT: You took pictures of them? JACK: Let's not get into my unfortunate career choices just now. DOT: What kind of personJACK: The soon to be dead kind, Dot. To return to my question, what would you do? You know you didn't kill him, but you have to find him before anyone else does. You're a dirty cop, and you know exactly who else is too. What would you do? DOT: ...I might call the precinct and make sure that... oh dear. JACK: If by â€œoh dearâ€? you mean you might make sure that the duty sergeant and one or two well-placed others knew who you were looking for and that if a call came about a ne'er-do-well with a bullet wound, they should find out if it was me and give Greer the tip-off.... then that's more or less it, yeah. Nobody else. No ambulance. No prowl car. Greer and maybe a couple of his boys. DOT: Why would the police go along with this? JACK: They wouldn't even ask why. They're dirty. DOT: How can you be sure? JACK: We don't have time for this, Dot. If they get here before I leave, they'll kill me and they'll probably kill you too. DOT: Why would they kill me? JACK: Make it look like a lover's quarrel.
10 DOT: A lo- I told you, you're not my type. JACK: That's a shame, because you're certainly mine. DOT: I don't think- what's that? JACK: You're beautiful, you're brave, you're a complete pain in the neck and you're trying very hard to get me killed. If I could stand without retching, I'd take you dancing. DOT: That is the worst pick-up line I've ever heard. JACK: All truth. From my scrambled brains to God's ear. It doesn't matter. I have to go. (a knock at the door) JACK: Too late. DOT: Maybe it isn't them. JACK: It's two in the morning. It isn't the paperboy. Get my gun. DOT: I don't think thatJACK: Get my gun! (knock) JACK: Answer them. DOT: What? JACK: While you get the gun, answer them before they break down the door. DOT: (calls) Just a minute! (to Jack) Here. (knock) JACK: It feels light. Why does it feel light? DOT: Oh dear. JACK: You've taken my bullets out, haven't you Dorothy Maxwell? DOT: Don't call me that!
11 JACK: You know about guns? DOT: Not much. JACK: Too much. Get them. (a door opens) DOT: Too late! TRIXIE: Okay, first of all you should really lock your front door. JACK: You! TRIX: Shut up. JACK: Get in here! DOT: Who is this? Who are you? TRIX: Shut up, both of you. You know what I've been going through for the last two hours? I've been palling around with Freddie the Finger, that's how sure I was you were as good as dead. DOT: Freddie the Finger? TRIX: Listening for any news of you on his police band radio as we drive around in that heap of his with it's own very special aroma of cigars and defeat. DOT: Who are you? TRIX: Meanwhile, all I had to do to find you was open the unlocked front door of the only house in a ten block radius that has the lights on! Are you really exactly this stupid or are you trying to make time with the brunette, 'cause I'm telling you right now you don't have a chance. JACK: So she keeps telling me. Dot, this is my partner, Miss Dixon. DOT: Partner? JACK: Trixie, this is Dorothy Maxwell, but don't call her that. Dorothy is a nurse, a divorcee and not from around here, probably in that order. DOT: How did you-?
12 JACK: You introduced yourself with a name you don't like being called. You don't mind being Dorothy, but your mother didn't call you Dorothy Maxwell. My guess is it's pretty recent, and you moved here from somewhere at least two hours out of town. Somewhere they don't lock their doors, they do help strangers and a woman would describe being able to unload an automatic as knowing â€œnot muchâ€? about guns. DOT: That's amazing. JACK: This is kind of what I do. DOT: When you aren't taking dirty pictures. JACK: Sometimes at the same time, but rarely on the first date. TRIX: Can I say something? JACK: Go ahead. TRIX: Shut up the pair of you! We have to get out of here and we have to do it now. JACK: Help me. TRIX: What's wrong with you? DOT: He has a concussion. TRIX: Sweetheart, brain damage has never slowed him down before. Listen, Freddie heard some chatter on the squawk-box. Some drivel he pretends to understand as code. He says Greer has the word out for some of his boys to meet him right here where I'm standing. When they get here, it goes down. So let's make with the exit, please. JACK: Dorothy, thank you for your hospitality. Whoa! TRIX: What is it? DOT: Did I mention the concussion? To either of you? TRIX: He can't walk? DOT: He can't stand. JACK: I can make it to Freddie's car. TRIX: Freddie's gone. He was sweating bullets. I sent him for the cavalry.
13 JACK: Sabien? Never get here in time. And no one else would take Freddie's word for it against another cop, even one from the eighth. Better call a taxi. TRIX: Oh swell. This is gonna be close. DOT: Listen to me, Jack. JACK: Did you ever bring me my bullets? DOT: No. JACK: You better do that, angel. Maybe you can load it for me, I don't think I could hold the clip steady. DOT: If you couldn't hold the clip steady, what are you going to do with that gun? JACK: Make a lot of noise and feel like a big man. DOT: Oh good, at least there's a plan. I'll be right back. TRIX: Listen, we have a problem. JACK: Just one? TRIX: Will you look at me please, you drooling schoolboy? JACK: Take it easy. What's the trouble? TRIX: I don't want to alarm your lady friend, but the telephone is dead. JACK: The telephone is what? TRIX: Dead. Very dead. JACK: It might not be the only one. Music sting ANNR: INTERNAL COMMERCIAL Music sting JACK: The name's Justice. Jack Justice. If you have been following this ribald little yarn thus far, you will know that I took a pretty serious crack to the head a few hours ago at the hands of Roy Greer of the Eight Precinct Greers. Something akin to automatic pilot must
14 have cut in shortly thereafter, as I was able to get far enough away from the then-pantless Mister Greer to take a pistol round in the shoulder instead of the brain. Small triumphs aside, it had not been a banner night, except for the unexpected entrance into our story of one Dorothy “don't call me” Maxwell. She had, for all her protestations, probably saved my life before she inadvertently put it in jeopardy again with her ill-advised call to the Eighth, so that all came out in the wash. What were you left with? Not a lot. I was too under the weather for any real quality banter. She was of average height, brown hair, brown eyes. There was nothing about her that suggested she was a practiced liar, which I tended to be a sucker for. Neither was she a helpless little doe of a girl, which also tended to bring out the worst in Jack Justice, knight in hard-boiled armor. But as the walls of her little house seemed to draw close about us, waiting within for the inevitable strike from the forces of darkness, I couldn't help but notice that all power of my enfeebled brain seemed to be bent on the task of keeping her safe. A tall order for a man that couldn't stand without losing his lunch. Or whatever you lose at two in the morning. I didn't like to think about it. DOT: We could make a run for it. JACK: I admit, it might put a crimp in the “lover's quarrel” angle if there were three of us and we were all shot in the back, but this is nothing they can't work around. TRIX: If you ever, even in fun, apply the words “lover's quarrel” to the two of us again, I will strike down you with such force that you will, quite simply, be dead. JACK: Duly noted. DOT: So what do we do? We have to get help. TRIX: This isn't an English country mansion, sweet-pea. If they've cut the phone they're right outside. DOT: What are they waiting for? TRIX: Backup. Cops like backup, even the dirty ones. When they get numbers, they'll move. My guess is three. DOT: So why did they cut the phone? TRIX: Somebody must be tardy, and they didn't want the good lady inside to get anxious over the lack of an ambulance and start making calls. JACK: That's it. TRIX: Hallelujah. What's it?
15 JACK: Greer didn't talk to Dot himself. And he doesn't know you by sight, does he Trixie? TRIX: Not that I know. You tangled with him on the Maretti job, that's back when you worked a solo. JACK: So if we togged you up like the sleepy Samaritan, he'd be none the wiser. TRIX: I think I hate this plan. DOT: So... what do I do? JACK: Hide in the basement. In the darkest spot you can find. DOT: What? JACK: And if it all goes wrong, go downtown to Central Homicide and find Lieutenant Victor Sabien. I'd hate to see my killer get a citation for shooting me. DOT: This is your entire plan? TRIX: It could work. A bushwack. They're expecting him to be out cold and you to be helpless. I could get the drop on them. JACK: We start shooting cops we'll dig a hole so deep they'll never even find us. TRIX: Yeah, but if we can hold out 'till Sabien gets here â€“ Assuming Freddie got to him JACK: It's a terrible plan, isn't it? TRIX: It really is. Let's do it. Do you have a big housecoat somewhere? DOT: What? Oh... yes... through there. You'll find... through there. TRIX: Swell. Give me a minute to frump up. JACK: We may not have a minute. You may have to rely on nature. TRIX: Drop dead, ape. DOT: Jack, listen to me, you can't do this. You can hardly see straight, and tough talk isn't going to help you in a fire-fight. JACK: What's your name?
16 DOT: What? JACK: It wasn't Maxwell. That was his name, and you don't much care for it anymore. DOT: It's... it's Evans. Dorothy Evans. JACK: Thanks. I'd have hated to never know. DOT: Jack, please. JACK: Get to the basement. We don't have time. None of this is your fault. I'm sorry I brought this to your door. DOT: I won't leave you. JACK: You have to. DOT: You're my patient. JACK: Do all of your patients fall in love with you Dorothy Evans? DOT: What? JACK: I know it's probably the concussion talking. Normally I'd grunt something noncommittal and watch you walk away. But there's something in your eyes. It's sad, but not broken. Lost, but still hopeful. You remind me of a place I used to call home that doesn't exist anymore, and in the unlikely event that I survive the next hour or so, I would quite like to see you socially. At least until it becomes obvious to you that I was much more charming with head trauma. DOT: Jack, ITRIX: What in screaming blue heck is going on here? Get in the basement, woman! JACK: Saved by the bell. TRIX: Keep your head down and your mouth shut and you just might live through this. (door) JACK: You sure know how to kill a moment, you know that? TRIX: Is that what that was? I told you, you don't have a chance. JACK: You're probably right.
17 TRIX: You mean like I was right when I said â€œHoly cats! Mrs D'Marco is having it out with Roy Greer! Let's drop this case like a hot rockâ€?? JACK: You need to let this go. TRIX: Swell. Get comfy, you're supposed to be out cold. Can you see well enough to shoot? JACK: Depends. There's three of you, right? TRIX: Just duck and cover, all right? If you come up at the right time and point that canon reasonably straight we just might get away with this one. JACK: How much longer you think they'll wait? TRIX: You got someplace else to be? JACK: I just want to get this over with. (knocking at the door) JACK: Be careful what you wish for, my friends. It's a lesson I have been taught time and time again and never quite seem to learn. I hurriedly bundled myself back onto the sofa, trying to look as much as possible like I was hovering near death's door, which for the moment didn't seem all that much of a stretch. Through fluttering eyelashes I could just see Trixie make for the door, clutching her borrowed housecoat at the neckline the way some ladies of far greater modesty than the girl detective are sometimes want to do. This could work. If there were only three of them, and Trixie played her part convincingly enough, they might all be careless enough to walk right past her in their haste to make sure of me. Trixie reached for the door, trying for all the world to look like Florence Nightingale in a fuzzy pink bathrobe. The door opened and her face seemed to freeze before either she or the man at the door could say a word. I went momentarily crazy trying to guess what was going on. Then without a word, Trixie raised her hands and I could see an arm extend into the room and feel for the baretta hidden in the deep pockets of the housecoat. She turned back into the room with an expression of mild disgust and walked towards my point of repose as three uniformed cops sauntered in behind her. TRIX: Up an' at 'em sleeping beauty. JACK: So this plan went well. TRIX: It really did. Jack, you remember Mike Korzowsky? JACK: Not in the least. Which one is he?
18 TRIX: The least ugly one. We went on a couple of dates before I figured out he was on the take. And then a few more before I decided that I cared. Never occurred to me he might be one of Greer's boys. JACK: Just lucky I guess. I don't pay that much attention to the revolving door of local thugs that you date. TRIX: That's probably true, but you still shouldn't say it. He's standing right here. JACK: Seems to be the strong silent type. GREER: Maybe he's just waiting to get a word in edgewise. JACK: Ah, Lieutenant Greer. I see you're back in uniform. GREER: Nice to see you're feeling cute, Justice. Keep still... still lugging around this old .45, are you? I'll have that. I didn't think you were stupid enough to cross me again. JACK: You were just an unpleasant bonus in my otherwise deeply unpleasant day. Your mistress' mister paid us to find out if her extracurricular activities extended beyond needlepoint. GREER: Needlepoint? JACK: I was being colorful. GREER: You always did love the sound of your own voice. TRIX: Look, Greer, the camera is in his coat pocket. Just take the film and be on your way. GREER: Just like that? TRIX: Just like that. What am I supposed to do, stroll into the Eighth and file a complaint? GREER: You don't think it's already gone a little far to pretend this never happened? Besides, if I let you walk this time, what's to stop you from keeping after Josie until you get the goods? TRIX: You could keep your goods in your pants for awhile. GREER: If you knew me better, Legs, you'd know that isn't true. Besides, I know this one of old. He'd never walk away. For the sake of thirty dollars he'd hound me to the end of
19 the earth just to say that he did. You still sniff around the Moretti case, don't you big man? How many years has he been dead now? JACK: He was a client. GREER: Just like Little Joe D'Marco. They don't deserve such loyalty. JACK: That's not a subject you're much of an authority on. ( a slap) GREER: Get you hats. No point doing this here. Where's the frail? JACK: The what? GREER: Bobby said a woman called. She found you on the porch and patched you up. Such a waste of time. Where is she? (silence) GREER: It's like that, is it? These bungalows, they don't hide much. Mike, check the bedroom and the bath. Terry, take the basement. JACK: Leave the girl out of this, Greer. GREER: Or what? JACK: Or so help me I'll kill you with my bare hands. GREER: Oh, it's like that, is it? I'm gonna enjoy this. A metallic clang. Twice. GREER: What was that? TRIX: I didn't hear a thing. GREER: It came from downstairs. Mike! Check on Terry. Now! TRIX: Whaddya think? Shovel? JACK: Too much ring. Coal scuttle. TRIX: Ah! Of course.
20 GREER: What are you two babbling about? TRIX: Just guessing what Jack's nurse bashed Terry's head in with. (a gunshot) GREER: Well, she's had it now. JACK: Maybe not. She had Terry's gun. GREER: ... Mike! Mike! JACK: I never met a dirty cop that wasn't a screaming hysterical little girl at heart. GREER: Terry! Mike! What the blazes is going on? JACK: And it was in his hysteria that Roy Greer made his way over to the door that led down to the basement, slowly, like a man feeling his way through the dark towards something that he doesn't want to find. He reached the top of the stairs and called again. At that moment, his foot creaked against a loose board at the top of the stairs giving his precise location away to one who knew the house well, and three shots rang out, ripping through the paper-thin floorboards from the basement below into Greer's feet and legs. He screamed, pitched forward and rolled down the stairs on his face. We heard him land, like a sack full of oatmeal and bricks. I have failed you in the role of narrator to this chronicle, my friends, for there are no words that can describe my elation as Dorothy Evans nee Maxwell nee Evans emerged from the basement with fire in her eyes. And if I thought that was good, it was nothing to when she strode across the room, coal scuttle and pistol still in hand and kissed me, hard and with a desperate longing born of having feared that one would never feel like this again, a night terror I knew all too well. JACK: I thought I wasn't your type. DOT: I'm a dirty liar. JACK: Hello, Nurse! TRIX: Well, it was right about there that I lost any and all interest in the â€œAâ€? plot and wandered downstairs to cuff the wounded. In the interests of denouement, I should mention that Sabien arrived twenty-two minutes later in something of a lather, with two officers from Internal Affairs in tow. They had wanted to break the Eighth for a long time, and it all started that night. Between the pictures, Dorothy Maxwell's statement and the general carnage downstairs, there was no way for Greer to dance his way out of this one, and he took a lot of his fellows down with him when he went. It was something of a personal triumph for Sabien. Nobody hates a dirty cop more than a clean one. But his pleasure was muted somewhat at the sight of ol' Square-Jaw's dopey, schoolboy grin. See
21 Jack had met his destiny on the road he had taken to avoid it, all right. They say that Journey's End at lover's meetings. And maybe, just maybe, Jack's Journey ended that night, on a patch of rain-slicked concrete, with a bullet hole in him. And somehow, it ended up being a happy ending anyway. Go figure that one, kids, 'cause I sure can't Music ANNR: END CREDITS
Radio script for the audio drama series Black Jack Justice as presented by Decoder Ring Theatre. www.decoderringtheatre.com Copyright 2010...