Jack Stone.
Captain of Alptic City's S.W.A.T. team.
Family man.
Admired by his community.
Loved and served his country.
Now to the outside world - the world where media and average people lived in -Jack looked like what an officer should be. He was tall, handsome, muscular, and walked with an air of authority that anybody could recognize. He was treated with the utmost respect. His record was as spotless as his badge.
What they didn't know was that certain less savory individuals had him in their pocket.
You need evidence to disappear? Jack did that. You say a witness needs to be "persuaded" to testify otherwise? Jack took care of that. One of your buddies gets thrown in jail? Jack was your man. Each and every time he did this a little package full of green would find its way to his desk. No questions asked. His colleagues of course knew about this but they weren't going to say anything about it. Everyone knew the code:
Mess with Jack in any way, and you just might find that the next time you open the door to your house a gun is shoved in your face.
Jack could have lived his entire life like this until he retired, but there was a problem. Certain files connecting him to the local gangs were messed with- files that were supposed to protect him and give him leverage should the people he worked with ever turn on him. Somebody had dug around and had figured out what he was up to, and had the evidence to prove it. Somebody from outside the force.
How Jack had come to this conclusion was simple: One, the files were tampered with - he had noticed that the things around his desk were moved around when he went out one night, and that the papers themselves had been rumpled by someone in a hurry; two, he knew that no one on the force would dare look at his desk without his permission - the culprit had to be somebody who wasn't subject to his authority.
It was then a simple matter to figure out who had been recently hired, ruling out anyone who he knew wouldn't dare mess with him, and then deduce their identity. Jack didn't have to look long, finding his man worked as a janitor for the nightshift. And though the man tried to use an alias, Jack recognized him enough to figure him out.
Floyd Jackson, a paparazzi reporter.
Jack didn't know for sure if he was his guy but didn't take any chances. Calling in a favor from one of his friends on the force, he was able to get fingerprints off the papers and then compare them with Floyd's, who had been arrested years ago for breaking into a celebrities home. It was a perfect match.
Floyd Jackson would have to be dealt with.
And Jack knew just how to do it.
XXXXX
Two S.W.A.T. vans roll into the entrance of the hotel, passing by a school bus full of teenagers, and head to the back. Ten men get out of one of the cars and go into the back of the building. There is a man taking a smoke outside the back door, in a don't smoke area no less, and his eyes pop out when he sees them and raises his hands in the air.
"I swear I didn't see that sign!!"
They ignore him and move on. The men silently make their way past the door and up the stairs all the way to the fourth floor.
Outside in the S.W.A.T. van Jack smiles to himself but turns so as to hide it from Carla, a young black haired woman who was in charge with keeping in touch with the group and local police forces if necessary. Jack had hand picked the most blood thirsty men on the force for this mission. Men who would gladly shoot a person no questions asked. Men who were just waiting for an excuse to go crazy with a gun. Always handy to have men like this for a job of this nature, Jack mused.
The plan was simple: Go up, find the target, make sure he doesn't see the sunrise. It didn't matter who the target was either, just make sure he wasn't breathing by the end of the night. As long as you did your job Jack would take care of any potential fallout.
"Easier than making mud pie." Jack murmurs. This wasn't the catchiest saying out there but he liked it. He ponders where he got it from but gives up after a moment. There was work to be done."The suspect is in room 1817. Progress?" He says into the speaker.
"Almost there cap." The field leader responds.