Tag: wrath

Jack Hardcock: The Wrath of God (Part I)

Brother Joses stood over his parish like a specter from the past. He was no mere preacher; he was a prophet of things to come.

“The Lord is not a Lord of peace,” he proclaimed to his captive audience, “as Isaiah told us: See, the day of the Lord is coming — a cruel day, with wrath and fierce anger. . . . I will put an end to the arrogance of the haughty. . . . Their infants will be dashed to pieces before their eyes; their houses will be looted and their wives violated. I shout to the world with the power of a thousand trumpets: repent! For the Lord shall have His vengeance!”

The parishioners nodded, too awestruck to proclaim their faith with revelry.

In the front pew sat Jack Hardcock, his hands trembling. He had seen the wrath that Joses spoke of, for he was It’s one instrument. And Jack’s own instrument of Death was none other than the Smith & Wesson .38 special. It was holstered securely underneath his jacket. But the fiery message of Brother Joses was speaking to his God-given urge to kill.

Jack quietly stood up, buttoned his jacket, and proceeded to exit the chapel. Halfway to the door, with his back turned toward Brother Joses, the preacher shouted: “Brother Jack, the Lord does not call upon the faint of heart!”

Jack turned around, unbuttoned his jacket, and pulled out the .38. The parishioners sat silently as he unloaded the revolver, leaving one in the chamber. “Do you trust the Lord?” asked Jack.

Joses said nothing as beads of sweat poured down his face. Jack spun the revolver and placed the stubbed barrel up to his chin. “I certainly do,” he said.

Then he pulled the trigger.

A few screams echoed through the chapel, but there was no gunfire. Jack stood there, barrel still to his chin, laughing at the weakhearted parishioners.

But Joses didn’t flinch.

“It appears as though I am one of God’s chosen,” Jack said to Joses. Then he pointed the .38 at the preacher.

“Are you?” he asked.

Jack pulled the trigger, unleashing a bullet that went clean through Joses’ shoulder. Blood splattered all over the Christian flag. Pandemonium broke out as parishioners rushed to their preacher’s aid.

“Faint of heart?” Jack chuckled to himself. He shook his head and walked out the front doors. As he proceeded down the steps, Jack looked out into the barren Utah landscape. He noticed a lone figure standing in the dusty wind.

Jack squinted.

“Could it be?” he thought.

It was his own flesh and blood; his brother. It was Peter Hardcock.

“Don’t you know that Mormons are godless heathens?” Peter asked.

“Peter,” Jack said, “I’m so sorry. After my last case, I had to go somewhere. The Mormons were the only ones that would take me in. I’m sorry that I never reached out.”

“Nevermind that,” Peter replied, “our father is missing.”

“Our father?”

“Yes. Our father is missing and he needs your help. Rod Hardcock has been taken prisoner by Mexican cartels.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Jack Hardcock: The Legend Continues (Part I)

“Why did you give me this ‘Jesus Saves’ tract?” the bank robber asked me. I had the .38 pointed directly at his skull.

“Because I’m giving you one last choice,” I said. “And I suggest you accept the Lord Jesus as your personal Savior.”

“And what if I tell you that you can wipe your ass with this?”

I shook my head in disappointment. “Then tell Satan he’s next,” I said. I pulled the trigger and unleashed the full fury of my .38 right there in the bank lobby.

Shouts and screams echoed throughout the halls while the robber’s brains spewed out onto the marble floor below. I raised my hands to calm the crowd. “No need to thank me,” I said, “I’m just a good Christian Samaritan doing his job. Have a blessed day.”

I exited the bank just as the police arrived. The officer in charge started yelling in my face. “Goddamnit Jack Hardcock!” he screamed, “you had the suspect disarmed and apprehended, but you shot him anyway!”

“It’s good to see you too Sarge,” I replied sarcastically. “I figured that I save the taxpayers money by executing the bastard right then and there.”

“That’s not how justice is done!” he exclaimed. “Get out of my city before I throw these cuffs on you!”

“With pleasure,” I said then spat on the ground. But that’s the kind of thanks I get for being an instrument of the Lord’s Wrath.

***

“It’s time to go to Bible study,” my brother Pete Hardcock said. Him and his wife were kind enough to allow me to sleep in their garage while I got my life together. This was a year after I saved the city of Cleveland and Progressive Field from a renegade FBI agent. To pay the bills, I was now doing private detective work; stalking cheating spouses and such. It was beneath the dignity of a lethal holy weapon such as myself.

“You know I don’t need that shit,” I said to Pete, “I don’t have to read the Bible. I know everything in it is true and divinely inspired. That’s good enough for me.”

Pete’s stay-at-home wife, Jesseka, brought me a plate of green bean casserole. “Where’s the bourbon?” I asked.

“You know we don’t drink in this house,” Jesseka replied.

“If God didn’t want us to drink, He wouldn’t have made Kentucky bourbon,” I explained.

“Say Jack,” Pete said, “why don’t you come to church and meet a nice Christian lady. You’re 21 years old. Don’t you think it’s time to settle down and start a family?”

“Poppycock,” I replied. “How can I settle down when there’s so much evil on the streets? Like I tell everyone, I’m a blunt instrument of the Lord. So I have no thoughts or desires of my own.“

Pete and Jesseka’s son, Klyde, came rushing into the garage. “Uncle Jack,” he said, “someone’s at the door for you.”

“Back to work,” I uttered to myself. So I pulled up my pants, lit up a cigarette, then walked towards the front door. There I found a woman with tears streaming down her face.

“Are you Jack Hardcock?” the woman asked. “My daughter has gone missing. I need your help!”

TO BE CONTINUED…