An old idea of mine I've been tinkering with. I know Japan doesn't
have much in the way of highways, but Gunsmith Cats is set in
Chicago, so why not something on the roadways of America?
* * * *
Bloody Jack, eh? I've heard of 'im. Few have, though, so you're in
luck. What's more, I know about him. Aye, my Grandfather, he was from
the old country. Born in a village that was old when the Romans came
through, aye and maybe even those before them. They know Jack well,
for their blood soaked his hands more then once, and his guts too,
some say, for he drank it like wine.
Grandfather says he had an angel's face, a heart blacker then coal in
the fires of Hell and was dammned from the day he was born. They
called him Bloody Jack, because he carried blackjack, and every time
he robbed, he'd take one of his victims and beat them until his
blackjack was bloody, if the poor sods were lucky. Sometimes, he'd do
worse to 'em and laugh all the while.
And every Lord and King, Baron and Duke, they laid a fortune on
Jack's head. They say the King of Spain even offered his throne to
the man who brought Jack in, but none did and Jack carried on,
robbing rich and poor alike, from Sweeden to India, England to Italy.
But one night, Jack tried to rob Death himself and paid the price for
it. But when he got to Hell, he found the Black Gates closed to him.
For y'see, Nick Scratch, he was jealous of Jack, and wanted him no
where near him. So he banned Jack from Hell. Aye, and that's the
worse fate of all, I'll tell the world. Y'see, a man whose been
banned from Hell becomes a ghost, and a ghost not only feels all the
pain they felt in life, they feel all the pain they caused others and
Jack, he caused more than his share.
No man can say how long Jack roamed this world as a ghost, but Saint
Christopher, the Patron of Travelers eventually took pity on Jack and
made him an offer. He told Jack that he could take his pain, make him
more than a ghost, but less than a man. Jack would get a bit of the
very power of Heaven itself, but there was a price to pay.
Jack would have to wash his hands clean of blood by doing good. Aye,
and large amounts of it, given his crimes. And what was a man to do
when faced with that kind of choice? Jack took the offer and he's
been roaming the roads and highways ever since.
And when they built the Highways here, covering the deserts in black
ribbons, Jack came here too. Me, I been runnin this here station fer
fifty years, and it's the night folk you want to talk to. The
truckers and the wanderers. They've seen Jack with their own eyes,
aye and a stiff drink they were wanting afterwards. Keep a few
bottles of homemade whiskey for 'em, listen to the stories they have
tell.
Sounds like he hasn't changed much, 'cept they call him Asphalt Jack
now.
But you knew that, didn't you, Jack?
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