Jack Stone and....The Gift

By John E Shirey

Jack Stone and…The Gift is the first in a trilogy of crime thrillers with a sci-fi twist about an unlikely hero with a unique talent.  He can read minds.  This superpower comes with an attitude.

He cheats his way through college while he lies to family and friends.  He makes money gambling because he knows the cards others have. He can beat all the losers anytime he wants.  When he gambles with the Russian mafia, he finds himself pushed towards a dangerous clash with brutal criminals.

Jack goes to work as an undercover informant for the FBI to stop the Russian sales of drugs and weapons.  The FBI dislike his wise guy attitude but need his help to solve crimes.    His gift pitts him against unsavoury foes that put him in dangerous situations.  It also brings him pain as he wins and loses in romance. All the while he struggles between the good vs. the evil his 'gift' does to him.

Jack's extraordinary gift has a weakness.  His 'gift' doesn't work when he is the least bit inebriated. He relies on a bottle of bourbon as his only escape from the torment of his mind-reading gift.   When the 'gift' hurts him or others, he becomes a drunk, choosing to render himself completely helpless.  He goes from mind reader to drunk and back several times.  He keeps trying to find out who he is, savior or sinner?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John E Shirey
• Release date: Feb 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224902934

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jack played over a dozen games run by CC.  He was well used to the long nights going into early mornings.  This poker game went much longer than normal.  Players were way up, then way down, and then back up again.  It was impossible for Jack not to get an adrenalin rush.  He laughed to himself about the losers who thought they had a chance against him.  He kept a consistent profile at the games.  He’d win, but not by a lot.  He didn’t want to scare off the suckers.  He could beat them all, whenever he wanted.  They were saps but just didn’t know it.  He always wore a windbreaker or hat with a Boston Celtics logo. The leprechaun with three leaf clovers brought him luck, so he let the losers think.  He didn’t need luck. He had a ‘gift’.  On this night he was feeling ambitious so he won a lot - $15,000, after paying CC’s collection boys.

It was early morning and the sun was starting to rise.  Jack needed to unwind.  He used his ’gift’ all night and was exhausted, mentally drained. He stood in his Celtics windbreaker stretching his lean six-foot frame in the fresh air. The local House of Pancakes was the only thing open.  It would have to do.  He took a stool at the counter to read the specials.  This would occupy his mind.  It needed a rest from reading minds. 

The coffee came, then the pancakes with blueberries, butter, whipped cream and maple syrup.  It was a large stack with sausages on the side.  His knife and fork went to work.  About half way through, a patron took the stool next to him.   This was odd as Jack was the only person sitting at the counter.  There were only four other customers, all sitting in booths.

His mind was tired so the normal skills of his ‘gift’ were almost non-existent.  His new best friend was about 35 years old.  Dressed in a grey sweater, blue jeans with leather trainers for shoes.  He was clean-shaven wearing no glasses.  He looked at Jack,

Long night it appears.....hope it was worth it. 

Jack had no idea if the guy was thinking Jack was on a drunken binge, with a girl, or something else. 

He replied,  It was.

He drank some more coffee.  He needed caffeine to wake up his mind to figure out what was happening.  He ordered more coffee then sat quietly sipping it.  He wasn’t yet able to read the mind of whoever this nerd might be.  What kind of jerk would sit next to him when the place was nearly empty?  He ate some more and kept downing the coffee.  He also sipped the water he’d been served.  The food and fluids got his blood going.  His mind came back to life soon.  His his ‘gift’ was working.  He started reading the new guy’s mind. 

Jack applied the normal extraction procedure.  He asked questions, which he knew would cause the truth to enter the stranger’s mind.  What he might say was entirely different.  His opening question was,

Did you also have a long night? Was it worth it? 

The man just nodded ‘yes’.  Jack read his mind then nearly choked on the coffee.  This was more than a wake up call.  He’d been under surveillance for weeks.  His new friend was an undercover FBI Special Agent.

The man claimed he worked the late shift as a baggage handler at Logan Airport.  He lived in South Boston or, ‘Southie’, as the locals called it.  He was just having a little breakfast before going home.  Jack knew all of this was bullshit. The man introduced himself by the name of ‘Skipper’, his nickname from being a seaman previously. 

Jack read his mind to learn the truth.  His name was Alex Kaminski, he lived in Brighton and Jack was a ‘person of interest.’  The little breakfast that was left lost its appeal.  He wanted some time to think.  He said nice to meet you and he needed to leave.  He left money on the counter then walked out.

Jack laid off the poker games for a few weeks in the hope that ‘Skipper’ would lose interest and the whole thing would disappear.  The next time he went to one of CC’s games he looked over his shoulder the whole way there.  Once there, he settled into his seat but couldn’t sit still.  His right foot was tapping the floor while he stared at all the suckers with suspicion.  Was there a plant here?  Are the Feds here?  Is he being trapped?  He read the minds of everybody at the game.  Everybody was clean, so to say, or at least they weren’t the Feds.  He breathed easy and had an okay night making about $5,000, after paying Carmen Chekoff, better known as CC. 

The game didn’t run too late.  It  ended about 2:00 am.  He put on his Boston Celtics windbreaker then left CC’s apartment feeling good about once again beating a bunch of losers. He stood outside for a minute to enjoy the quiet fresh spring air.  He was about to grab a taxi when Skipper came walking from around the corner.  He approached Jack directly and without hesitation.  Jack thought about running but focused on Skipper to quickly read his mind.

Remember me?  We need to talk.  Come with me now., Skipper ordered.

He flashed his FBI ID, waved a hand for a black Chevy SUV that pulled up to the curb and pushed Jack in. 

Jack struggled to get free but it was too late.  The car door slammed shut. 

Okay you got me.  No need to go all ‘Dirty Harry’ on me.  I’m just a college kid having some fun.  You should be out picking up the real bad guys.

In the SUV was the driver, another agent, Skipper, or rather Alex, and Jack.  Skipper told Jack they just had a few questions but he wasn’t in trouble. 

Jack was reading minds as fast as he could.  He needed to find out what was happening. 

He asked the driver his name and where they were going.  Both answers entered his mind but he said nothing.  Reading the driver’s mind, his name was Paul Thomas.  They were headed to the FBI offices in Chelsea.  When Jack asked the driver his name, the other agent also brought his own name to mind.  It was John Morales.  Jack had no idea how serious this was but figured it was big.  Playing a little poker can’t cause the FBI to get involved enough to pull people in off the street.  Or, can it?  Their minds were racing with thoughts so he began to play some back. 

Jack addressed the driver by name,

Paul, there is a shorter way to get to the FBI offices in Chelsea.  Would you like me to tell you?  John, are you glad to meet me after all the surveillance time you put in?  Skipper, it may be easier if I just call you by your real name, Alex. 

Dead silence resonated in the car.  The agents’ minds went totally blank along with the looks on their faces.  They had no idea what to make of Jack’s revelations.

After a minute, Alex finally said,

OK wise guy, save it for the interrogation room.  He was thinking about the interrogation rooms, so Jack played that back as well; 

Will we be in interrogation room A on the ground floor, or going upstairs to B? 

Again, there was more silence with deadpan looks.  Arriving at the FBI office Jack was hustled into the building by a rear entrance then ushered down a long hall into room A, ground floor.  No cuffs came out, just firm grips on his arms.  Jack protested,

Ease off guys.  Save the rough stuff for when you haul in real criminals. After that crack, he thought it better to cool off and not make things worse.  He’d listen to, rather mind read, what they had to say. 

John Morales was the senior agent.  He started. 

Look, we know you’re heavily involved with Carmen Chekoff’s poker games.  We’re not interested in that.  We are curious why a nice college kid is involved with the Russian mafia? 

Jack never thought he was part of the Russian mafia.  He thought about clamming up or asking for a lawyer.  His ego was telling him this was a fantastic opportunity to really use his unique skills, his ‘gift’.  The driver was gone so it was just Jack, John and Alex.  The room was as expected with one steel table, three uncomfortable steel chairs, big glass mirror on the wall, one door in and out.  The CCTV camera hung from the ceiling in the corner.  The walls were gray to match the desk and chairs.  There were no microphones that could be seen.

Jack looked at the glass mirror figuring there were more eyes and ears on him.  He decided to show off. 

Who’s behind the mirror? 

No answer, but as usual the name popped into Alex and John’s mind so Jack provided the answer. 

Let me guess, it would be Harold Brooks.  He’s alone.  Is he your boss? Their minds indicated affirmative. 

I think you have a bigger interest than why I’m gambling with the Russians.  If your top guy is spending time on this, there must be a reason. 

Alex was now a bit exercised at Jack’s knowledge.  He raised his voice, 

Ok kid, who are you really?  We know you’re enrolled at Boston U.  You rarely go to classes but get good grades.  You live in a high rent apartment at 52 Comm Ave.  You’ve been banned from the New England casinos. You consistently win at poker and Chekoff gets paid well by you.  None of this adds up to the average campus coed.  I think you’re in the Russian mafia up to your eyeballs.  The poker is just a sideline.  They had done their homework.

Then Alex hit Jack with a bombshell,

Playing a little Saturday night poker is one thing.  But peddling narcotics around New England and selling arms to crime gangs puts you in a whole new class.  A college student is a great front for the Russians to use. 

Jack’s face went white.  His stomach was in knots.  His throat was dry.  He wasn’t sure if they were serious about this or it was just a scare tactic.  Either way, it had its intended effect.  He was scared.  He knew he was innocent. They couldn’t prove anything.   Jack drew a few breaths to calm himself.  He wanted to use his ‘gift’, but wanted a little time to think, to keep his brain alert.

Could I have a cup of coffee?

This isn’t Starbucks. responded Agent Morales. 

Jack steeled himself,  OK, we can talk about this and I can explain it after a coffee, or you can get me a lawyer now. 

The coffee showed up in short order.  Not Starbucks though.

While slowly sipping the coffee waiting for his brain to refuel, Jack tried to figure out what to do.  There’s no way they would believe he could read minds.  His life had become a mess.  It was getting worse.  He was estranged from family and lying to them.  He was cheating his way through college.  His college friends had disappeared.  He was funneling money to the Russian mafia to buy drugs and guns.  He had a gambling addiction, was half a drunk and now under investigation by the FBI.  He needed to do SOMETHING right.  His special gift was only giving everyone misery and pain. 

He was not about to become an FBI punching bag.  He made a bold decision. 

Gentlemen, my only involvement with CC was playing poker.  You need to believe that.  I know you don’t have any evidence of anything else. 

He had read their minds.  He already knew they had no evidence. 

He knew what Morales was about to say,

Either way, the money you funneled to CC was used for illegal activities, which makes you an accessory.  You’re just as guilty in the eyes of the law. 

Jack said nothing.  He was thinking while the silence filled the room.  He knew he was a lot smarter than the idiots in front of him. His ego was urging him to make suckers out of them. 

Perhaps there is an alternative. Jack offered.  Suppose I help you get CC and his bosses?  He trusts me so I can get information from him that you can never get. 

He read their thoughts.  They were doubtful but interested. 

Morales wanted to know more,

How can you do that?  The FBI has almost unlimited resources with an extensive network of informants.  So far we’ve got scratch. 

Kaminski had eyes wide open.  He said nothing but was thinking the same thing.  Jack wanted to embarrass them.  He wanted to make them think he was much more than a college student. 

Think of this morning’s events.  I knew everybody’s name. I knew where we were going including the specific interrogation rooms.  I knew who was behind the mirror.  I haven’t lawyered up yet.  I’ll add to my credentials by telling you that Alex was never a seaman and he lives in Brighton. 

Having mentioned occupations and residence location, those same items were now in Morales’ mind, which Jack read. 

You Agent Morales live in Roxbury.  Before the FBI you went to law school but never finished.  I’m not surprised.  Instead you spent time in the Army, then joined the FBI.  Should I go on?  The point I’m making is that I knew you were on to me.  I did my homework.  I have more information gathering resources than you can possibly imagine.  If you want to bust me for playing poker that will just burn up a lot of FBI manpower.  It won’t get what you want.  If we work together, you might get the win you want.  I see little for you to lose. 

Their heads were spinning.  A college kid just played a big card.  They couldn’t believe what Jack knew about them.  They were thinking they should get an okay from their boss Harold Brooks. 

Jack went on, I’m sure you need to get Harold’s approval on this.  I’ll wait.

Kaminski stayed with Jack but they didn’t talk. 

An hour later Morales returned.

Okay, Agent Brooks has agreed for a trial period only.  You’ve got thirty days to deliver.  I hope some of the Celtic luck works for you.  If no results, we’ll look like fools, then your ass will be mine! 

Jack knew they didn’t believe a word he said, but were stumped at his intel.  He decided to play along letting them think they were in control.  They agreed to meet again in two days.  Jack better have a plan.   The FBI does nothing without a plan. 

Jack just made a deal with the FBI.  He left the FBI building feeling like he’d just won a big poker pot.  He now had to figure out how he was going to help the Feds.  He bought some time.  He had nobody to talk to about this.  Telling his parents he could read minds, was gambling with the Mafia and now working with the FBI was not going to happen.

Chapter 2

Jack needed a ‘plan’ for the FBI.  His ‘plan’ was, go to college, get good grades, enjoy college social life, stay out of trouble and graduate.  He’d missed every item on the list. Results so far were that he was in his second year.  He went to the first few classes of each course but only to make sure he knew who the smart people were.  He’d read the books, but otherwise only sat for the exams.  He stole answers from the smart people.  When he wasn’t gambling he got drunk so he couldn’t read minds.  It was his only escape from his ‘gift’.  His former friends had vanished.  He was financing the Russian mafia with a gambling addiction.  And now, he was about to become an undercover informant for the FBI.   What a plan....he was stuck.  He had to find a way out.

Jack knew nothing about drug deals or weapon sales.  To him a drug was what he took when he got the flu.  A gun was what he used at the carnival.  He had to be creative to get the FBI off his back so he could go about his business.... whatever that was.  He spent the next two days thinking through his options.  How could he get out of this without getting killed by the Russian Mafia or jailed by the FBI?

Two days later Kaminski met Jack in the small but secure front entrance lobby area of the FBI offices.  It was a plain entrance lobby with no ‘Welcome to the FBI’ signs, no magazine racks, no water coolers and only two chairs.  Walls were painted grey.  There was a receptionist sitting behind two inch thick glass pane with an intercom speaker/microphone to speak to visitors. 

Jack wore a Boston Celtics cap, a no name windbreaker, collared shirt with blue jeans.  He was nervous but sure his ‘gift’ would provide the confidence he needed. 

He greeted Kaminski with, I love what you’ve done with the place.

Kaminski didn’t smile.  Jack was escorted through bulletproof, bombproof doors, then up the stairs.  They met in interrogation room B on the second floor. In the room Morales was waiting.  Jack read their minds.  He wanted to keep up the image of being very well informed, 

So Mr. Brooks will be sitting in to hear my plan, but he’s running about 10 minutes late it seems.  Perhaps he’s just stuck on a call with Washington.  I’m in no hurry, how about another coffee?  The first one was so good. 

Morales and Kaminski’s faces went blank after Jack just told them exactly what was going on with Brooks.  Kaminski frowned in disgust but had the coffee for Jack in about two minutes.  They sat in silence until Brooks showed up.

Agent Brooks entered with the definite airs of leadership, confidence, ‘I’m in charge and don’t mess with me’, type of guy.  He was tall, some six feet three.  H was fit as you’d want for someone about 55 years old.  Impeccably dressed in blue suit, white shirt with button down collar, and striped necktie.  He was old school.  He didn’t bother to introduce himself, he didn’t need to. 

Jack wanted to catch him off guard right away.  He didn’t introduce himself either.  After reading Brooks’ mind, he said,

The Agents here said you were delayed by a call with Washington.  I hope it went well?

This put the subject of the call immediately into Harold’s mind, which Jack read,

Sorry the meeting was canceled.  D.C. is a nice place to visit. 

Harold’s face went frigid.  His voice went monotone,

OK, let’s hear your ‘plan’! snapped Brooks, thinking this will be a farce.

Jack started off,  First, I need weapons training. 

After the visibly initial shocks, Jack read that Brooks was thinking this is absolute bullshit.  Morales thought about the same.  Kaminski couldn’t hold it back.  He stood from his seat then pointed a finger at Jack, 

Are you out of your damn mind?  Do you think for one second we’re going to turn a college kid loose with a gun to shoot up Boston!  I knew you were some kind of joke! 

Jack remained calm.  He removed his Celtics cap. Let me explain the rest of the plan.  It strikes me that if you knew the source of the guns supply, that’d be a big help in your investigation. 

They didn’t need to answer, but were thinking ‘yes’.  Kaminski sat down.

Jack went on. My plan is to ask CC where I can get a gun.  I leave the poker games at odd hours with a wad of cash.  I really need protection.  So, no, you won’t be giving me a gun.  I need to know enough about handguns to know what to ask for, or what not to ask for.  I should have some idea how to use a gun.  I need to be convincing with CC. 

After a moment of pause, their questions started to flow.  Being the senior of