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  JACK & COKE

  A NOVEL

  JIMMY HAIGHT

  NEW YORK

  LONDON • NASHVILLE • MELBOURNE • VANCOUVER

  JACK & COKE

  A Novel

  © 2018 Jimmy Haight

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fi ctitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published in New York, New York, by Morgan James Publishing. Morgan James is a trademark of Morgan James, LLC. www.MorganJamesPublishing.com

  The Morgan James Speakers Group can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event visit The Morgan James Speakers Group at www.TheMorganJamesSpeakersGroup.com.

  ISBN 9781683507543 paperback

  ISBN 9781683507086 eBook

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017916058

  Cover Design by:

  Rachel Lopez

  www.r2cdesign.com

  Interior Design by:

  Chris Treccani

  www.3dogcreative.net

  In an effort to support local communities, raise awareness and funds, Morgan James Publishing donates a percentage of all book sales for the life of each book to Habitat for Humanity Peninsula and Greater Williamsburg.

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  www.MorganJamesBuilds.com

  DEDICATION

  To Aimee. Without you, this book would not exist. How lucky I am to have someone who makes me better every single day.

  PREFACE

  We live in an age of decentralization. We are powering our homes with electricity produced without a central utility, using currencies without affiliation to a government, and assembling the largest trove of human information via a worldwide network of contributors. One by one, the gatekeepers of power are losing their relevance.

  Jack & Coke is a story of many things, but among them is the destabilizing impact of such a force on our most precious institution—the truth. Any person can now disseminate information to billions of others without the blessing of a central authority figure. There is both great promise and peril in this future. We have the responsibility to ensure that we use this opportunity to promote transparency, fairness, and prosperity for those that come after us. This book is merely one such idea about how we can build the necessary reverence for truth-telling. It is my hope that one of you will take this idea and make it a reality.

  This is also the story of youthful ambition. It took me many years to tell the story of Jack Ranger and to articulate what he is chasing. He sees a world where the only certainty is increased stratification, and the only thing he is willing to bet on is himself. As I matured through writing this book, my understanding of what it means to succeed has shifted, and I have no doubt that my feelings will continue to evolve. But right here, right now, I leave you with the story of Jack Ranger, a passionate young man who rages against the world because he believes that his destiny can only be achieved through sheer force of will.

  CHAPTER 1

  Should I run?

  His temples throbbed against his skull. A haze occupied his consciousness where thoughts were supposed to be. A screaming sound rang in his ears.

  I need to run.

  Jack Ranger lay face-down and discarded.

  At the edges of his senses, he felt the dew of the grass pressing up against his skin. He heard the gentle hum of a small suburb going to sleep.

  Mostly what he felt was pain. Blinding pain.

  Jack rolled onto his back and blinked at the twilight sky. More than anything he wanted to rest. But there wasn’t time. He had to move.

  Jack attempted to stand. He staggered a few steps and fell on his right hand. His eyes blurred and he screamed out in pain. He couldn’t silence it. He couldn’t silence himself.

  On one knee, Jack looked at his hand as he curled his fingers in and out of a fist. In a stupor, the pain peaked and flowed throughout his body. He had felt the chemicals eating at his skin as his captors held him in place. But now, through glazed eyes, he saw for the first time the bubbles of tortured flesh on the back of his right hand. There was no more blood, but it was still too fresh for scar tissue.

  He had to get up. He couldn’t stay here long.

  Adrenaline kicked in again, giving him another chance.

  From his knee, he lifted his head and took in his surroundings. In the gray light of dusk, Jack rose and moved to the house that he had been to once before.

  CHAPTER 2

  ONE YEAR EARLIER

  Jack’s fourth interview since his college graduation was going differently than he expected. He followed the man he hoped would be his boss into a poorly lit bar.

  Anton raised his credit card in the air. “Liz, how are you today? We’ve got a new recruit, and I think he needs a beer.”

  He wasn’t sure when the interview had officially started, but he could tell it was well underway.

  “So Jack, what makes you think you want to do this?

  “Work at the Tribune?”

  “No—reporting.”

  He paused. The graduate sat on his bar stool thinking about how he wanted to craft his answer. It was difficult to get a read on Anton. Did he want passion? Was he looking for skill and experience? Or was he a functioning alcoholic who wanted an excuse to drink at 3:00 p.m. on a Wednesday?

  “I suppose two reasons. Truth and a mentor.”

  “A fine answer! But first, who is this mentor?”

  “A professor I had in college, Professor Malcolm Ray.”

  This professor was something of a legend at the university, amongst the journalism school anyways. Malcolm Ray was an ex-New York Times reporter. He broke big stories in the 90’s and was a lightning rod for political activism in the early 2000’s. It was a big deal when he decided to take a back seat from the real world and spend his time influencing impressionable young minds in the hallowed halls of academia. Jack never knew why Professor Ray chose Jack’s school or why a journalist would leave at the pinnacle of his career, but Jack suspected Professor Ray had found himself in the middle of a lucrative bidding war of universities hoping for his services.

  “Ah, Malcolm Ray, I know of him. A great guy from all accounts.” Anton paused and reflected. “Professors can leave a deep impression on us, Jack. You may owe more to him for this moment than you know.”

  Anton laughed a bit and raised his glass. “But truth! We have an idealist!” He took a drink and smiled. “You’re going to need more than that—tell me why you are here. What about truth?”

  The cogs of Jack’s mind turned a little easier when greased with a beer. But how could he explain? Jack knew that a bit of desperation was wrapped in that truth. This was interview number four. New York Times, Chicago Tribune, and Washington Post—they all said no. Jack’s scorecard showed two rejection calls and a pulled job offer. It wasn’t a good look. The Tribune was his only chance to join a respectable paper, even if it was his last choice. He knew his abilities, and he knew he deserved this. The real truth was that Jack knew he belonged in the arena with the best of the trade.

  But somehow that didn’t seem like the best way to answer Anton’s question. “Truth,” he said instead. “Because that’s what keeps the world in check. Because the lack of it topples nations and the presence of it exposes corruption. Because truth is what the people demand
and it is in short supply.”

  Another raise of the glass, another smile, and another drink. “I underestimated your idealism.”

  Anton’s face grew more serious as he moved to the next part of his interview. “I’m not sure if you know what I actually do at the Tribune, Jack, but there’s more to my job than what my title would lead you to believe.”

  Jack’s head tilted right.

  “I’m the guy that brings out the truth that you seem to love so much.”

  Jack was excited although not quite sure what type of offer Anton was framing.

  He continued, “I need good people on my team, there’s a lot more truth to be told.”

  And there it was, the implicit sign that Jack was in.

  Jack nodded. His impulse was to say ‘yes’ immediately, but he held back. Something about this was different. He realized that he didn’t need to say anything. The choice had already been made. It didn’t matter what he said.

  The right hand of each met above the bar. A firm shake followed by a deliberate clinking of their pint glasses.

  “Who is the next interview with?”

  “Jack, it’s not a question of who you are meeting. It’s a question of what you are doing. And I think you’ll like the answer.”

  With that, Anton reached into his wallet and handed him two business cards. Jack didn’t read the second card because he was too confused by what was on the first.

  Jack Ranger

  Associate Political Correspondent

  Tribune Co.

  CHAPTER 3

  Jack’s Bluff

  THE THIRD DAY OF COLLEGE

  She was perfect. Her sundress, her sunglasses, her suntan—perfect.

  Jack walked into the elevator on the way to his new freshman year dorm room. College was a flurry of sensations. The campus, the classes, the girls—everything was a new and tantalizing invitation.

  High school had been a breeze, but he already knew college offered something more. Jack loved the thrill of the chase. College could be enlightenment.

  His heart skipped when Molly walked in.

  The elevator doors closed behind her.

  She gave a polite smile and asked, “What floor are you going to?”

  Jack felt so lucky in this moment. She had opened the conversation and welcomed him to speak to her. He knew it was his chance to make a first impression. Now was the time to flash his charm. But instead, he froze.

  He waited until Molly pressed the button for her floor.

  “Same as you,” he said, “floor five.”

  Jack waited for this coincidence to spark a playful remark. It was serendipity that should form the basis for chit-chat.

  But Molly was unimpressed.

  She gave a shrug and tapped her fingers against the elevator wall. Jack shifted, smiled, and stared at the closed doors.

  The elevator pinged and the doors opened. The fifth floor was here. Jack followed her out of the elevator and pretended to tie his shoes until she disappeared around the corner. Jack stood and looked around to see if anyone was there to call his bluff.

  He didn’t have her name and he didn’t have her number. He just had a need to see her again. Jack returned to the elevator and hit the button for the seventh floor.

  CHAPTER 4

  Leaving college had been a rough transition at first, but Jack was getting along well enough in Boston. He moved to the outskirts of the city, Allston, into a studio apartment. He was surrounded by a smattering of fringe individuals. Allston was known for its magnetic attraction to the eclectic folks who’d prefer a bike to a car, fair trade coffee to a gym membership, and tattoos as opposed to brand names. But it was also home to bright-eyed and newly-minted graduates clawing to make a name for themselves. To put it plainly, the city was expensive and Allston was cheap—for now. Allston served as a foothold for the young and ambitious to stay within shouting distance of their dreams.

  The result was that this particular neighborhood of Boston had a serious case of clashing identities.

  Jack supposed it was like any gentrification story—the fringe kept it cheap while the yuppies made it more expensive. One of the core characteristics of the modern yuppie, however saddled by student debt they may be, was their unquenchable attraction for more of their kind. Allston was experiencing a swarming of young graduates. They were drawn like moths to the siren light of downtown. But first, they had to pay their dues on the outskirts. Yes, Jack’s studio apartment, friends, and insistence on watching Monday Night Football were contributing to the cause. Allston, Boston really, was in a state of flux and Jack once or twice reflected that he might be living at the tipping point.

  The routine of work was something he hadn’t quite got used to. It was the pace of life more than anything else that was troubling. College was fast. Careers were slow. This wouldn’t be a problem if the world itself would decide to slow down. Regimes, ideals, and paradigms were falling and shifting on a daily basis, and Jack was left out. Computers were learning how to drive cars and Jack was stuck editing fluff pieces. There seemed to be two tracks in the world. Jack and all his friends were not on the fast one.

  It didn’t help that Molly was in New York City. He missed her more than he was willing to admit. Even his best friend Sean, who understood Jack like few other people, didn’t know how much he missed her.

  In college, they had been inseparable. Jack Ranger and Sean J. Cosatiri quickly became best friends, a fact that remained unchanged even if its meaning had shifted over the years. It wasn’t the same now; there was something magical about the proximity of college. There was a certain allure to walking to meet someone on a whim or sharing a supreme commonality of experience. Whatever allure this was, it gradually eroded in the real world, one crowded subway ride at a time.

  He missed his Friday night ritual.

  The odd ritual took place nearly every Friday night when he was in college. Before the bars he would head over to Sean’s apartment. Before the music, before the dancing, before the girls, there were just the two of them sitting in a room. One drinking rum, the other whiskey. Classes were hard, the week was exhausting, Saturday was a hangover and Sunday was for homework. There existed only Friday evening before the craziness to talk life.

  He remembered the night that the ritual started.

  Jack had walked into Sean’s apartment without knocking. The apartment was classically unkempt, but always within a shade of respectfulness so that cleaning could be accomplished if the situation called for it. He hopped on the couch to find, waiting for him, a cup of ice, and three bottles: Sailor Jerry’s, Jack Daniels, and Coke.

  They talked about the usual things. “What about Casey?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah, I don’t know, something about her I’m not really into,” Sean replied.

  “You mean she’s not blonde?”

  Sean lifted his glass in acknowledgement.

  And then the ideas started to flow: business ideas, political ideas, thoughts about what the future might hold. This was the first of countless times that the future would arise in their conversation. Maybe that was why Jack had loved the ritual so much. Jack was obsessed with the future.

  Whiskey and rum worked their way into the conversation. Not overly so, but it fanned the flames.

  Sean mentioned that his aunt and uncle had just spent ten thousand dollars to put his little cousin into an ‘elite’ kindergarten.

  Jack marveled. “A good kindergarten means a nice elementary and middle school…. which lets you get into a nice prep school so that you can have a shot at the Ivy League.”

  They sat thinking about the implications.

  Sean offered a thought. “It’s weird that the world can be decided for you by the time you’re five. You’re either in or you’re out and you don’t have a choice.”

  “But I don’t blame them,” Jack said “people are scared. I’d do the same thing. Those on the edge are being left behind.”

  Another pause and another drink of whiskey.
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  Sean was a reflective guy. He offered conclusions in the form of observations. He had a way of wrapping other people into his thoughts that made everything seem like a group endeavor. He said to Jack, “When you don’t know what the future holds, then you better get to the top while you still have the chance.”

  Their situation was obvious. Neither had gone to an overpriced kindergarten. No one had opted them ‘in.’ Their future was a battle of willpower vs. pedigree.

  Neither of them fully understood why the future meant so much to them, but they knew it was what had brought them together. “That’s why we work so hard, Sean. Because we are our only insurance policy.”

  Jack lingered on his whiskey as Sean disappeared into his room before coming back out with a fresh shirt. “You about ready to head to Casey’s pregame?” asked Sean.

  Jack sprang off the couch. “Do you think Molly will be there?”

  CHAPTER 5

  Working at the Tribune wasn’t what Jack had imagined. It also wasn’t what Anton had promised him either.

  “Have you heard about specialization of labor?” Anton had mentioned to Jack one day.

  “The internet is great at cat videos, so we let them do that. Our value isn’t in cat videos, Jack. It’s not in puzzles, and it’s not in classified ads either. That’s what YouTube and Craigslist are for. We might not be first to report something, but if we say it then people know it’s true. It’s a big responsibility.”

  Jack couldn’t help but notice the Tribune itself didn’t seem as convinced about its mission as Anton was.

  Newspapers were dying, and everyone working at the Tribune knew it. It made for an interesting mix. There were those who were grinding out their final years, those just thankful to have a job, and those who didn’t want to give up on their training. With the exception of Anton, Jack had yet to come across someone with a similar conviction for truth.