Italics depict Nick's dream. Enjoy.
Nick's experiences with the Sparazza's usual customers had led him to the conclusion that Russian and German business men always seem to have somewhere else to be and don't like listening to someone younger than them. Everytime Nick had met with them, they always acted snobby and condescending. Nick never really cared though because they always gave him the money and he didn't have to try to get them to like him because first off, he didn't care, and secondly, it didn't matter. Nick had become fluent in both German and Russian and was starting to get pretty good at French and Italian as well. He took these as positive things that had come out of his new career.
Nick had just sold 100 chips to each of the business men. He had convinced them that this technology was state of the art, which it was. He explained that it had many perks, most of which their countries didn't have. With these computer chips, you could hack into any governments databases or mainframes without being notcied or traced afterwards. It allowed access to bank accounts, social security, personal information, government documents and off-shore banks that could store a fortune without anyone being able to find it. These chips were the best thing any foreign mobster or crime boss could dream up, and Nick was selling them to said mobsters and crime bosses.
But Nick didn't care if people bought them or not, which they were. But it didn't matter to him. That wasn't what was on his mind. He was focusing more on trying to figure out why James was moving these pieces. It wasn't for the money. It was never for the money when you had too much money to ever spend it all. James didn't need to build up his reputation either. He was the most respected boss in the world, and people were always glad to do business with him. Nick couldn't figure out the real reason behind this big computer chip sale, but he knew there was one. He knew that something bigger than this was going to go down, and it was only a matter of time before he figured it out.
Nick hated most of his customers as much as they hated him, but business was business and what needed to get done always did. Now that most of the deals were either set up or completed, Nick finally had some time to relax. It was his night off from CSI, so he got to just sit at home and do nothing. Well, that had been his original plan, to do nothing. But he ended up thinking about what he was going to do with what Jack had given him and how he was going to get out. He had to figure something out soon before it was too late.
Nick was sitting on his couch, trying to watch the Red Sox game when he slowly began to drift off to sleep. He tried not to, but the harder he tried, the more tired he became. He was trying to pay attention as the Sox were trying to come back from being down two runs in the bottom of the ninth inning. Nick looked at the score; the Mariner's four runs over the Sox two. He tried to concentrate, but began to reliaze his efforts were futile. He finally gave in and fell asleep sitting up.
Nick couldn't see anything but he felt like someone was watching him. He was in a dark room and couldn't see anything around him. He wasn't sure where he was or why he was there, but that didn't matter when images started flashing across the wall in front of him like a movie screen. They were images of the things he had done since his involvement with the Sparazza's. Drugs, cars, casinos, bookies, dead bodies. Everything, replaying in front of his eyes. Then he heard a voice speak in the dark.
"Is this the life that you lead, or the life that's led for you?"
Nick immediatly recognized Jack's voice and the familair saying the older man had said to him often. Nick wanted to reply, but he was unable to. He just stood there, watching the images and waited for Jack to say something else.
"Will you take this chance that's been laid out before you?"
Nick saw the computer chips, then James and Mike Sparazza shaking hands with their customers. He saw money exchanging hands and a gun being loaded.
"What are you gonna do when no one's with you in the end?"
Nick didn't recognize what he was seeing now. He saw bullet casings on a dark wood floor, but he didn't make a connection with them. They could have been from anywhere. He saw the bright lights of the strip and the desert sand blowing in the hot wind of the night. He tried to make sense of it, but couldn't.
"This is mind over matter Nicky. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter."
Nick didn't understand what Jack meant. What didn't he mind? What doesn't matter? It wasn't making any sense to him and Nick wished he could know what was going on and what was going to happen next.
"From the falsest smile, to the fear of death is why pain can remind us that we are in fact still alive." Jack paused before saying, "I'm gonna miss ya kid."
Nick's eyes snapped open and he sat forward. His heart was racing against his chest and he could feel the hair standing up on the back of his neck. The dream he had just had, added to the way Jack had acted on the balcony and James' house made Nick's stomach churn. He wasn't superstitious, but he knew that his dream had some meaning. He didn't hear Jack's voice and see those things for no good reason. He needed to know the reason.
Nick got up off his couch and headed for the door without turning the TV off. He put his shoes on and grabbed his keys, completely unaware of the fact that the Sox had scored a run, but were just one out away from losing to the Mariner's.
Nick started his car and was half way down his street ten seconds later. He never drove this fast, even if he was late for work. He knew it was stupid and wreckless, but he had this overwhelming urgency to talk to Jack. He had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that he needed to, and he didn't know why. He felt like something was wrong, other than the usual. Nick couldn't stop thinking about his dream or what Jack had given. Why did Jack have all the files and other incriminating evidence on James and not his lawyer?
Then it hit him. James Sparazza didn't have a lawyer. He didn't trust them, which is understandable given his profession. He must have let Jack have access to all the files, paperwork, whatever. Jack had everything anyone would ever need to bring down the biggest mob criminal in the history of the United States. And Jack had given it to Nick.
Nick suddenly became aware of the small device in his left front jeans pocket. It suddenly felt larger and heavier than it should have, considering he was now used to it being there. He had kept it on his person since Jack had given it to him, not risking the chance of losing it or someone finding it and knowing what it was.
A realization dawned on Nick and made his heart skip a beat.
Someone had to know it existed. Someone had to know about it and that Jack had it. Well, not anymore, but they probably still think he does. Nick knew that the only person who probably knew about it was James, and if he was in fact planning moer than meets the eye, he would need evidence against himself destroyed.
Nick sped up, flying towards Jack's house even faster. It felt like the simple ten minute drive was taking hours. Nick's mind and heart were racing, blocking everything else out. He didn't even know that the radio was on, the announcer telling an ignorant Nick that David Ortiz was up at bat with the bases loaded and two outs. The count was even at two and two, and the Mariner's pitcher was talking to the catcher, trying to figure out what to do.
Nick finally pulled into Jack's driveway and got out of the car without turning it off. He ran to the door and opened it without knocking, bursting into Jack's living room. It was darker in the house than it was outside, where it was almost pitch black. It took a minute for Nick's eyes to adjust to the darkness, but when they finally did, he wished they hadn't.
Nick's eyes adjusted and landed on Jack, who was sitting completely still in the recliner in the far corner of the room. His eyes were closed and his hands were resting in his lap. Nick stood there, glued to the spot, unable to move or speak. Jack didn't either and seemed to be asleep and completely unaware of Nick's prescence.
Nick finally found his voice and called out. "Jack?" he said quietly. When he was met with no response, he said louder, "Jack? Wake up man."
Jack didn't open his eyes or even move at all. He stayed as still as humanly possible. The more Nick watched him, the more he began to realize it was more inhumanly possible to be that still.
Nick slowly began to walk over to the Jack's corner of the room. "Jack?" he said again, louder still. Nick kept going closer, slowly at first but then picked up speed.
He was three feet away when he finally saw it.
Three bullet holes were in the center of Jack's chest. Blood had soaked through his black shirt, tinting it dark red when it caught some of the moonlight sneaking in from outside. His chest wasn't moving at all and he was completely silent, adding to the peacefullness the sight had seemed to take on.
Nick kneeled down in front of Jack and looked at him through his tear filled eyes. "Jack," he said, not asked. Nick reached up with a shaky hand and felt for a pulse, but nothing met his fingers except for cold, lifeless flesh.
Nick stood up abruptly, but didn't step back or attempt to move away. He stood there, stuck, as the tears fell from his eyes and down his cheeks. They continued on down over his jawbone and kept going, sliding down his neck and moistening the collar of his dark grey t-shirt.
Nick stood there in what seemed to him to be silence. All he could see what Jack in front of him, and all he could hear was the last words he had heard Jack say to him on the balcony. Nick didn't hear his car still running out in the driveway, or the radio announcer saying the Mariner's pitcher had returned to the mound.
Ortiz dug in, the catcher gave the signal, and there was a pitch. Ortiz hit a high fly ball to deep center field. It was going back fast, but not back or fast enough. The center fielder caught it, and the Red Sox lost in the bottom of the ninth by one run.
Nick understood how Ortiz felt.