The Ballad of Honest Jake Who: Punisher NPCs: Honest Jake Where: A Sleazy Bar in Gotham When: Thursday, November 15, 2012. Night. What: Frank Castle climbs the ladder. Rating: PG-13 for strong language and violence. Status: Narrative
Every organization had 'that guy'. The con man. The professional liar. The kind who was addicted to lying, who couldn't break it no matter how hard he tried. He even lied to the Bosses. The only reason he was still alive was because, despite what he told you, he really had only one skill set: dishonesty. And this skill set made the Bosses money. So he got a pass. He even got a nickname. Honest Jake. It was hysterical, but no one ever really laughed at it.
You see, everyone liked this guy. He was likeable. He had a way with people and he knew it, and he didn't stay in one hangout for long, because eventually those who considered him a pal started to realize just how full of shit he was. He wore out his welcome, then moved on to the next group of suckers, always giving the Bosses a percentage wherever he went.
He was a master of tall tales. To believe everything he said strained your belief. One too many war stories about the mafia in New York City, or Boston, or Metropolis. Then he disappeared, and some thought he'd met the business end of a bad deal. One lie too many, or someone too drunk or angry to be taken in by Honest Jake's soothsaying. He wasn't mourned. He had a family somewhere in the East Coast. Possibly three or four. And they hadn't seen him in even longer. So when Honest Jake disappeared, no one really missed him. No one but the Bosses.
And the Bosses, they thought he'd gone rogue. Stopped sending them money. Went in deep somewhere, out of sight. Left Gotham behind for greener pastures. Or at least neighborhoods that didn't have a Bat Problem.
So when he showed up out of nowhere after three weeks off the grid, with an even crazier story, of course no one believed him.
Honest Jake said he and some other mooks got targeted by the Punisher. That he was the only survivor. The place had been riddled with bullets, pocked by explosives, and drenched in fire. There were no other survivors but him.
Oh that Jake. Him and his tall tales. The boy who cried wolf.
The boy who went right to the Bosses best men, to a regular meeting of half the city's lieutenants under one roof. Looking beat to shit and nursing a flesh wound from a bullet graze. Everyone suspected he'd been in deep with his bookie, which he had. That he'd just gotten what had been coming to him. No one suspected he was being followed, not even him. To hear him say it, he heroically survived, scaring off the big scary wolf with the death's head symbol painted on black. He was the Big Damn Hero.
Then the lights cut out, and things got real ugly. The lieutenants saw the wolf, but it was too late. In all the chaos and shooting, souls dropped like flies, ready offerings to meet their various devils in the underworld. The Punisher cleaned house. He declared war in no uncertain terms.
When the blood stopped pooling and the wind died down, only one man was left standing in the hideout. Honest Jake.
He'd survived twice. Played like a fuckin' fiddle by the Punisher. He was in a predicament. Could he tell the Bosses what had happened? Would they let him live? He had nowhere to run. Buried by a lifetime of lies and the violent manipulations of a man whose sole purpose was to wipe scum like him off the face of the planet.
He found himself holding a gun and contemplating ending it right there. Quick and painless. More than the Bosses would grant him. But Honest Jake was also a coward. He couldn't end his own life. He couldn't own up to his mistakes. He would just have to weave another lie. The Biggest Lie Yet.
So he walked out of that place, and went in search of anyone who would be willing to help him. Anyone whose bridge he hadn't burned long ago. Someone who could get him an audience with the Big Men.
He stumbled through the dark alleys of Gotham City. And death followed in the shadows.