Jack Kerouac Novels & Stories

"What's this? holding the card and put it inside his wallet. She told him what Ace exactly said to her. Jake and her became friends since she started working for Ace, Jake thought her a lot even Ace's likes and dislikes, he was a nice person, and easy to bond with. He was born friendly that is why she loves his company. They were like best friends. He was working for Ace for almost seven years now. And he was three years older than him, he was already 37 years old and already married with a three year old son. He was like an older brother to Ace and her. She even told him her past marriage with James Mazon and he was her personal advisor.

And somewhere in the Source Code, the Utterance was decompressing at fifteen percent, dreaming holes in reality, reaching for the only person who'd ever listened. Jack Sterling had started his career with three hundred and twenty-seven dollars. He'd been broke before. He'd figure it out. He always did.

He hadn't expected to get caught. "Jack." Jack trembled as he said, "Yes, sir?" "How long have you worked for me?" Having a bad feeling, Jack replied, "13 years." "I've treated you well in the past 13 years, haven't I?" "You're my greatest benefactor, sir. If you hadn't gotten me out of the underground life, I would be dead by now," Jack said truthfully. Jack used to be an underground fighter in the black market and had met Kirk by chance.

Sabtu malam di sebuah kamar yang penghuninya sedang asyik sendirian. Entah apa yang sedang dikerjakan Janu. Matanya fokus dan tak berkedip menatap layar laptop. 'Jack, nongkrong, yuk.' Sebuah pesan masuk ke ponselnya. Ternyata dari Abraham. Janu yang sedari tadi hanya bermalas-malasan segera membuka dan membacanya.

"What do you think about the note?" I tried to see his reaction. A slight clue would give him away. He stared at the note for a long time. "One thing's definitely clear." I arched a brow. "And what's that?" "This killer, whoever that he is..." he trailed off to create more suspense. "He is pretty bad at poetry." And I almost threw a knife at him. "It says you're lying. What are you lying about, Jack?" Jack looked outside the window, his eyes staring at a distance. "It says that I'm lying about not having committed those murders."

Jerry knew his racket and had confided in him. “I'm an artist,” he had said. “Passport, certificate… whatever it is, I can handle it. We never know when we'll need these things.” Jack Jerry wasn't so much of an ambitious man and he had been content to work shifts as an elevator attendant at one of the big hotels, and he owned this apartment. He was a man who was satisfied with himself, whose standards weren't high, who was beyond caring about the vanities of this world, but he had been a man of extreme handsomeness. Looking at him now, Gorevoy saw that age had taken away whatever claim he had to that title.

Jack interrupted. “Yes,” Rodrigo replied, “that same guy who’s caught last year in New York. He was a small-time drug dealer back then, but he expanded his business to gun smuggling in and out of the states. He’s been hiding since he got busted, Jack. How the hell did you get involved with these people?”