The Butcher by Philip Carlo Read Free Book Online

protecting society from its degenerates, miscreants, and criminals. On his way to the Academy, as Jim read about different crimes in the newspapers, he was appalled at how women and children were put upon, beaten and battered and raped. This was during the height of the drug epidemic plaguing the United States and street crimes were off the charts.
    Jim excelled at the firing range. He became a crack shot. He knew the .38 revolver the police department issued was a tool of his trade, a tool that could save his life, his partner’s life…an innocent’s life. Every week, he spent extra hours at the pistol range, perfecting his shooting prowess. When, toward the end of the course, Jim was asked where he’d like to be placed, he purposely picked one of the toughest known precincts in all of New York City—the Thirty-fourth Precinct in Washington Heights. Jim was not about to go through the motions. He wanted to be in the epicenter of where crime was happening on a large scale, to be in the action. When he started at the Thirty-fourth Precinct, he was assigned to walk a beat, precisely what he had wanted.
    With his fair skin and red hair, Jim Hunt stuck out in Harlem like a carrot in a cabbage patch. He had a pleasant baby face, a warm, beguiling smile, and he quickly made acquaintances and friends with shop owners and residents on his beat. Jim knew good police work was, to a large degree, about having your ear to the ground, both eyes wide open, having informants. He let the word be passed all along his beatthat he would welcome information about crimes and keep the source a secret. Like this, little by little, Jim heard about robberies, assaults, drug deals, murders, and unspeakable sex crimes. He began to shine. As well as being clever, easy to talk to, easy to warm to, Jim Hunt was fearless. Often, he’d make an arrest by himself without a second thought. He had a gun. He knew how to use it well. And he was very good with his hands. Yet if he needed backup, he’d call for it. He knew a good partner was worth his weight in gold.
    As much as Jim liked police work at the NYPD, he came to realize that his opportunities for promotion were inherently limited at the NYPD. Jim began thinking of leaving the force for federal law enforcement. He heard through family that there were positions open in the Secret Service. He went to their offices at One World Trade Center, took the exams, and passed with flying colors. Next he had to be interviewed by a senior Secret Service agent. These interviews were to establish if any given individual was adequately qualified to be in the Secret Service; that is, capable of protecting the president and other political luminaries of the United States. A senior agent named Jack Sullivan interviewed him and said, “Jim, I like everything about you. You did great on the test. You’re the kind of guy we’re looking for, but I don’t know if you’ll like the job. I don’t know if we are what you’re looking for.”
    This caught Jim off guard. “Why is that?” he asked.
    â€œJim, what we do is not hands-on. I’m telling you this as a friend, as though you were family—what we do is all about waiting, watching. What I think you’re used to, what I think you want, is to be in the action, to be out there making arrests, chasing down bad guys, running over rooftops.”
    Jim Hunt smiled. “Well,” he said, “you’re right.”
    â€œWell, Jim, that’s not what we do,” Jack repeated. Jim Hunt thanked him and the two men soon parted. As Jim made his way down the elevators, his mind went toward the DEA, his father’s home turf.
    Â 
    Jim Hunt Jr. was soon enrolled in the four-month course given by the Drug Enforcement Administration at Quantico, Virginia. His class trained alongside the new class of the FBI. The DEA and the FBI were sister agencies. Though they were supposed to be working