Hey, I’m Jack Horwood. There, will that do? Why do I have to turn into a trained monkey, just because Jackie’s book is coming out? It’s too early for this stuff. Honestly. And I’m not a morning person, unless I’m still awake from the night before. Then it’s okay.
I suppose I promised. And the woman made coffee. So what do you want to know?
I’m Jack, I’m 29 and London’s where I grew up and—apart from five years in the army—London’s where I spend most of my time. Can’t beat the place. It’s full of interesting people. Full of crooks and sleazeballs, too, but if I tell you any more about that I’ll have to kill you after. And that’s not very English. Too messy.
We like things neat, squirrelled away, hidden behind tailored cloth and Georgian architecture, covered by a respectable front that nobody would dare to question. Which is great for me, because I question everything, and make a living digging up stuff others want to keep hidden. And London, with all its secrets, keeps me amused. Also keeps me on my toes, which is a good thing.
Now I’m supposed to talk about that book. As if Jackie & co. aren’t doing that already. But bribe me with coffee and I’m game. It’s supposedly a second chance at love kinda story, which I think is ludicrous because we never took a punt at a first chance.
Meeting Gareth was…. hey, I can’t explain what that was like. A brick to the head would have been easier to handle. And no, it wasn’t love at first sight. I was seventeen. I had no idea what love even was. I’m not sure I do now. I don’t think I’m wired that way. But I’m old enough now to let things be and just wing it, you know?
No, you probably don’t. But that’s okay, too.
Meeting Gareth again, seven years after I walked away, was just as much of a shock. Damned man had to turn up in my interview—for a job I actually wanted, no less—dressed in a suit and tie. I’d never seen Gareth Flynn in a suit before. Do you have any idea how distracting that was? For a minute or two I even thought about moving to Tokyo…
How Jackie Keswick tripped over my sideline I have no idea, but I do know how Gareth did. He rang my doorbell and I opened without checking who it was. I was already in leather and eyeliner, so there was no point trying to talk my way out of it.
When I saw Gareth’s face I didn’t even want to argue—but don’t tell him that! He’s far too cocky already. He didn’t try to talk me out of going out, which I was grateful for. After all, I don’t hunt pimps because I enjoy it, right?
It wasn’t Gareth’s fault that everything went to shit for a while after that. Cases like this one tend to get messy very quickly. Solving them is not my job. It’s never actually been my job, but I tend to end up in them regardless. And most of the time I’m fine with it. This time around… well…
Like I said, I don’t do this because someone pays me to hunt pimps. I don’t do it because I enjoy it, or because I’m gagging for a pat on the back. But if there’s a job that needs doing and nobody steps up—I’m there. And this time around, I think I might have got something out of it, too. Something more than the feeling that London is fractionally safer, that is.
So, can I get back to work now? I have a network to look after and there’s coffee waiting on my desk. Single estate Java. Steaming hot, midnight dark and strong as sin. And I can’t let that go to waste, right?
Ready to meet Jack?
Job Hunt is available as ebook or paperback from