Jack of Harts

I recognized Charles Edward Hurst the first time I met him. Not that I actually knew who he was, you understand. Just what he was. I had seen his type before. The Capital F Family types. Old Money that could buy anything they wanted. They loved to vacation in Northern Minnesota and sample all the delights we offered. And sometimes ones that weren’t for sale. They always thought that money could buy forgetfulness or otherwise leverage matters to get them out of legal trouble. They were right more than I liked, but there were other types of trouble they could get into if they escaped the legal kind. I was good at helping facilitate that. He wasn’t the only one of his ilk sent to the little reserve fighter squadron down in Texas where I met them. I figured the fix was in. It was going to be a show squadron that didn’t do any real fighting. But Charles had other plans.