Deputy Jenkins

About the Job

A man caught between conscience and comfort. In his late thirties, he wears the uniform with the ease of experience, but behind his badge lies a quiet unease. He’s part of the same tight knit circle of deputies Bogar, Lazar, and the rest who take orders from Don Zavetta, the cartel boss who practically owns the town. Jenkins knows what he’s doing is wrong. He tells himself it’s just work that he’s keeping his head down, following orders, and making a living. The truth is harder to swallow: he’s compromised. The money Zavetta pays him is more than his salary could ever offer, enough to take his family on nice vacations, pay off debts, and keep food on the table without worry. Every dollar, though, comes with a little more guilt attached. He’s not a violent man, nor cruel by nature. But he’s learned to silence his conscience with justifications “it’s just a job,” “someone else would do it if I didn’t.” When orders come down to help track Donovan, Jenkins doesn’t question why. He just loads his gun, keeps his mouth shut, and does what’s expected. Still, there’s a tension building inside him a moral fracture widening with every dirty favor he does for Zavetta. He looks at his family and wonders how long he can keep pretending he’s still the good guy. Jenkins isn’t a monster; he’s a man who sold his principles one paycheck at a time. And deep down, he knows that someday, the bill will come due.