As a Metro undercover detective who worked everything from mob crews to auto theft rings, John Hunt blended so well into the Las Vegas criminal underworld that he set even the wariest hoodlum at ease.

He didn’t accomplish the feat with brash talk or clever disguises. He didn’t throw back whiskey and order fine cigars. Although he didn’t let on, he was a devout member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Hunt took advantage of his humble personality and easygoing manner and rocked to sleep stone killers, loansharks and outlaw bookmakers.

Whether toiling as a delivery man at the Food Factory when it was notorious as a hangout for the Spilotro crew and its Chicago Outfit associates, or collecting valuable information on the ebb and flow of the street moneylending racket from behind the wheel of a taxi, he carved out his own legend as “the man you never saw,” as Hunt’s lifelong friend and retired Metro detective Dale Horton described him recently.

Wracked by an array of serious medical issues that left his immune system weakened, Hunt began to feel weak on July 16 and was taken to a local emergency room by his wife, Susan. While waiting at home for the results of a COVID-19 test, his condition rapidly declined. He was hospitalized and two days later was intubated. He never regained consciousness and died on Aug. 3. He was 71.

Shortly after John was intubated, the family’s eldest son, 45-year-old Timothy Hunt, was diagnosed with COVID-19 and began to fail quickly.  An Eagle Scout and graduate of Clark High, he suffered from a diabetic condition.  A husband and father of a young son, Timothy died on July 25.

As the cost of the coronavirus pandemic rises, with deaths topping 170,000 nationally and more than 1,000 in Nevada, the numbers don’t begin to tell the real story of heartache being played out across America.

For Susan Hunt, losing a husband and a son has been devastating, but it hasn’t shaken her faith.

“It is a difficult time and I have many moments,” she said. “I am doing my mourning, just like everyone needs to do. My faith, my family and my friends have all been there for me.”

She paused, then gracefully pulled a thread of gratitude from knot of grief, “It gives me some peace to know that John never knew that Tim died.”

Susan said her family memories and those from her husband’s colorful career hearten her. He was happiest driving a black-and-white in patrol, but he took to undercover work almost naturally as part of Metro Intelligence at a dangerous time in Las Vegas history. And although he didn’t bring his work home with him, there were times when he maintained a separate phone line in a bedroom closet to take calls from sources that ranged from drug addicts to mob-connected bookmakers.

At a time when Tony Spilotro’s crew was under investigation by a litany of law enforcement, it considered the Food Factory burger joint on Twain Avenue a protected inner sanctum. But Hunt managed to land a job there. As a delivery driver, he hung out between runs on the edge of the criminal crew, quietly collecting valuable intelligence information.

In an era when Metro Intelligence specialized in choreographing elaborate storefront and sting operations that netted dozens of arrests, Hunt was an integral player. He partnered with Metro undercover Det. Lou DeTiberiis on several successful operations. They made quite a team, with Hunt looking more like a schoolteacher than a stolen property fence and DeTiberiis looking like Pacino in “Donnie Brasco.” But they had each other’s backs among cutthroats and conmen.

They specialized in “cold hits,” fact-finding investigations that often led them to uncover a variety of dens of thieves. “John was very natural,” DeTiberiis said. “He was so cool.  John would just fit right in.”

And when they had enough information, whether it meant building a case or turning over workable leads to other detectives to close the deal, they slipped back into the night and on to the next case.

“Cop never came off of him,” Horton said. The two met in the 1960s at Jim Bridger Junior High. “He ran with some of the bookmakers and bettors at some of the most notorious spots out on the Strip. He played their game as well as they played it. They had no idea.” And when Hunt was finished, “He left as quietly as he went in. Nobody knew who he was or where he came from. He and Louie were good. They were really good. You’ve heard the term ‘put people to sleep.’ That’s what they were able to do. Both of them.”

A good cop, Hunt was a better man. Born in St. George, Utah, he grew up in Las Vegas and attended Rancho High School. After his LDS mission he took classes at UNLV and briefly considered pursuing a law degree, but instead entered the police academy. He was a proud husband, father of three, and grandfather of five.

“He was one of the most honest and sincere guys you’d ever want to know,” Horton said. “And talk about good at his job. It was a calling for him. It truly was a calling.”

John L. Smith is an author and longtime columnist. He was born in Henderson and his family’s Nevada roots go back to 1881. His stories have appeared in Time, Readers Digest, The Daily Beast, Reuters, Ruralite and Desert Companion, among others. He also offers weekly commentary on Nevada Public Radio station KNPR. His newest book—a biography of iconic Nevada civil rights and political leader, Joe Neal— “Westside Slugger: Joe Neal’s Lifelong Fight for Social Justice” is published by University of Nevada Press and is available at Amazon.com. Contact him at [email protected]. On Twitter: @jlnevadasmith