The Debt Collector (Book 1 of a Jack Winchester Organized Crime Action Thriller) (Jack Winchester Vigilante Justice Thriller Series) (19 page)

T
HE LATE AFTERNOON
sun hung low over the pines as they returned home. An officer by the name of Flynn Thompson had been given the responsibility of escorting them. Unsure if any other cop was involved, she was a little apprehensive to go with him. But without her vehicle and with him insisting, she had little choice. Previously she’d only met him two or three times when Frank had swung by the house. He was a young cop, fresh out of the academy, who had only just completed his one year probation period. Freshly polished shoes, crisp uniform, and a haircut buzzed tight made him stick out like a sore thumb. He’d always made a point of being polite, unlike some of the other grouchy officers who’d been with the department for far too many years.

On the way back, she inquired if there was a chance she could see Jack, to which he replied in a monotone voice that it wasn’t up to him. When asked if he knew why they were preventing anyone from seeing him, he told her that they were investigating the incident and following up on what Frank had told them on the way to the hospital.

She pressed for more details, but he tightened up.

His lips pursed. “Sorry, Dana, I really can’t say anymore.”

As they approached the motel, Dana noticed that the lot in front had disappeared, only to be replaced by an ocean of faces. Reporters, cameramen, sound engineers, and several locals covered every inch. They passed by seven TV station mobile units along the side of the road, all of which had satellite units on the top and colorful graphic emblems on the sides indicating what station they belonged to. She recognized the local one, but the others were from out of town.

“What the heck?”

“When we get out, just stick close to me,” the officer said, flipping his siren on to force the crowd apart.

The mob divided just enough to let the car through. The onslaught of bodies pressed up against the cruiser almost blocked out the light of day as he killed the engine. Like piranhas itching to devour fresh meat, they elbowed each other and shoved their microphones at the windows, vying for that first interview. Dana felt like canned bait.

The very second she cracked the door, a firestorm of shouting began.

“What’s it like to be a survivor?”

“How did you know these men?”

“What is your connection to this New York crime family?”

“Ms. Grant, is this anything to do with your husband’s disappearance?”

“Keep back,” Officer Thompson bellowed, using his one arm as a barrier and the other to guide her and Jason through the mass.

Dana was at a loss for words. One moment she was about to reply, the next her train of thought was interrupted by another series of questions. Was she meant to answer them? Dana wasn’t ready for this. Never in her life had she witnessed such a circus. In the sea of media, her mind spun.

The officer forced his way through the swarm, using as much force as possible. Microphones jabbed against them; Jason swatted them away while doing his best to keep moving forward.

“Get lost.”

Nearly trampled by the crowd, the officer pushed back on a cameraman who had managed to knock his hat to the ground. Any attempt at retrieving it was futile. It vanished quickly beneath a centipede number of feet. Soon, questions became incomprehensible. Finally they managed to budge the mass of reporters back enough to climb the steps to the house. Red-faced and panting hard, Dana let out a lungful of air as the door closed behind them. Only the dark silhouette of faces could be seen beyond the glass window.

When Dana entered the kitchen, one glimpse of the damage was enough for her to know that the men must have ransacked the house searching for the money. Officer Thompson followed her into the living room. The sound of his boots on crushed glass made her sigh. Drawers were on the floor, the furniture torn to shreds and photo frames in pieces. She picked up a silver frame containing a photo of them as a family. It reminded her of a time when things had been good.
Things weren’t always this way
, she thought. She sighed again. Turning it upside down, shards of glass fell out. She picked at it, pulling the photo from the frame. The photo showed a much younger Dana with Matt’s arm wrapped around her. Jason stood between them, only knee high.

“You don’t seem to be able to get a break,” Thompson said, sweeping into the next room.

“Nice, they broke the T.V,” Jason said, rubbing his hand across the edge of a cracked plasma screen.

After the day they had, the loss of property had zero impact on her. Daily concerns that once seemed insurmountable now paled in comparison.

* * *

T
he following few
days passed without incident. Satisfied or not, after the police gave their official statement on the events that had transpired the media slowly dispersed. Each morning fewer vans parked outside. Dana watched from behind a curtain as the final remnants slipped away, yesterday’s front page news becoming today’s fodder. The call to snag a new story soon replaced all and any urge to linger for mere scraps of information on what the police had called a closed case.

Two officers, one of whom was Officer Thompson, were assigned to remain on site until Dana no longer felt threatened or until they themselves were needed. She had taken advantage of their presence by promptly putting them to work on helping her clean up the house. Jason chipped in, and after tossing out most of their damaged possessions, it had left them with very little.

She went about replacing furniture using one of the many thrift stores in town. Where cash flow had been tight before, she knew she was going to max out her credit cards just trying to recoup some sense of normality. Fortunately, though, Sophie, never being one to keep her mouth closed, had rallied together a group of elderly women who ran a collection of boutique stores in the square. She wouldn’t tell Dana how she had twisted their arms, but they offered to furnish her place and would not accept no for an answer or any payment. According to them, after learning about her misfortune and her near death experience it was the least they could do.

It was a sweet gesture, and one that she gladly accepted, even though she had doubts about why they were being so charitable. She was quite aware of how things worked in this town. Once this had blown over, she would soon discover the strings. Regardless, for the time being it made her appreciate living in Rockland Cove. Its small town charm and sense of community was hard to find. It extended beyond gossiping old women, antique stores, fishing harbors, and yearly festivals and found its way into their daily lives. It was the one thing that stayed the same, even as the people around her changed.

The funeral for Frank had been arranged for Thursday of that week. A day before, police from all across Maine gathered in the heart of the town to honor his life. Watching behind steel railings under the watchful eyes of locals and members of the department as a stream of cruisers crawled their way through the town, she wrapped her arm around Jason. It was bitterly cold that morning, enough to see her own breath—a stark reminder of how she felt inside. None would know the truth behind Frank’s actions, only that he died a hero and gave his life for hers. She chose to show her respect for his final actions by keeping it that way.

Later that evening, she received a phone call from the hospital informing her that Jack was awake, fully expecting to be reminded that she’d have to get police permission to visit. She was surprised to learn that wouldn’t be required. The nurse gave her the visiting hour times and was about to hang up when Dana told her to wait.

“So I don’t need to speak to a police officer?”

“No, Dana.”

“And I can see him tomorrow?”

“Yes, I just said that.” The nurse’s patience was wearing thin after being made to answer that question three times.

After hanging up, she couldn’t help but wonder what had changed. She could have sworn they had told her initially that no one was allowed to see him. Then again, she recalled Officer Thompson mention that Frank had spoken to them on the way to the hospital. She made a mental note to follow up on that.

T
HE NEXT DAY
, as she pulled into the hospital around noon, she mulled over questions that she had for Jack. Inside the center it was vastly different to what she remembered. The crowds were gone. The hectic activity had slowed. It was as quiet as any private doctor’s office. Order had replaced chaos.

Before going into the recovery room, she took a deep breath. She swung open the door and entered the brightly lit room with the drapes pulled back. An unshaven orderly in white clothing was removing the sheets from the bed. Her eyes shifted to the washroom, which was open and empty.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh…” She scanned the room, looking for any indication of Jack’s belongings. “This is room 312?”

“Yes.”

“The man in this room, where is he?”

“Gone.”

As she turned to leave, assuming that maybe he’d stepped out for a walk, the orderly spoke.

“He asked me to give you this.”

“What?” she said, spinning around.

“The gentleman that was in here.”

The orderly handed her a piece of folded paper. Confused, her brow knit together. “Tall, dark hair. Goes by the name Jack?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

She stared down at the lined paper as the orderly finished up. After tossing the sheets into a blue bag, he tied it off and headed toward the door.

“Excuse me. When did he leave?”

The orderly glanced back.

“Maybe five, ten minutes ago?”

Dana hurried over to the window. She was on the second floor. She scanned below in the car park for him. A family was exiting a minivan, an elderly patient was being wheeled towards the building, and a taxi was stationed outside, but she couldn’t see who was getting into it since the awning blocked her view. She watched as the blue and white taxi peeled away, feeling a twinge of disappointment.

Taking a seat on the bed, she unfolded the paper. He’d torn a sheet from a pad on the side table. Scrawled in pencil was a short message. At the top was the Rockland Cove Medical Center emblem, in blue.

D
ana
,

I’m not one for long letters, or rambling conversations, so I’ll keep this short.

I’m sorry.

I know, it doesn’t count for much after all that’s happened, but an apology is all I can offer. I wish I could stay longer, but I still have some unfinished business to put behind me.

You are safe. That’s all that matters, now.

My whole life it’s felt like a dark cloud has been hovering over my head. Every day I live in the regret of my actions. Those I’ve harmed, those I’ve let down, and those who I never gave a second chance. At an early age, I bought into a lie, one that has cost more than I can fathom. I’m not looking for sympathy in telling you this, only that you might know why I returned to you and Jason.

After my stint in Riker’s, all I wanted was to forget the past and leave behind the terrible things I’d done—and start anew.

Then all this happened. Caught between a rock and hard place, I made another wrong decision. I honestly didn’t see it playing out like this. But regardless, being here, with you, I saw a glimmer of what that new life might have looked like beyond the past, away from the city, in Rockland Cove.

Dana, I know I’ve made wrong choices, told a thousand lies, endangered those close to me and committed acts of violence that no one should expect to go unpunished. Hell, any penalty less than death would be undeserving for what I am guilty of in this life.

After getting out, I guess I had hoped to escape that.

I know now how naïve I was.

How foolish to think I could walk away unscathed.

If anything, my previous line of work has shown me that no one can ever outrun his or her past. Or truly hide from who they’ve become.

We are the sum total of all our experiences, for good or bad.

Eventually, all our sins catch up and demand payment.

Of that I’m certain.

Now maybe there is a higher power behind this life that governs our steps, maybe not. Perhaps we are all just dealt a hand and have to play what we hold and accept the outcome.

But is that it? Is it too late to try and change who we are?

For the longest time I thought it was.

You see, when you’ve spent your entire life lost at sea with only one trajectory—a collision course with jagged rocks—you don’t expect to survive. You’re fully aware that as you bear down on the immovable, it will smash you to pieces.

You accept this. You resign to one’s fate.

In many ways, if I’m honest, I’ve been shipwrecked for a long time.

Until you. Like a speck of light in the darkness.

Offering a faint glimmer of hope.

A shimmering distraction that beckoned me.

With you, I felt I had a reason to turn the wheel.

Like a lighthouse keeper.

You didn’t strike me as someone concerned about what kind of crew was at the helm of the ship or where it had sailed, or what cargo it carried.

Instead, you offered more than a glimmer of hope. You allowed me to see a way out of the endless storm. A clear path to the safety of a shoreline.

Deserving rescue or not, a lighthouse keeper treats everyone with the same courtesy.

I’m indebted to you, for that.

Well, I guess I rambled a little more than I should have, so let me wrap this up. I’ve left you something. You’ll find it inside the heavy bag in the basement. I’m sure you will know what to do with it.

Trust me when I say that no one will come looking for it.

Y
ours
,

Jack

A
s warm sunshine
bathed Dana’s face, she took a moment to collect her thoughts before rising. She slowly closed the paper and pocketed it.

Returning home that afternoon, she ran a few errands in town and then collected Jason from school. Waiting outside, she could feel the other moms’ eyes on her. If they had an accusing eye when Matt went missing, what did they make of her now?

Both Dana and Jason were quiet inside the truck on the short journey back. The past week had taken its toll on them. A solemn cloud had overtaken Rockland Cove. The town had lost more than a sheriff that day; it had lost its innocence to acts of violence unheard of in years prior. The emotional upheaval was to be expected. Each of them dealt with it in their own way. Jason would head off to his room. Some folks turned to the bottle after traumatic events. She would retreat to the yard; Dana turned to nature. Getting her hands in fresh soil, pulling weeds, and planting was therapeutic.

On the final stretch, she flipped down the truck’s visor to block the blinding light. Between the white and gray clouds that drifted steadily on the horizon, the afternoon sun made her eyes ache and did little to alleviate her throbbing head. Mentally exhausted, her mind flashed unbidden to the letter.

* * *

J
ason was the first inside
, retreating almost instinctively to his bedroom. She heard his door shut. She hadn’t mentioned the letter to him, only that Jack had been discharged from hospital and wasn’t one for goodbyes. She could tell that it bothered her son. They had bonded, of that she was certain. Sure, he had taught him a thing or two that she wasn’t keen on. But he’d come out of his shell, gained confidence, and opened up to her when Jack was around. That much she could see.

Curious, she headed for the basement. Pulling the cord hanging beside the door, she switched the light on and descended down the wooden steps. She hadn’t kept much down there, besides Jason’s drums, boxes, and some oversized black bags. It was unfinished, and had stayed that way ever since they’d taken possession of the property.

It’s inside the heavy bag.
She recalled what he had said.

This could take a while
, she thought, looking at the numerous black bags and several plastic storage containers she’d need to shift to get at them.

“Jason!” she shouted up.

No answer.

“Can you give me a hand?” she bellowed beneath the open vent. A tin voice echoed back.

“Be right down.”

She had shifted a container full of photo albums by the time he joined her.

“What are you looking for?”

“Just give me a hand; I need to get at these bags.”

“There’s nothing in those except winter clothes, boots, and your old teacher books.”

She tossed him a look.

He hesitated a second. “I should know. You made me spend an entire Saturday sorting through it all.”

“Well, which one looks the heaviest?”

“What?”

“Jack said it’s in a heavy bag.”

Jason frowned.

“He left us something. He said it was in a bag, a heavy one.”

Jason dropped a bag he was holding, and moved over to the black punch bag that hung from the rafters. Silver letters that spelled out the word EVERLAST ran horizontal across the top. Tightly coiled around the mid-section were strips of grey masking tape. Most gyms used it. It was a common way to hold in the filler and seal up cracked leather. No one would have batted an eye, but Jason picked at a corner of tape that was already partly lifted. Dana stared on. Tearing it back, he began unwrapping it.

Then she saw it.

Instead of it containing nothing more than sand, shredded fabric, or foam, wads of green hundred dollar bills spilled out along with shredded fabric like an overweight belly being unleashed from a strong belt. Each packet was less than half an inch thick.

As more cash fell out of the gash in the side of the punching bag, the wider Dana’s jaw dropped open.