The Debt Collector (Book 1 of a Jack Winchester Organized Crime Action Thriller) (Jack Winchester Vigilante Justice Thriller Series) (5 page)

A
FTER LEAVING THE MOTEL
, he immediately phoned Gafino.

“He’s dead.”

“That was fast.”

“Not by me.”

Gafino paused for a moment. “Pissed someone else off?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I got out of his ex.”

“And the money?”

“Haven’t located it yet.”

Jack heard him exhale deeply. “Find out what she knows, and, Jack…find my money.”

“You mentioned nothing about there being a woman or kid involved.”

“Details.”

“Details that you should have mentioned. You know my rule...”

Gafino scoffed on the other end of the line. “A real humanitarian—that’s what you are, Jack.”

“This changes things.”

“It changes nothing. You have a job to do. Do it.”

Gafino hung up before he could squeeze another word in. Jack fumed, feeling as if his blood was boiling. He needed an in-road. Some way to figure out what had gone down. It wasn’t going to be easy. Bringing up the topic of her dead husband again and drilling her for questions was liable to set off a few red flags, if showing up hadn’t already. Maybe her late husband had warned her that men would come.

No, he needed a subtle way to get back into the house. Perhaps the whole empty motel was just a front. With no guests, how could they manage to survive? Maybe they were living off the money, or at least knew where the money was. Most of the time he knew when someone was lying to him, but he couldn’t tell if she was. Either way, he would get to the bottom of it.

* * *

T
hat afternoon
, on the way back after grabbing a bite to eat at the Steakhouse, he’d ducked into the local library to see if the local paper had published anything on Matt Grant’s death. In a town this size, it was very possible that it could have made front page news if it was murder. That was the question that ate away inside. How did he die? He kicked himself for not asking, but the last thing he’d wanted to do was give her a reason to keep him at a distance. He shook his head, catching himself thinking about her. It wasn’t as if she mattered. This was business, nothing more.

Pulling up an archive of back issue newspapers, he typed in Matt’s name. Sure enough, two editions were listed in the search that dated back to over a year ago. A large photo of Matt was positioned beneath a headline that read:
Police Search For Missing Man.

Missing?

He was certain she’d said he was dead. He continued reading:

P
olice are searching
for 34-year-old local man who failed to return home after a night out. Matt Grant was last seen at 11:30 p.m. on Sunday when he left The Thistle Inn, on the corner of Oak and Union. Officers are “very concerned,” as he has not contacted friends or family. Matt, pictured, is thought to have been wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans and a red flannel shirt. Anyone with information should contact Rockland Cove County Sheriff’s Department at…

H
e pulled
up the next listing. The papers were dated two weeks apart.

The headline read:
Local Man
Presumed Dead.

A
vehicle
that had been missing since August was pulled from Mill Cove without a body inside on Saturday afternoon after two swimmers found the car.

The Rockland Cove County Sheriff’s Department said the car belonged to missing person, Matt Grant. Authorities declined to give any other details about the missing person. The family has asked for privacy at this time.

J
ack looked
over the top of the computer. There were only six other people in the entire library. Heads bobbed partially above monitors as each did their own research.

If no body was found, maybe he faked his death. Maybe she was covering for him. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. With so much money at stake, it wouldn’t have surprised him if he had gone into hiding with the help of his family. This was getting more complicated by the second. If he was in hiding, the money could be anywhere. He needed more information.

About to leave, his eye caught a familiar face from the morning. Heading out the door with a backpack slung over his shoulder was the kid. What was he doing here? Jack glanced at the clock. It was a little after one in the afternoon. Following from a distance, he watched the boy light a cigarette and hurry across the road, only to duck into a side alley. Rounding a building, he was gone.

For a moment he considered heading back to the car, but when he heard the sounds of kids jeering further down, he opted to go and take a look. The alley began to narrow. Turning the corner at the other end it was his backpack he noticed first, then the three youngsters blocking the kid. He held back for a moment. The ringleader grabbed his bag and threw it on the floor. The kid seemed unfazed. Jack had been in enough fights as a youngster to know when a fight was brewing. The energy was building as the others closed in on him. The kid held his own, stepping forward for his bag, only to watch it get kicked. The ringleader shoved him, leaning in and saying something that he could only imagine. The kid never flinched. But when the next shove came, the kid lashed out at the ringleader, only to be dropped to the ground like a fly.

Jack yelled, “Hey.”

Their heads turned. Shock, surprise, or the assumption they were deep in trouble was enough to make them turn and flee.

Bruised, with a slightly cut lip, the young kid hauled himself up and brushed off dirt from his pants.

“You okay, kid?”

He looked at Jack for a split second, grabbed his bag, and replied, “Screw you, man.”

He ran off in another direction.

Nice,
Jack thought, before turning back to get his car. When he made it back, Apollo was still sitting in the car. The window was cranked all the way down. Jack never had to worry about him taking off. He had sat relaxed until Jack came to the window. His head turned to the side.

“I know, I know. Not exactly the best introduction.”

Apollo barked.

“You’re right, we need to get some food.”

There had always been this back and forth conversation they had with each other, as if they could understand each other with just a look, a word, or a pat on the head. On the outside it probably looked insane, but he cared little about what people thought. Most dog owners understood.

T
HE TOWN SQUARE
was called Dock Square. It was located west, toward the mouth of the Rockland Cove River that ran through the town and flowed into the Atlantic Ocean. Despite its small population and the lack of people he saw earlier that morning, the afternoon brought a whole new feel to the town. Tourists browsed the souvenir stores and milled around the art galleries while others filled up small tables outside several seafood restaurants.

Jack took a moment to gather a few personal items to see him through the next couple of days from a local grocery store. Outside he took a seat on a bench and enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching people go by. Apollo lay at his side; his eyebrows went up and down, intrigued by all he saw. Any other dog might have bolted at the first sign of movement, but not him. Jack had taught him from an early age to stick close. A snap of the fingers, one word, or a finger raised was all it took. Jack breathed in the fresh summer air, taking hold of the moment to feel the tranquility of the region. He knew it wouldn’t last, but for now he would relish what he could. His time inside Riker’s had made him forget how good the simple pleasures of life were: a sunset, eating good food, being able to come and go freely without the worry that another inmate was going to shank him, or simply being with his dog.

His mind drifted back to the task at hand. He didn’t imagine it was going to be easy or quick. He needed an in-road into their life, since the idea of holding a gun to their heads broke the one rule he had. The last thing he wanted was to fall back into old self-destructive habits or, even worse, return to jail. In many ways, he wished Matt had been at the house. He would have been in and out. But even then, he was unsure if he could have pulled the trigger. It had been years. And torture—that was completely out of the question. He’d never been one for torture; he left that to Gafino. It was how he got his kicks and struck fear into the hearts of those who entertained thoughts of double crossing him.

Either way, death came with the paycheck, and he was good at it. He’d gained the title “The Butcher of Manhattan” for the sheer number of people he’d killed. Those who knew Gafino, specifically those who owed, knew that if Jack came knocking it wasn’t going to end well for them. There was no room for bargaining, even though many had bargained for their lives. Eventually, killing became no different than clocking out at the end of a day.

A flock of birds broke from a batch of trees, providing shade to a cluster of mothers who were enjoying a picnic while their kids zipped around them.

For a while, he imagined what it would be like to finish his days in a town such as Rockland Cove. A place where his past didn’t taint his relationships—to live among people who really knew him and weren’t afraid of him. Maybe he’d buy a yacht and live on the water. Perhaps even start a part-time business taking tourists out whale watching or offering sailing excursions down the river.

Yeah, a slower pace of life, one dedicated to enjoying each moment that the day brought, and maybe, just maybe, finding warmth in the arms of a woman. Someone he could share his life with, companionship that was honest without the worry of how they would respond to his past. The very thought of being with a woman after being incarcerated for so long—aroused him. In all the rush of getting here he’d barely had a chance to catch a breath, let alone get laid. But it wasn’t just about having someone to sleep with; he longed for a deeper connection, one that continued beyond dinner, drinks, and sharing a bed.

Doing that was too easy. He’d spent years of riding that train. It was time for something different; something with a bit more depth, finding someone who would understand.

Cutting deep into his train of thought, the words of Gafino snapped him back into the present.
You’re a killer, Jack, plain and simple. There’s no changing that.

Maybe he was right. Was that it? Was that all he was good for? Surely there had to be hope, redemption for all the wrongs? He wasn’t proud of what he had done; the years had taught him how unwise he’d been to hook up with Gafino. Now it seemed only fitting that after being released and given freedom, those closest to him would try to steal that.

No, he had no illusions about Gafino’s promise. He knew the man wouldn’t let him walk after this job was complete. Of that he was sure. In Gafino’s world, when you ceased to be of use, you ceased, period. He was no different. Yet somehow a smidgen of light at the end of a dark tunnel was all he had to cling to. Perhaps the life he daydreamed about beyond bloodshed wasn’t just an idealistic fantasy?

Jack cast a glance at Apollo. Apollo returned a gaze that almost seemed to show what he was thinking.

“Let’s go, boy.”

* * *

B
y the time
Jack returned to the motel it was late afternoon. The sun had begun to wane behind the trees, as if trying to escape the ominous, dark, brooding clouds that had now moved in from all sides. The evening brought with it a gentle breeze that provided a much needed relief from the heat of the day. Jack paused, his hand on the door to his car, as Apollo jumped out. He cast a glance toward the office where Dana appeared immersed in paperwork. She briefly looked up and swept a strand of hair behind her ear. Her mouth showed a slight smile.

Entering his room, it was almost like night and day compared to his recollection earlier that morning. Gone was the musty smell, the dark bedding, and stain on the carpet. The smell of polish permeated the room. Fresh white sheets and plush covers lined the mattress. The carpet, once damp, was now clean. The curtains were drawn back and draped behind brass hooks. He peered into what had been a grim-looking excuse for a bathroom. It was now spotless, gleaming, and smelled of fragrant pine.

Apollo trailed behind him and began sniffing around the room, exploring every nook. Jack tossed his duffel bag onto the bed and closed the door behind him.

First order of business was a shower. He set a bowl of food down.

After his shower he threw on some clean clothes. He tore apart his weapon and cleaned it while Apollo chewed away at the remainder of his store bought supper. Just as he was about to settle in for the night, he heard voices beyond the window.

At first the noise was low, then it erupted. Moving to the window, he pulled back the curtain ever so slightly. Outside he saw the boy, and Dana.

“Oh, please tell me you have not been fighting again?”

Dana gripped his chin, trying to get a better look until he shrugged her off.

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.” She paused. “And what’s this about school?”

“What?”

“Don’t be coy with me. You promised me you wouldn’t skip another day.”

“And I didn’t.”

“Then you’ll be able to explain why I got another phone call from the principal today?”

He gazed toward the ground. “So I skipped a few classes. I still showed up for some.”

“
Some
is not good enough, Jason.”

“Well then what is, Mum? Huh? What do you want to hear? That everything is great now that Dad’s not around? Do you know the amount of flack I have taken over the past year? Do you even listen to the things that people say in this town?”

“It has nothing to do with them. Don’t pay any attention to what they say.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you don’t have to face them every day.”

She stared at her son in disbelief as he strolled off toward the house. Dropping her eyes to the ground with a deep look exasperation, she slowly glanced up and noticed Jack looking out. He held her gaze for a moment before she broke the stare and followed her son up to the house.

* * *

D
ana held
a phone between her neck and shoulder as she stacked the dishwasher after supper. Her life was multitasking: a nonstop series of to-dos that demanded her attention. Even at seven o’clock her day wasn’t done. Jason needed picking up from his friend’s house, and she was still negotiating with O’Sullivan Roofing, a local company that had decided not to show up for the past two days. As she listened to another excuse, she wondered what she would give for a night off. A little bit of time away from the drama of life, maybe even the company of a man—but over the past few years that had become almost impossible.

“Patrick, you’ve been at this for over two weeks. When are you going to finish the work?”

“Sorry, Dana, but I’m going to need that payment.”

“I told you I can get it to you next week.”

“Listen, I can’t get out there anyway until tomorrow, since it looks like we might be in for a bad patch of weather tonight.”

“What are you on about? It’s been nothing but clear—”

She glanced out the window. What remaining patches of blue from the day were now gone. A light drizzle had already begun to fall. The very sight of it caused her blood pressure to spike and her pulse to race.

“Well, all the more reason to get out here. I’m going to have flooded rooms.”

“I can’t.”

She pursed her lips together, trying her very best not to lose her cool. “Patrick, I have a guest staying right now, and if I don’t get shingles on that roof—”

“If you get any leaking, just use the tarps.”

“Are you serious?”

“Like I said, I’m sorry, Dana, but I’ve been called out to several emergencies.”

“This is an emergency.”

Before she could continue, he interrupted her.

“Hold on, I’m getting a beep on the other line,” he said.

“What?”

It went silent on the other end. Dana blew out her cheeks. A few seconds later Patrick came back on the phone.

“Dana, I’ve got to go. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Wh—”

The call disconnected. She stood speechless, nerves frayed. She really couldn’t fault him. The town was too small to hire full-time firefighters. They only had one full-timer and the rest were part-time. Most of them held down other jobs just to pay their bills, and that included Patrick. Had she hired anyone else, the work would have been done by now, but she was doing it as a favor to Sophie.

Sophie was one of her closest friends, next to Tonya. She ran a quaint coffee shop downtown. In an attempt to maintain local businesses and hold onto the town’s uniqueness, most of the large chain companies had been prevented from setting up shop in their town. The next largest town, Sandford, was over forty minutes away. Sophie had started dating Patrick a little over seven months ago, and in that time he’d hit a dry patch in his work and she was trying to be helpful.

Problem was, Dana hadn’t had a clue about his work ethic. There was nothing more that bugged her than someone who promised to get work done and then didn’t show up. Sure, he’d been called out to a few legitimate emergencies, but she knew that his heart was not in the job. It was a means to an end; or maybe it was because she had insisted on getting a steep discount due to her own lack of business.

Truth was, Rockland Cove was a hive of activity in the summer and autumn, but over the past few years it had suffered some brutal winters. All the wind sweeping in off the east coast and snow had brought in even fewer travelers over the winter months. That didn’t stop the locals from advertising it as a place for all seasons. Of course, those who were insane enough to show up in the off-season usually stayed in one of the newer lodgings in town—those that could offer free Wi-Fi, continental breakfast, and all the cozy amenities she couldn’t afford. She honestly wasn’t sure how many more months she’d be able to keep the business afloat. If it weren’t for the good nature of folk in the town, those who had referred business to her, and dipping into a line of credit, she would have closed up a year ago.