Hard Time - Debt Collector 8 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  HARD TIME

  Debt Collector 8

  Jon Mills

  Contents

  Also by Jon Mills

  Prologue - Blind Man

  One - Old Friends

  Two Confession

  Three - Bombshell

  Four - Gambler’s Heart

  Five - Capital Murder

  Six - Gold Teeth

  Seven - Trouble Brewing

  Eight - The Warden

  Nine - Night Raid

  Ten - Witness

  Eleven - DANLÍ PRISON

  Twelve - Lion’s Den

  Thirteen - Trouble In Paradise

  Fourteen - Nightmares

  Fifteen - The Hole

  Sixteen - Fight Fire with Fire

  Seventeen - Courtyard Animals

  Eighteen - Lawyer Up

  Nineteen - Warden

  Twenty - Cage Fight

  Twenty One - Plans

  Twenty Two - Harvesting

  Twenty Three - Bloodthirsty

  Twenty Four - Refusal

  Twenty Five - Resistance

  Twenty Six - Blood Bath

  Twenty Seven - Riot

  Twenty Eight - Road Home

  A Plea

  Newsletter

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2017 by Jon Mills

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Debt Collector 8: Hard Time is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Jon Mills

  Click here to receive special offers, bonus content, and news about Jon’s new books, sign up for the newsletter.

  Undisclosed

  Retribution

  Clandestine

  The Debt Collector

  Debt Collector 2: Vengeance

  Debt Collector 3: Reborn

  Debt Collector 4: Hard to Kill

  Debt Collector 5: Angel of Death

  Debt Collector 6: Prey

  Debt Collector 7: Narc

  Debt Collector 8: Hard Time

  The Promise

  True Connection

  For my Family

  “You start with a darkness to move through but sometimes the darkness moves through you.”

  - Dean Young

  Prologue - Blind Man

  YOSEMITE NATIONAL PARK

  Jack Winchester finished taping the man’s hands to the dashboard and his feet to the underside of the seat of the brand-new Audi Allroad. After, he gave him a pat on the cheek.

  “There we go. Can’t be too safe.”

  Devin frowned, an expression of terror on his face. “Who the hell are you, man?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  He stuttered. “What, what… what are you doing?”

  “What does it look like? We’re going for a drive. You know, I’ve always wanted to take out one of these all-road vehicles and just look around.” He waved his arms towards the breathtaking view of the Rocky Mountains, and the valley full of lush forest. “Can you get a better place than this?”

  “What about my seat belt?”

  “You’re already strapped in.”

  Jack slammed the passenger door before he could say another word and strolled around to the trunk, popped it open and took out a bottle of bourbon from a grocery bag. He glanced at it for a second, turning it in his hand. He squinted as a hard noonday sun reflected off the bottle. Wild Turkey Bourbon 101? He’d heard good things about it.

  Jack slammed the trunk and slipped into the driver’s side. He breathed in relishing every second. Devin McCabe glanced at him. He twisted off the cap and took a swig. Jack winced and spat it out all over the console in front of him. “Shit! That is nasty.”

  He shuddered.

  “C’mon, man, what the hell is this about?”

  “For someone that likes the finer things in life, Devin, your choice in beverages strikes me as a little odd. Like, couldn’t you have picked up something better?”

  “I like Wild Turkey. Look man, who gives a fuck. Who put you up to this? Is this a prank?”

  Jack took another swig then tossed it in the back. “Oh, it’s not a prank, that is for sure.”

  “Then what are we doing?”

  Jack took out a cigarette and lit it. He gazed out across Yosemite National Park as he blew out gray smoke. They were high in the mountains and were idling at the edge of a narrow and treacherous winding pass called Tioga Road.

  “Open your ears. I told you. Are you mentally challenged?”

  He smirked at Devin and waited to see if he would understand what Jack was getting at. Only two hours before, he had abducted him from a small town in Mono County.

  Devin shook his head. “You are out of your mind.”

  “All the best ones are. Now just sit back and enjoy the ride.” Jack brought the window down and breathed in the crisp mountain air. He narrowed his eyes and stifled a laugh. “Do you want some music on?”

  He didn’t wait for him to reply. A quick press and twist of a button, and they tuned into some country music. Jack leaned back in his seat and got comfy. Several cars shot by oblivious to what was taking place behind the dark tinted windows.

  “Thirty-nine miles long, almost ten thousand feet above sea level, it offers some of the most beautiful views of Yosemite — pity I won’t get to see any,” Jack muttered.

  Devin jerked his head to the left.

  “What?”

  Jack fished out of his leather jacket pocket a piece of black cloth. He wrapped it around his eyes and tied it off at the back of his head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh don’t worry, you’ll be my eyes.” He sniffed hard, then took another puff of his cigarette before tossing it out the window. A hard wind blew it away as a large truck came flying past them.

  “Now remember, I can’t see shit, so I’m dependent upon you.”

  Devin snorted. “You are fucking loco. Let me out of here.”

  What he didn’t know was Jack could see through the thin material. It wasn’t clear but he could make out shapes and the edge of the road — Devin didn’t know.

  “Please, man. We can work this out, just let me go.” He struggled but it was pointless. The duct tape was so tight it was almost cutting off his circulation.

  Jack tapped the steering wheel.

  “Right, let’s get this show on the road, shall we? Or maybe I should say, off the road as I’m not too sure how long we’ll be on the road.”

  He turned over the ignition and the car growled to life. “Oh, just listen to that engine purr, she can’t wait to get started. Damn, this is exciting.”

  Jack hit the gas and they lunged forward and then he slammed his foot on the brake.

  “False start, I needed to make sure I knew where the brake was.”

  He could hear Devin’s breathing getting rapid, he was swallow
ing hard and panic was taking over. “Listen, just tell me, what it is you want?”

  “I want nothing. Well, that’s a lie, I want answers and you will give them or… we’ll see how we do on this narrow stretch of road.”

  Jack took a recorder out of his pocket and placed it on the dashboard. “Tell me the truth about Bobby Dumar.”

  “Who?”

  Jack hit the gas, then slammed his foot on the brake causing Devin to bang his head on the glass. Jack had positioned him in such a way that he was leaning forward.

  Devin let out a groan. “Fuck. I don’t know what you—”

  “Wrong answer.”

  Jack hit the gas and this time they tore away. He pulled out onto the road and drove erratically as if he couldn’t see where he was going. A vehicle rushed by them and honked its horn as they came within spitting distance of it.

  “Pull over. Pull over!” Devin shouted.

  “Which way? Left?” He swerved into the oncoming lane. Jack knew what Devin meant but he acted ignorant. With the way the road curved around the mountain, at any second a vehicle could come rushing around the bend and it would be over. Well, at least one vehicle would have gone over. Large sections of the winding road had no barrier, the only areas that had them were on the sharp curves so Jack exaggerated his inability to see by getting as close as he could to the edge while attempting to avoid oncoming traffic. The screams coming from Devin were priceless. God, he was having a hoot, scaring the shit out of this guy.

  “Go right,” Devin screamed as a truck came around the bend. They missed it by inches.

  “Come on, Devin.”

  “I told you. I don’t know. Look man, surely you don’t want to die?”

  “I don’t care, Devin.”

  “Everyone cares.”

  “Not me,” Jack replied.

  He swerved the vehicle all over the road, getting dangerously close to the edge each time. Seconds felt like minutes as Jack waited for him to confess. He continued the cycle of swerving until Devin couldn’t handle it anymore.

  “All right, all right, I’ll tell you what you want to know, just take the damn cover off your eyes.”

  Jack whipped it off and pulled over to another pit stop. He chuckled to himself as he turned to find Devin sweating.

  “How was the view?” Jack asked patting him on the back. “So?” Jack said picking up the recorder.

  “I killed her. It was me, okay. But it was an accident.”

  “An accident? If it was an accident, then why did you let Bobby take the fall?”

  “Because he was mentally challenged and he was known for being too friendly with her. Everyone had seen him pestering her.”

  “And yet you knew that was just his way. He had no intentions of harming her, did he?”

  “No but I was scared.”

  “Scared of admitting it was an accident?” Jack asked.

  “Scared of going to jail. Scared of losing my business. Scared of what my wife would think of me.”

  Jack snorted and then sighed. “At no point in any of that did I hear you mention Bobby or his mother.”

  “Look does it matter? It’s done now.” He exhaled hard. “He’s behind bars, they classed it as manslaughter, first offense. He’ll be out in five years with good behavior.”

  Jack sank back in his seat. “Well that makes me feel so much better. Damn, I wish you had told me earlier. This could have all been avoided.” Jack paused. He was messing with him. “But that’s the problem, Devin. That’s five years too many, so here’s what you will do. You will record your confession, lead me to where the weapon is that you used to kill her, and then I will hand your ass in.”

  His eyes flared and he slowly shook his head. “I can’t do that. No, I’ll do anything else but that. It will ruin my family. Our business. Everything.”

  “It already has. Except it’s ruined someone else’s life. Time to man up and put things right.”

  “No. I’ll give you money. Anything you want, but I can’t do that.”

  Jack let out a heavy sigh and wrapped the black band back around his eyes.

  “Oh, come on man. Cut me a break. They can’t be paying enough that you would be willing to die.”

  Jack scoffed. “I don’t need the incentive of money to want to die.”

  He started the vehicle up and began to veer out into what would have been traffic when Devin shouted, “Okay! Enough. I will do it. I’ll say whatever the hell you want me to say.”

  Jack killed the engine. “I don’t want you to say anything. Bobby’s mother does.”

  Devin sank his head against the dashboard as Jack put the digital recorder near his face. “State your name, age, where you are from, what happened, the time it happened, how you killed her, where the weapon is now, and that Bobby Dumar had nothing to do with it.”

  Devin glanced at it. For a few seconds, he hesitated and then he began his confession.

  After they collected a knife he’d buried in a forest not far from his home, Jack drove him to the nearest sheriff’s office. Now he could have taken him inside and handed him over to the cops but that would have raised too many questions. Vigilante justice was frowned upon, as was abduction and scaring the shit out of a guy on a mountain.

  So, when he arrived he took Devin out of the vehicle and duct-taped the digital recorder and a message on a piece of paper to the front of his chest, along with the knife that had murdered the girl. He marched him up to the door, turned on the recorder and pushed him inside. Before he did, he had one last thing to say.

  “If it comes to my attention you have attempted to twist, or wiggle your way out of this in any form, I will return and this time that trip on the road will feel like a kid’s ride at a fair compared to the next one I’ll take you on. You understand?”

  A despondent and tearful-looking Devin shuffled into the station, his hands still bound, though this time behind his back.

  The message on the front of his chest would explain.

  The digital recording would have his confession.

  And the knife had his prints and her DNA.

  As Jack walked away he never phoned Bobby’s mother to arrange delivery of payment, she had suffered enough and he didn’t need the money.

  This job, he did just to get his mind off the past.

  One - Old Friends

  His head jerked forward as the Greyhound bus driver applied the brakes. Jack’s eyes blinked awake. His mouth was dry and he could feel a tension headache at the back of his skull. It was stifling hot because the air conditioning had given up the ghost a few miles back. Even with the windows cracked, a blazing sun beat through the glass making him feel nauseated. He gazed around at the other travelers and reached into his jacket pocket for the stainless steel hip flask. He flipped the lid and took a hard swig. The bourbon burned the back of his throat but soothed a parched mouth. Passengers shuffled down the narrow walkway to exit the bus. He waited until it was almost empty before squeezing out and grabbing his backpack. There wasn’t much inside: a few toiletries, some cash, a bottle of water, a dog-eared secondhand copy of On the Road by Jack Kerouac and a map of the United States. He rolled his head around to work out the kinks. It had been three months since the death of Isabel. After selling off his Florida property at a ridiculously low price, he spent a little time in Texas, holed up in a motel close to a dingy bar. His days didn’t begin before noon and they usually ended one of three ways — passed out in some alley, tossed out of some taxi or tangled up with some woman.

  The following month wasn’t much better, he buried himself in back-to-back jobs, doing anything to keep his mind occupied, even at the risk of his safety, health and sanity. It didn’t matter how much clients wanted to pay, or even how dangerous the job was. Yes, was always his answer. Strange as it may have seemed, somewhere in those moments when he was beating on some loser who had knocked a woman around, or ducked out of paying child support, he found peace. Of course it didn’t last. It never did. The second he clos
ed the door at the motel, his mind would churn over the past and all the what-ifs. As hard as he tried to occupy his mind, he couldn’t escape the memories.

  There’d been a few times in a drunken state he’d placed the barrel of his gun against his temple and contemplated pulling the trigger. It would have been all over. No more pain. No more regrets. No more struggling to stay positive.

  And yet every time, he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Like an angel sitting on his shoulder, whispering in his ear, he knew deep down it wasn’t the answer.

  But the problem was, neither was a bottle of bourbon, overworking or sex every night.

  It only numbed him for a while. It was short-lived satisfaction and then he was back to square one — listening to his thoughts.

  Somewhere in the third month he got the phone call from John Dalton. Call it fate or an angel on his shoulder but it was exactly what he needed. He just didn’t know it at the time.

  They touched base every couple of months but in all that had occurred, he’d forgotten to call him. Of course, Dalton was surprised. It was usually Jack annoying him with late-night phone calls. Most of the time it was just shooting the breeze but it eventually circled back around to what he was doing with his life. Somewhere in Dalton’s mind he was determined to save Jack.

  From what? It was anyone’s guess. Jack was just glad to have someone to unload his problems on.

  Words were exchanged, an invitation was given and here he was — back in Los Angeles, the land of sunshine, palm trees and broken dreams.

  Jack thanked the bus driver as he exited. He squinted and raised a forearm to block the glare of the sun. Outside, passengers collected their baggage, some transferred to idling taxis while others went into the station on Seventh Street. A Greyhound bus honked its horn as it edged its way out onto the main street. The smell of fast food wafted over from a hotdog vendor. His stomach grumbled. Jack donned a pair of dark sunglasses, pushed his baseball cap down and began the short walk to 54 South San Pedro Street.

 
-->