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

by Jon Mills

  “Remember what I said about the fifty thousand. I told you I would keep hold of it in case you tried to waste my time. And once again you are wasting my time,” Lázaro muttered without turning.

  “Where is it?”

  “Oh, you won’t be needing it.”

  Shadows flickered on the wall and Jack turned to see four armed guards come into the room holding sub-machine guns.

  “Who’s to say I won’t shoot you right here?” Jack said. “Hell, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “For the same reason you didn’t kill José.” Lázaro rose from his chair while Jack kept his finger against the trigger. “And believe me, you should have killed him. I was minutes from home, heading to the airport when I got the call from José.” He turned to face Jack. “One of his employees heard him yelling and let him out.”

  Jack shrugged. “It changes nothing. Where is the money?”

  “Really? You still think you have a chance? The moment you pull that trigger, they’ll kill you.”

  “Maybe so, but at least I’ll know I took you with me.”

  Lázaro cast a glance over to his men and they parted and another man pushed forward Noah. He fell down on his knees.

  “Are you sure about that?”

  Jack looked at Noah and sighed. Lázaro reached and took the gun from Jack.

  “Take them back, and throw them in the hole.”

  Jack gritted his teeth as they were strong-armed out of the home, loaded into the back of a truck and taken back to Danlí Prison.

  This was why he worked alone. It was another reason why he was hesitant to help his mother. If anything went wrong, he couldn’t keep an eye on Noah and his mother. As the steel door slammed behind him and he gazed around at the stone cell, he heard Noah’s voice.

  “Jack.”

  He didn’t respond. He was in no mood for a conversation, especially with someone who had lied to his mother and had essentially screwed them both over. Jack ambled over to the steel-framed bed without a mattress and laid down on it. He stared up into the small gap and watched the stars.

  Why hadn’t Lázaro killed them? It would have been easier to have shot them in the house and claimed it was a home invasion. None of the police would have batted an eye. Hell, he could have even sold their organs on the black market. What advantage was there to keeping them locked up?

  In the Mafia there were two rules of thought. One was to kill, the other was to punish. His old boss Gafino enjoyed torturing his victims, other mob bosses would just set people up and get them locked away. Inside, behind bars, they could inflict an endless amount of pain on them. It was the ultimate torture. Then, when they had grown tired of them, they could just pay to have someone kill them.

  Perhaps that was it.

  “Was he right?” Noah hollered.

  Jack was laid back on the bed with his hands behind his head gazing up at the sky.

  “About?”

  “The reason you didn’t kill José.”

  Jack pondered the question again. He had no qualms about putting a bullet in someone’s head, if it was justified. He left the mob for a reason. He was tired of the killing. Any idiot could kill, it took strength to walk away. Isabel had taught him that. There would always be those freaks out there who got off on the blood, but Jack wasn’t one of them. It had nothing to do with going soft. It would take a lifetime for him to change and he had all but used up his best years. No, it was about being tactical. It was about having a choice. He turned away from the mob. He chose to walk away from that lifestyle. He chose to help those who couldn’t help themselves. And he would continue to choose who would live or die.

  They remained in the hole for the better part of four days. Jack used the time doing sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, anything to keep the blood pumping and his mind clear. Noah continued to pepper him with questions about his past. The past was just that, something behind him. A vague memory. He didn’t want to remember it or let it shape his future. And he didn’t want his younger brother thinking it was anything more than a brutal life. Instead he told him about Eddie Carmine. His father.

  If there was anything good he could pass on to him, it would be what he’d learned from Eddie.

  “So that’s how he earned his living?”

  “That’s it,” Jack replied.

  “And you? You followed in his footsteps?”

  “It’s better than what I did before.”

  There was silence between them.

  “Will you teach me? I mean if we get out of here.”

  Jack snorted. Before he could reply, the sound of guards making their way down to his cell echoed off the walls. A key clanked inside the keyhole and then the door opened. It was a guard and Chepe.

  “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To fight.”

  Twenty - Cage Fight

  The sky was a deep blue, without a cloud in sight as Jack emerged into the courtyard. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he shuffled along through a crowd of testosterone-fueled men waiting to see a good fight. As he rounded a corner into where men would play soccer, he saw a steel cage. It had to have been at least thirty feet across and seven feet high, made from iron bars, chain-link fencing and chicken wire. Beyond the wall, high in the corner tower was Lázaro and several businessmen. José was also among them, though looking a little weathered. A white adhesive bandage covered his nose. In their hands were bottles of beer, and they were smoking cigars.

  Jack was thrust inside the cage and the iron gate closed behind him. Men on the outside jeered as another inmate elbowed his way through the crowd. All of them had received the same pitch: that if they won, one year would be dropped off their sentence. So like anyone staring down twenty or more years, they were more than eager to enter.

  His opponent’s name was Alejandro. He was twice the size of Jack but about the same in height. His beard was overgrown and he had tattoos all over his body. One coordinator pushed him forward and he retaliated by throwing him into the crowd. Great, Jack thought. A lunatic.

  The gate opened, and Alejandro grinned as he stepped inside. He hopped up and down as if trying to pump himself up, he slapped his own face a few times and then circled the cage. Jack stared up at Lázaro and scowled.

  There was no way out of this.

  No bargaining.

  The crowd went quiet as they waited for some signal from Lázaro. He dropped a white cloth over the edge and it drifted down like a snowflake. In the few seconds it took to fall, they could have heard a pin drop. The second it touched the courtyard, Alejandro charged forward. Jack spun around and back kicked him in the gut then followed through with a punch to the face. He hit the ground and groaned. Jack didn’t wait for him to get up, he landed on top of his neck with his knee and fired his fist into his ribs until he heard the bones break.

  Then he rose and looked back up at Lázaro. Chepe looked as if he was taking instructions from him on the ground through a radio. He hurried over to the cage and shouted to Jack.

  “Finish him.”

  “Fuck you!” Jack said strolling over to the gate and demanding for them to open it. The crowd chanted in Spanish, over and over again, “Terminar.”

  Jack shook on the cage door but it wouldn’t open. With all the noise of the crowd he didn’t see Alejandro get up again. He felt his fist slam into the back of his kidney and then he was thrown across the cage. Lying on the floor for a second, he watched as the man staggered over to him and raised his leg. Jack rolled as it came down, and again as he tried to stamp on him. Rearing back his leg, Jack thrust it up into his groin making him double over in pain. The inmates were going wild. Lázaro and the other businessmen were laughing. Jack got up and followed through with a knee to the man’s face causing him to collapse.

  “Enough!” Jack shouted. But it wasn’t over. Alejandro wouldn't let broken ribs or a few bruises keep him from an early release. Desperation blocked out pain and when he stepped into that cage he was prepared to die if need be
. One way or another he was getting out of that prison. Jack shook his head.

  Alejandro stumbled to his feet gripping his side, blood trickling out the corner of his mouth. He waved Jack forward.

  “Come on.”

  “You want out?” Jack replied. He rushed towards him and did a flying kick into his chest sending him hurtling back against the cage. Jack raced over, grabbed him around the neck and fell backwards on the ground while pulling hard to the left.

  His neck cracked as Jack wrenched on it. Alejandro’s body went limp.

  In his lifetime, Jack had killed people for many reasons. Some might justify what he had just done as self-defense. That didn’t sit well. He slipped out from beneath him and the cage door was opened. Jack glanced up at Lázaro and watched him exchanging money with the businessmen. The inmates meant nothing to him. It was all about the green.

  As soon as he stepped out, he was taken over to meet with Lázaro, who stood on one side of the iron bars and clapped his hands.

  “Now that is what I’m talking about. See, I had a good feeling about you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Oh, come now, Jack. You just bought yourself a year off your sentence. Only eighteen more fights to go and you’re a free man.”

  Jack leaned in close to the cage and eyed him and José. “When I get out of here, I’m coming for you.”

  He snorted. “I love your confidence.”

  Lázaro turned to leave and Jack spat a big wad of phlegm over the back of his white jacket. Lázaro twisted around, his eyes flared.

  “And I was going to let you stay in general population. Take him back to the hole.”

  Crowds of inmates cheered as they led him away. Inside the walls, respect was earned by one’s ability to survive.

  “Jack? Is that you?” Noah called out as they passed by his cell before he was led into his own. The door slammed behind him.

  Jack stared down at his bloodied knuckles, his hands trembling with adrenaline still pumping through him. Was it him? Oh yeah, it was him. Blood. Death. Violence. He wasn’t losing himself in here, he was finding himself again.

  Twenty One - Plans

  Fights didn’t occur every day, at least not the ones that were arranged by the warden. Those occurred once a week. That meant four people were dying every month. Who was keeping tabs on deaths? The prison system was nothing like America. There would have been a public outcry, the prison board would have wanted answers and the media would have been all over it but not down here. The entire place was a human rights violation. The conditions were inhuman, the food barely edible and what prison in the world allowed inmates to carry batons? Only here. It was clear to see why Lázaro lived in the lap of luxury. He had it made here. The government didn’t care how prisoners were being treated. Death was a weekly event. And the death of a hardened criminal just meant one less mouth to feed. It was a win-win situation. Criminals were off the street, the inmates had an outlet for their rage, guards barely had to risk their lives and the warden was getting filthy rich off the sale of body parts.

  No one spoke out as no one had a need.

  Inmates assumed they would earn their freedom, and with only one fight arranged each week, there was an endless line of prisoners eager to be the next to step inside the cage.

  Over the course of the next four weeks, Jack and Noah fought several inmates, each time they won but there was always the chance that the next time they entered it would be the last.

  Jack was in his cell doing push-ups when he heard Noah return, he was coughing hard and groaning. This time it didn’t sound like they walked him back, it almost sounded as if he was being dragged.

  He paused and called out to him.

  “Noah. You okay?”

  A cell door slammed and he heard another groan. Jack asked again.

  “I’m still alive if that’s what you’re asking,” he croaked out a reply before spitting.

  A few more days passed before they released them back into the general population. The warden had brought in Jack to say how pleased he was with the way things were going. He said his cooperation hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  It was all lip service. Bullshit, just to keep them fighting.

  Every day inside that hole he was thinking of how to get out. Jack’s head jerked as he was shoved into the courtyard. A guard locked the door behind him and he went about searching for Noah. He found him smoking a cigarette at the far end of the courtyard. He was chatting with an inmate known as Carlos. He was part of a violent gang called Barrio 18, otherwise known as M18 or the 18th Street Gang. Though they were recognized for their bald heads, and tattoos, it was for their murders that most Hondurans knew them. Originating in Los Angeles, Barrio 18 and the gang called Mara Salvatrucha had pretty much carved up Honduras. They weren’t gangs to be fucked with and they earned their respect on the streets through pure violence and dismembering their victims.

  Danlí was full of members of both. It was one of the first things Ernesto warned him about.

  “Don’t get in the middle of them. Don’t pick a side. Don’t even look at them.”

  And here was Noah having a full-blown conversation.

  “What’s going on?” Jack said pulling Noah to one side as Carlos returned to his fellow gang members. Across the yard the Mara Salvatrucha crew looked on through narrowed eyes.

  “Pueblo killed Henry last night.”

  Jack sighed. It was only a matter of time. After the incident on the mountain, Henry had been placed in medical to treat his wounds, though once healed up he was sent back to general population without any protection.

  “He visited his cell, and after raping him, Pueblo stabbed him to death.”

  “And the guards just watched?”

  “Watched? They don’t watch, they turn a blind eye. It’s all about who you know and how much you have in here, Jack.”

  “And M18?”

  “That’s why I’m speaking to them. We can’t keep going like this. We need people to unite. It’s the only way out of here, Jack. The last time they had a riot, they gained control of the prison and from there they were able to negotiate with the warden. That’s why the coordinators run this place. Now I’m thinking if we all refuse to fight, what are they going to do?”

  “Good luck with that. There are too many in here who believe it’s their ticket out.”

  “Maybe. But what if we could prove that wasn’t the case?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Noah scanned the yard and took a puff on his cigarette before handing it to Jack.

  “We’re not the only ones who know what the warden is doing. Chepe knows. Rumor has it that he meets with the warden on a weekly basis to discuss prison matters. What if we could get him to work with us? Carlos knows him well.”

  Jack shook his head. “Chepe has it made here. He’s the head honcho. You think he will risk what he has for us, or any of the inmates in here? You are out of your mind.”

  “Then we revolt. Get both gangs to start a riot. There are only twelve guards on shift, Jack.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure the others aren’t far away.”

  “Who cares!”

  “Just leave it.”

  Jack went to walk away.

  “Leave it? What, and die in the cage? It’s only a matter of time.”

  “You should have thought about that when you tried to sneak drugs out of this country.”

  Noah rushed over and spun Jack around. “You act as though your slate is clean but it’s far from perfect.”

  “No, you’re right. But this isn’t the way. Gangs don’t unite and they won’t riot again.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because they know the warden has them by the balls. One mistake in here and they will lose what little privileges they have. That includes family visits.”

  Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays, inmates could have family visit the prison, some of the wives even stayed overnight in the cells. Ernesto said it was
just another means of keeping the inmates from losing their cool.

  “But if they get out of here, they can be with their families all the time.”

  Jack turned back to Noah. He wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “Wake up, Noah. Look around you. What do you see?”

  He gazed around. Men lingered close to the walls, some did menial tasks, others played soccer, while the rest smoked, lifted weights and ran their own little stores where they sold bottles of soda, packets of chips and barely edible food out of fridges.

  “I see desperation.”

  “No. You see people not complaining. Beyond these walls are slums. Hell, most of the people in here have it better off than those out there. At least here they get three square meals a day. It might taste like shit but they didn’t have to pay for it. Now if they have money they can make their life inside here a little easier but don’t think for one minute that everyone in here wants to get out.”

  “Of course they do.”

  “Really? Then why is it that while some of these people in here can get early release if they go through the rehabilitation and read books, that most of them don’t do it?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe they forget. Maybe they don’t believe it will happen.”

  “Or maybe, they prefer it inside,” Jack added.

  Noah shifted his weight to his back foot and poked his finger into his own chest. “You think I’m out of my mind.” He scoffed. “You want to stay in here, fine. But I'm off to look for an alternative.”

  Jack grabbed him by the arm but he shrugged him off.

  With that said, Noah trudged off. Jack hadn’t given up on escaping but they had to play this smart. They were in a country that was driven by poverty and greed. The only way they would make it across the border, if and when they escaped, was with money.

  Across the yard, he saw several members of both gangs looking his way. Gangs were only loyal to their kind. Noah was playing with fire. If for any reason the Mara Salvatrucha thought he was trying to stir up trouble between them and the 18th Street Gang members, he was liable to get his throat slit.