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

by Jon Mills

  Twenty Two - Harvesting

  It was huge business. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner. Lázaro looked over his bank account and sipped on an ice-cold beer while relishing the fact that in a few years he could retire. He had no intentions of remaining the warden for Danlí. Sure, it was profitable but greed was a stumbling block, and one he didn’t plan on tripping over.

  He looked over the updated price list he’d received from José’s contact that morning.

  Corneas — $30,000

  Lungs — $150,000

  Heart — $130,000

  Liver — $98,000

  Stomach — $508

  Scalp — $627

  Coronary artery — $1,525

  Skull and teeth — $1,200

  Pint of blood — $337

  Hand and forearm — $385

  Gallbladder — $1,219

  Kidney — $262,000

  Small intestine — $2,519

  Skin — $10 per square inch

  At first, he’d balked at the idea when José presented it to him a few years back. If he hadn’t been a close friend and confidant of his, he would have called the cops on him. But after crunching the numbers it was hard to not be intrigued. Once José laid out how it could be done and they could get away with it, he entertained the thought. Of course he didn’t just agree and rush into it. No, they had to be careful. There were several things to consider. Some families would want to bury their loved ones. Then there was the paperwork involved. Every death had to be accounted for. Sure, the system was corrupt and most in government didn’t give two shits about a criminal’s life, but it only took one mistake and the powers that be would come down on him, if only to protect their own asses.

  For the operation to run smoothly, it would require several people to be involved. José would cover the legal side of things and ensure that all paper trails were covered. He then used a doctor who was already involved in the black market. Someone who could easily be manipulated and deal with the removal of parts.

  Next, it was just a matter of deciding on who and when.

  Initially organs were harvested from the dead bodies of inmates who had died in fights or had been killed by another inmate. At first, he wasn’t greedy. He took internal parts that wouldn’t be seen by loved ones. Heart, liver, kidneys, and some of the expensive organs. If the man had no family, they took it all.

  Once he saw the money roll in, it was too good to pass up. That’s when he looked at how they could increase the number of deaths in the prison while making sure that those inside wouldn’t open their mouths.

  That’s when the idea of early release came to him.

  There was no way in hell he would let those maggots out early but they didn’t know that. All he had to do was sell them on the hope. They were desperate for even a smidgen of light at the end of the tunnel.

  Four fights a month, four deaths wouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.

  He had set up a system inside by using Chepe. He was already being paid a handsome amount of money each month, and a reduced sentence, to keep the inmates in order but when the idea of cage fighting was laid before him, he couldn’t resist. A few hundred dollars to have his coordinators make folks believe they were getting released. A couple of early releases by those that fought to get the inmates to believe it was all legit.

  The rest was like taking candy from a child.

  And to top it off, he had two of his closest business friends swing by for the fights and lay bets down. It was good fun, and profitable business.

  Lázaro leaned back in his chair and eyed José over the top of his drink.

  “Good work, José. Anything you need to tell me? I notice you have been acting a little on edge.”

  “It’s that American.”

  “Winchester?”

  José nodded.

  “Yeah, he’s an interesting one. A wild card, though he’s earning us a nice little nest egg.”

  “I don’t like it, Lázaro. How many other inmates would have risked showing up at your home after escaping?”

  “Does it matter?”

  José leaned forward in his seat and brushed his hair back to show a gnarly scar on the top of his forehead. “Yes, it matters. I could have died.”

  Lázaro scoffed while glancing over the sheet again and doing a few numbers in his head. He was half listening to José and half thinking about how they might up the ante.

  “Look, if you’re worried about Winchester, don’t be. I’ve been thinking about how we can increase the body count. You know, speed up the process. At the rate money is coming in from the organs we’re harvesting, we could have more than enough to retire in one to two years from now. However, if someone was to cause a riot, that could speed up things.”

  “You’ve got to be joking?”

  “Forty-two inmates died in the last one. That’s a shitload of cash that would take us ten weeks to earn with the weekly cage fights.”

  “About that.” José placed his bottle of beer on the table. “People are talking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “On the streets, people are talking about the fights. I don’t know how it’s got out but people know.”

  “Well, I guess it was only a matter of time.”

  “And that doesn’t bother you?” José said.

  Lázaro shook his head. “No, why should it? As far as anyone is concerned it’s just another way for the inmates to blow off some steam.”

  “Blow off some steam? Openly killing others?”

  “You had no problem with it when it was lining your pockets. Are you having doubts about our little operation, José? Because if you are, I need to know now.”

  “I have no problem with the fights but this wasn’t part of the plan. For close to a year we have been careful. It’s the reason we haven’t been caught. We did the fights and those who ended up in the infirmary were put out of their misery. But allowing an inmate to kill in front of another? You must have known that someone would start talking.”

  “I’ll have Chepe look into it. You worry too much, and you give Winchester way too much credit.”

  Lázaro snorted. Maybe they had become a little lax but he’d been curious to test the waters. See how far he could push the inmates and keep them under his control. Some would have called it a power trip, an egotistical need to dominate those below him but it wasn’t anything to do with that. It was all about incentive. Inmates could fight any time they liked. In a way, it was a double incentive. The inmates thought they would get their freedom, whether it was from winning enough fights or exiting the prison in a body bag when they lost.

  It was freedom.

  And a hell of a lot better than staring down a life sentence.

  Anyway, he hadn’t made it this far without having a few public officials and police officers on payroll. That was the beauty of a corrupt government. Everyone had a price to remain silent.

  Twenty Three - Bloodthirsty

  Jack heard the chanting long before he saw Pueblo. His hands were bound in white tape, his shirt off, exposing every scar. Chepe led him between the line of inmates repeating Pueblo’s name. He figured it was only a matter of time before he faced him. Pueblo paced back and forth inside the cage, glaring as Jack got close to the gate. As always, he looked up towards the tower where Lázaro stood with excited anticipation spread across his face. The gate groaned and he stepped inside and heard it seal behind him.

  “I’m gonna fuck you up,” Pueblo said.

  Jack leaned his head from side to side to loosen up. Both of them watched as the cloth settled. Pueblo charged forward throwing his entire weight into Jack’s stomach like an American football tackle. Jack rained elbow blows down on his back even as he was forced back against the cage. Pueblo pounded his ribs and kidneys with jab after jab until Jack kneed him in the gut and shoved him back.

  In an instant, he surged forward unleashing multiple left jabs, and a right hook to the soft temple. That was always the key. Conn
ect bone with soft spots. Pueblo stumbled back and shook his head. Jack swung again though this time he ducked and parried with an uppercut that rattled him and wobbled his legs. Pueblo then did some kind of spinning kick knocking Jack off balance. He landed on the ground only to feel Pueblo grab him and throw his weight back, causing Jack to flip and land hard.

  The crowd cheered and called for his death.

  His senses were shaken as he rolled over and attempted to get up only to be kicked in the face and land flat on his back. Pueblo straddled him and squeezed his larynx. He was strong. The strength that came from spending every day pumping weights in the courtyard, for months on end. And yet that would be his downfall.

  Size mattered little to Jack. Neither did the appearance of a ripped physique. With muscle came stiffness and that meant he moved slower. Jack reached around with both hands and forced his thumbs into his eye sockets causing him to scream in pain and back off.

  Coughing hard and trying to regain his composure, Jack didn’t hear the batons land inside the cage, though he moved just in time to see Pueblo scoop one up and come at him. He reared back his leg and fired it into his gut, making him land hard.

  Now up on his feet, he staggered over to the second baton and grabbed it. A quick glance up at Lázaro to fuel his anger and Jack rushed back over to Pueblo and struck him as hard as he could across the back, face and legs. His wrist was grabbed and he parried it by swiping his legs out from beneath him and driving the baton hard into the center of his gut.

  The back and forth went on for what seemed like ten minutes before both men were battered and gasping for air.

  From across the cage, even Pueblo looked as if he was questioning continuing. There was reluctance in his eyes. He stared up at Lázaro, shook his head and trudged forward. A few feet from each other, a glimmer of silver shot into view. A single machete landed in the center of the cage. Their eyes widened as they looked at each other and then both raced for it.

  Pueblo did another spinning kick and caught Jack just on the tip of the chin sending blood spewing from his mouth. He landed hard and his baton shot across the cage, and through a gap. He turned to see Pueblo pick up the machete and spin it a few times in his hand.

  “Terminar!” the crowd chanted, thirsty for blood.

  Dazed, and with pain coursing through him, Jack used all his strength to rise to his feet. Without a weapon, he had to judge distance, move fast and disarm him. Pueblo flashed a bloody grin and then shot forward swiping the air in front of him. His eyes were wild. Jack bounced back, ducked, shot to the right and spun a sidekick to his ribs. His heart was pounding against his chest as he slid to the left and grabbed his wrist. It wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked with a blade. Hell, he’d spent his entire youth avoiding close calls. A few times he’d been cut, none had been deep enough to cause serious injury.

  In that moment, he got tunnel vision. All he could see was Pueblo. He twisted and turned, forcing his arm upwards, then he pulled and struck with multiple knee shots to the solar plexus.

  But Pueblo hadn’t earned his place in the prison by being an easy kill. He swiped Jack’s leg and allowed his entire body weight to fall against him. Both of them landed hard on the ground. Pueblo was on top trying now to decapitate Jack by forcing the machete downward. Jack had a hand on the handle and the other gripping the machete blade. It was cutting into his hand but he knew if he let go it would slice right through his throat.

  Jack roared. It was like trying to bench press Pueblo’s entire weight. The crazed look in his eyes made it clear that the fight wouldn't end without death.

  There was no mercy in the cage.

  Instead of trying to hold him back, he allowed Pueblo to get closer. Close enough that his one hand was near to Jack’s mouth. That’s when Jack clamped onto it with his teeth. His cry reverberated and overwhelmed the noise of the crowd. Jack bit through his finger causing him to release the blade and fall back in agony.

  Breathing hard, he rolled to one side and spat a piece of his finger to the floor. With his one good hand, he rose and gazed down at Pueblo who was holding his hand as blood squirted out from his finger.

  He glanced up, grimacing through the pain. Jack scooped up the machete.

  “This is for Henry.”

  In one smooth motion, he brought that blade down into the back of Pueblo’s neck. It sunk in like a knife through hot butter and Pueblo slumped forward. Still holding the blade, covered in blood, sweat and panting hard, Jack looked up.

  A pin dropping to the concrete could have been heard.

  The silence was broken by Lázaro clapping.

  As the shock of Pueblo’s death dissipated, the prisoners roared and chanted Jack’s name. Among the crowd, he saw his brother Noah. He was nodding.

  Will you teach me? He could hear Noah’s words ringing in his ears.

  This wasn’t what he wanted to teach him.

  Jack backed away from the machete, his hands dripping in blood.

  Twenty Four - Refusal

  The gate didn’t open. Jack was still on his knees when he realized they weren’t doing anything. He got up and crossed the dirt floor and shook the bars. The frail Honduran man who unlocked it stepped back and cast his gaze at the ground.

  “Open up.”

  Jack looked around and saw Lázaro speaking into a radio. Chepe nodded and double-timed it over to a man from the M18 gang and then over to a group from the Mara Salvatrucha. They both looked confused. A quick prod with Chepe’s baton and they were forced towards the cage. When Chepe reached the gate, Jack demanded to know what was going on.

  “You fight again.”

  “What?”

  The gate opened and Jack slammed his foot against it forcing it to hit Chepe in the face. A mistake he would no doubt pay for. After Chepe picked himself up off the ground, he touched his lip. It was cut and bleeding. He pointed his baton at Jack and cursed him before the two gang members entered the cage. They kept their distance from each other, looking unsure of what they should do. Any attempt by Jack to get out of the cage was met by force as several coordinators jabbed him hard in the face and gut.

  Once the gate was closed, he turned to face Lázaro.

  “No more. I’m done.”

  He pushed the blade through the cage, only to find Lázaro smirking. He shrugged as if to say, your loss. Then he dropped another white handkerchief. When it hit the ground, however, the two gang members didn’t charge Jack. They stared at each other as if waiting to see if the other would react. Instead they turned and shook their heads.

  Jack wasn’t sure if they were protesting fighting altogether or whether it was just him.

  Fury spread across Lázaro’s face; he got on the radio and once again Chepe looked flustered. He shouted something in Spanish at the men and then slammed his baton across the bars. They shook their heads and took a seat on the ground.

  Had Noah got through to them?

  It was impossible.

  Two rival gangs with bad blood for one another. They would have jumped at the chance to kill each other. But it wasn’t each other they were being instructed to kill, it was Jack.

  Fear wasn’t an issue. These gang members lived in the realm of fear. They thrived on it.

  Carlos on the outside of the cage stood among the rest of his people shaking his head.

  More shouting ensued and then the gate opened. Jack was dragged out by several of the coordinators along with the two gang members. Lázaro and the others in the tower disappeared out of sight and Jack assumed he would be taken down to the hole and left to rot in there for another few weeks. But Lázaro had something far worse in store.

  Once the crowds were dispersed, Jack and the two gang members were led over to a wall where their hands were shackled. The chains were then slipped through iron rings and they were hoisted until their toes barely touched the ground. There was a gang member either side of him.

  Five minutes later Lázaro emerged inside the compound escorted on either s
ide by armed guards who kept the prisoners at bay. He made his way over. Wearing a light brown suit, shades and a hat, he smiled as he got closer. He didn’t bother to speak to the gang members, instead he targeted Jack.

  He flipped up the visor on his sunglasses and looked Jack up and down.

  “You are only making things worse for you.”

  “Maybe, but at least I get the satisfaction you won't get what you want. I’m done fighting.”

  “I’ll decide that.”

  Jack could feel his muscles tighten. He wanted to lash out at him but they had bound his ankles.

  Lázaro then turned his attention to the two gang members. “How long do you think it will be before these two will break? Before they will fight in the cage?”

  The two members cursed and spat at Lázaro. He reacted by making Chepe strike both of them in the stomach with his baton. It was noon. Under the heat of the blistering sun it wouldn’t take long before they would break.

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m done fighting.”

  “Then you will be an easy kill.”

  “Don’t you mean an easy sell?” Jack replied.

  Lázaro turned his attention to Jack. “I aim to please those who bid.”

  “On the fight or our organs?”

  Lázaro narrowed his gaze, he took the baton from Chepe and dug it hard into Jack’s stomach, putting his full weight on it. Jack heaved trying to get air.

  “It’s hard, isn’t it? You know it takes very little strength to stop a man’s breathing if you know where to apply pressure.”

  “I’ll remember that when I strangle you,” Jack said.

  He let out a laugh, turned to Chepe for a moment and then struck Jack across the knees. Jack groaned but gritted his teeth. He wouldn't give this asshole the satisfaction of breaking him down.

  “You should have fled when you had the chance.”