Oblivion - Debt Collector 13 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  “Taser!” a guard yelled.

  That was the last thing he heard before his body was lit up.

  Jack hit the ground and his body flopped like a fish out of water before a guard and two landed on top of him, restraining his hands and feet. Yelling ensued as he struggled but it was pointless, the Taser had taken the fight out of him.

  Later that afternoon, two hundred and seventy-six miles away, Dalton was having lunch in Apalachin, New York. He sipped on coffee, and took another bite of home fries, eggs and bacon. Kelly sat across from him while Zach talked to the café owner, showing a picture of Jack Winchester. A few minutes later he returned and slid in next to Kelly.

  “The owner says she remembers him. He stood out from the regulars, sat in that booth over there. Met with some kid in town called Joey Marlino. Said he skates around here with a bunch of kids. Said if we stick around they usually come in for milkshakes every day.” He glanced at his watch.

  “Right then, we’ll just wait,” Kelly said.

  Dalton was doing a search on his phone for the address of the doctor who handled Jack’s case. “He has an office in Owego.”

  “That’s about ten minutes from here,” Kelly said. “Listen, Zach, you stay here while we head over there.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Because I want to speak with the doctor.”

  “There’s no point going. You won’t get to speak to him.”

  “And you’re so sure because…?”

  “Because it takes me almost two weeks to get an appointment with my own doctor. You remember that time I was getting that chesty cough.”

  “That’s because you’re a hypochondriac.”

  “I am not! And I resent you saying that,” he said leaning back and scooping up his coffee to take a sip.

  “It’s true. Every month there is something wrong with you. Your chest, your foot, your arm, your neck.”

  “See, Dalton. See what I have to put up with.”

  Dalton might have found the banter amusing if he had not endured it for four hours on the journey down. In the end he told them to go and visit the doctor while he waited for the kid. Zach continued to protest even as he and Kelly left the restaurant, promising to meet him again that evening at the same place.

  Dalton sat there for another two hours, eventually he assumed the kid wouldn’t show so he tossed his napkin on his plate and went to pay his bill. While handing over cash he looked out the window and saw a group of kids, teenagers, some on bicycles, others on scooters and skateboards performing tricks as they headed towards the diner. He gave the waitress a tip and asked the owner, “That them?”

  She looked and nodded.

  “Which one is Joey?”

  She pointed him out.

  “The string bean. The one on the skateboard with dark skin.” Seizing the opportunity, Dalton headed out of the café without calling or texting the other two. The less they knew, the better. He was already second guessing tagging along as he was concerned that if they ended up publishing a story his name would be in it. The was the last thing he wanted.

  Outside, the kids were laughing, and Joey was smoking a joint as they stopped near the diner. One of them punched another on the arm and made a joke about him being a virgin. Dalton strolled over.

  “Joey Marlino?”

  The kid turned and looked at him, his brow furrowing. “Yeah.”

  Dalton beckoned him over. “I need to speak with you.”

  The kid got this deer in the headlights look before throwing his skateboard and bolting.

  Like a flash, Dalton took off after him only to have two of the other kids knock him to the ground. He scrambled up and sprinted. Joey darted across the road, looking over his shoulder, then went around the back of a funeral home. As soon as Dalton came around the corner he was gone. “Shit!” he said. He scanned the terrain thinking he might be hiding in the tall brush, or behind some of the dumpsters, but there was no movement. Just about to turn he heard a phone ring. Dalton turned towards a row of garbage cans and saw the kid burst out — it was his phone — probably his friends calling him. Dalton raced after him, weaving between alleys, over a field and across a parking lot before he caught him trying to scale a chain-link fence. Dalton latched onto his coat and threw him on the ground.

  “Get off me, man. I didn’t do it. This is police abuse.”

  “I’m not a cop.”

  “What?”

  “Jack Winchester. You know him?”

  “Who?”

  Dalton reached into his pocket and fished out a photo.

  The kid shook his head. “Never seen him before.”

  “You’re lying. That’s not what the owner of the restaurant said.”

  “She don’t know shit.”

  “C’mon, kid.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  “Then I guess I’ll take you in.”

  “But you’re not a cop.”

  “Citizen’s arrest.”

  “For what?”

  “Being an asshole,” Dalton said shoving him forward but keeping a firm grip on him.

  “All right. All right. I met him. Okay.”

  They stopped walking and Dalton turned him around. “Start talking.”

  “He showed up four months ago asking about some woman. He approached our group and showed us a picture of her. Asked for our help.” He sighed. “Wanted us to let him know if anyone new had shown up in town, maybe rented or bought a place. I said I could help for some cash.”

  “And?”

  “I found the place. The old tavern at the crossroads.”

  “Then what?”

  “He paid me and said he would meet me the next day at the restaurant to pay me some more. He never showed.”

  “That’s all?”

  The kid looked down.

  “What are you not telling me?” Dalton asked.

  “I just wanted to make some money. They said they would give me some more to send him that way.”

  Dalton frowned as he tried to piece together what he was trying to say. “They? Who are you referring to?”

  “The same people who owned the building. They said he was a bad guy. Your friend. Jack. They told me to send him over to the tavern.”

  “So you took money from him and from them. What did they look like?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. Like you. I guess.”

  “Middle-aged?”

  “Yeah. Except dressed rougher.”

  “Did they give a name?”

  “No.”

  “And that’s all?” Dalton asked.

  He sighed. “I’m telling the truth, man. That’s it. That’s all I know. Look, I…”

  “What about the accident? Do you know about that?”

  He pursed his lips and his chin dropped.

  “Kid.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I knew about it. They had a tow truck that took the vehicle away.” He sighed. “Look, am I gonna get in trouble for this? I didn’t know they were going to run him off the road. I swear. I just wanted to make some money. Is he okay? Your friend, I mean.”

  “You know where they took this vehicle?”

  He shook his head. “No idea.”

  “You think you can take me to where they ran him off the road?”

  Joey sighed, looked around then nodded.

  9

  Punishment was swift and unexpected. Jack assumed he’d be taken to the local pen, not returned to Holbrook, but that’s exactly where they took him after his discharge from Adirondack Medical Center. He thought he’d seen the last of that shithole. Hearing the steely gates close behind him brought back his final conversation with Angelo. Prison was too easy. This place, they could pile on the torture and get away with it under the guise of therapy. It all made sense. Being lured to Apalachin, the ease of finding Dana and the automobile crash. None of it was a coincidence.

  “No seclusion room?” Jack asked as they guided him through the corridor.

  “Not right now,” Jenk
ins said shoving him into the cafeteria where the other patients were standing in line waiting for food. Patients were four to a table. They each collected a tray and were instructed to stay in line and wait to be served.

  “Hey Jack! You’re back,” Edgar said, stretching out his words. He got up from a table where he was seated with Cowboy, and a dark-skinned patient he hadn’t met before. “Come sit over here.”

  “Edgar, go back to your table,” Porter said pulling him away.

  “Ah come on. I was just…”

  “You were just nothing. Now move it!”

  Jack shuffled along with others. The food was better than in the can. They had pizza, spaghetti, shepherd’s pie and a variety of soups. He held his tray out and pointed to some soup and they scooped some into his bowl. He moved along and collected some pizza, bread and milk. He was collecting some plastic utensils when someone bumped him from behind, he lurched forward and his bowl of soup and plate of pizza clattered on the floor.

  “Oh dear. What a mess you’ve made,” Sutton said before laughing and walking off with a couple of his pals. “Welcome back, asshole.”

  Before Jack could react, Porter and Jenkins stepped in front of him.

  “Problem, Winchester?”

  He stared back and shook his head. “No.” He turned to get some more soup and Porter stopped him.

  “That’s all you get. No seconds here.”

  “But…”

  “Move it!”

  They gave a smug grin as he turned and walked away with nothing more than some crackers and bread on his tray. Edgar raised a hand to indicate for him to sit with them. As he took a seat they all looked at his tray.

  “Here, you can have mine. I’m not hungry anyway,” Edgar said handing over his plate of pizza.

  “Edgar.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “You can have my drink,” Cowboy said sliding it over.

  “Thanks, guys,” Jack said. He looked at the dark-skinned guy whose mouth was full. He mumbled something to Jack but he couldn’t make out what he said.

  Once he’d swallowed the mouthful he said, “You should have challenged them. Told them they were breaking the Constitution.”

  “Who are you?”

  Edgar pointed. “Oh this is Einstein.”

  “Albert. Not Einstein,” he spat before filling his mouth with soup and humming the national anthem.

  Edgar leaned in. “Einstein thinks he’s getting out next week.”

  “He always thinks he’s getting out next week,” Cowboy added. Both of them smirked.

  “I am. You just watch me.”

  Edgar went on to explain. “He thinks they are breaking his rights, more specifically the First Amendment by locking him up here. Isn’t that right, Einstein?”

  “It’s Albert. For God’s sake! How many times do I have to tell you? And yes, they are trampling all over my rights.”

  Cowboy cracked up laughing. “When did you figure that out?”

  “The Bill of Rights. Look it up, dumbass. Freedom of religion, freedom of speech and the press, the right to assemble, and the right to petition government.”

  “Last week it was the Fifth Amendment or was it the Sixth?”

  “No, that was the week before,” Edgar added.

  They laughed into their food.

  “Yeah, yeah, yuk it up at my expense. You guys won’t be laughing when I walk out of here next week.” He cast a glance over his shoulder at Porter and Jenkins who were boring holes into Jack’s back.

  “On a serious note. Is it true, Jack?” Edgar asked.

  “What?”

  “That you attempted to run?”

  “How did you know?”

  “People talk. Word travels fast around here.” He looked at him then filled in the rest. “I overheard Seth talking. By the way you should be grateful. If it wasn’t for him your brain would be a pile of mush. He found you. By the way, how is that head of yours doing?”

  Jack shrugged. “Fine. Anyway, attempted to escape would be the right word.”

  “I told you, you can’t get out of here,” Cowboy said. “No one has.”

  “Well that’s not exactly true,” Edgar said without looking up. He chewed away and Jack looked at him. When he noticed he put his spoon down. “Look, I don’t know how he did it, only that he used some service. Or something. But he got out. They caught him again of course but he managed to elude for two months until he walked into a pizza joint naked and tried to leap over the counter to grab a slice. He said there wasn’t enough sauce on the pizzas and proceeded to…” Edgar reenacted jerking off.

  Cowboy grimaced and dumped his pizza in front of him. “Okay, okay, we get it. If it didn’t taste bad enough, thanks for that imagery.” He shifted his meal to one side.

  “This guy who escaped, he still here?”

  “Oh yeah. But best of luck trying to get any sense out of him,” he said pointing with his spoon towards a guy on the far side of the room who was sitting alone at a table looking as if he was playing the piano. He wasn’t making any noise but he was definitely in his own world. His fingers would drum from one end of the table up to the other end, then he would flip his head back as if he was singing out loud.

  Cowboy jabbed a spoon at him. “You think that’s nuts, you should see him when he does air guitar.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Rocket Man.”

  Jack frowned. “What?”

  “You know… like the Elton John song.” At which point Edgar burst into his rendition of the chorus. Cowboy joined in swaying side to side. Einstein shifted to the left to distance himself from the madness. Jack eyed the guy across the room. His head turned and a smile formed before he pointed at them then continued to play the table like a piano.

  “All right. Keep it down,” Jenkins yelled.

  “Come on, join in, Jenkins, you old fart,” Edgar said.

  “What’d you say?” He charged over but before he could reach Edgar, Jack stood up and shouldered him. Jenkins responded by pulling his personal alarm and tackling Jack to the floor. All hell broke loose in the cafeteria. Patients jeering, others getting on top of tables. Food was thrown, trays hit against the tables. Jenkins hauled Jack out under the fire of drinks and food while other psych techs and nurses tried to get everyone to calm down.

  He was dragged into a seclusion room. Porter closed the door while Jenkins laid down a beating using an extendable baton. He had stashed it under his uniform, hidden from view. Batons weren’t allowed by anyone except security but that didn’t stop him from using one. A few sharp blows to the legs and Jack fired back with a fist to the gut before kicking Porter in the nuts and then slamming Porter into Jenkins. Both of them groaned on the floor as the door swung open and in came a nurse, and Seth. “What the—?”

  Jack pointed to the baton.

  “Get them out of here,” the nurse said to Seth. Both of them groaned as they got up, holding their head, Porter holding his nuts with his other hand. They staggered out, sneering at him as they exited. Once the door was closed, the nurse picked up the baton. “Where did this come from?”

  “Ask Jenkins.”

  “He used it on you?”

  “Tried to.”

  The woman stared at him. She was about five foot nine, dark hair pinned back, oval face, pretty looking. He glanced at her name tag. It read Nurse Cross. “Do you remember who put you in the ECT room?”

  “Same individuals.”

  She nodded. “They turn it on?”

  “No.”

  “Then who did?”

  He refused to say as he knew what it would mean. Angelo Gafino was considered dead. Saying a dead man turned on the ECT machine would only validate his craziness. “Mr. Winchester. Who turned it on?”

  He looked down.

  “You’re not helping yourself.”

  As she turned to leave, he said, “Actually I am.”

  They locked eyes for a second before she exited.

  After
he was strapped down using only four of the five restraints. There wasn’t much to the room. It was empty barring a bed. There was a window that let in light but that was it. He felt a needle go in his forearm and then his mind went hazy.

  “You sure this is it?” Dalton asked the kid. Without a ride, he’d taken a taxi just southwest of Apalachin. On a long stretch of road, Dalton bent down and found what appeared to be a few fragments of glass from a taillight, and not far from that were grooves in the earth as if a vehicle had come off the road and the grass had grown over but not managed to cover the deep tracks in the earth. However, there were no tire marks on the road. Four months of weather had wiped away any sign of that. Had the cops taking Jack seriously, they would have clearly seen the signs.

  Someone had swooped in quickly and removed the vehicle and any large pieces of debris. There was so much about the situation that didn’t make sense. Was this retribution from the Gafino family? Was Jack trying to drop him a hint? Or was he just remembering someone that mattered? Either way, the fact that Jack had been set up, meant that someone was behind it. The question was who, and where were they now?

  “These men who paid you to send Jack to the tavern. They still in town?”

  “Haven’t seen them since.”

  “Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

  He shrugged. Dalton sighed. It felt like they were taking three steps forward and two back. Even if they could prove there had been an accident, without Dana’s body, a vehicle or witnesses that would confirm Jack didn’t kill the Lewis family, an appeal wouldn’t stand a chance in the court system.