Fight Game - Debt Collector 11 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  Jack frowned. “What has that got to do with this?”

  “Were you traveling for work?”

  “No, I went to see an old friend. You want his number?” he said in a sarcastic tone. When he didn’t reply, Jack sighed. “I’m a handyman.”

  “Really? That was a nice property you had. Big. Expensive. Not exactly the kind of real estate that’s funded by handyman earnings, if you don’t mind me saying.” He paused. “What’s the name of your company?”

  “Don’t have a name. Word of mouth.”

  Wilkerson frowned and cleared his throat as he leaned forward. “Forgive me but are you saying you managed to pay for that home doing odd jobs?”

  “I inherited money.”

  “Huh, must be nice.”

  “Look, unless you have information about the whereabouts of Dana, or are willing to help me find her, I’m wasting my time.”

  Jack turned and headed for the door.

  “Mr. Winchester. Just a second.” He rose to his feet. “Can I get the name and number of your friend in L.A.?”

  Jack stared back at him and frowned.

  “Just procedure.”

  He returned and took a pen from a holder and scribbled it on a sticky note and tossed the pen down.

  “You got a place to stay tonight?” Wilkerson asked.

  “I’ll get a room.”

  “Look, um, do you have a photo of Dana?”

  That’s when he realized he didn’t. Every photo they had was at the house or on a computer. He never used his phone because if any of his enemies tracked him down, he didn’t want to compromise Dana. Jack shook his head.

  “Well, a description would do.”

  Jack nodded, gave him the rundown of her hair, eye color and height, and then gave him a number for one of his burner phones.

  Wilkerson shook the scrap of paper. “If anything comes up we’ll be in touch. Again, I’m sorry this has happened,” Wilkerson said in a tone as if he meant it. Jack nodded and headed into the corridor and looked back. Wilkerson stood by the door studying him.

  Jack had a sense that Wilkerson didn’t believe a word.

  He groaned. The last thing he needed was a cop looking into his background.

  Outside he breathed in fresh mountain air like a man breaking the surface of water and gasping. None of it made sense. An electrical malfunction? Six days ago? No sign of Dana? However the questions from the cop had got him thinking. Dana was friendly with a few people in town, and in recent months she’d opted to write at a local coffee store but she’d never really mentioned anyone specific or invited a friend back. Though he did recall one person that came to mind.

  Needing to catch a ride back to the house he headed northeast for the Phoenix Bean, the café Dana had frequented on a daily basis. Though he didn’t want to entertain the thought that someone else was behind this, he couldn’t rule it out, neither could he be sure that she hadn’t done this out of some emotional breakdown. Losing her son Jason had torn her apart. It had taken a good six months for her to even allow herself to smile without feeling guilty. Since then she’d been on an emotional roller coaster. One day she was fine, the next in tears, and it didn’t seem to matter what he did to help.

  Jack felt a wave of anger. The old storm was building inside of him, raising its ugly head like a beast within. He was all too familiar with it, the part of him he’d shut off, the part of him that was cold, calculated and violent.

  Images of what he’d do if anyone else were behind this played out in the theater of his mind. As he strolled the short distance through the town, he glanced up at the snow-capped mountains that loomed over. Even in the peak of summer, snow was visible. It was why he’d fallen in love with the area. It looked like a painting, twenty-four seven.

  The Phoenix Bean was a historic structure sandwiched between the Sheridan lodge and a fly fishing store. A cozy-looking shack with a couple of tables outside, it had a warm red interior with leather booths along the walls, a retro-style jukebox at the rear and globe lights that hung low providing ambience. From the moment he stepped in, the owner, Cathy Michelson, eyed him. There was a long line of patrons waiting for coffee and several diners lingering over their food. The sound of chatter and cutlery clinking dominated. A strong smell of fresh bread and coffee was in the air. Jack cast a glance to the back of the room where he’d often found Dana working away in the late afternoon. She’d sit alone, tapping on her keyboard, a serious expression on her face until they locked eyes.

  He saw it again in his mind.

  A sharp ache in the pit of his stomach. He missed her smile.

  She had to be around. This was all a big mistake. His mind flipped back and forth between the worst and the logical. He tried to convince himself that he’d soon discover that it was an accident and she was staying at a motel, or with a friend, and that there was a perfectly good reason why she hadn’t called him, and the next his mind would go to a dark place.

  As Jack stood in line behind the rest of the patrons, Cathy whispered something to her coworker and then untied her apron and went to the far end of the counter. She glanced at Jack and motioned with a jerk of her head for him to follow. Cathy strolled towards the rear of the café. He looked around for a second before breaking away from the line and following.

  The narrow corridor full of local artwork fed into a small patio where there were four black iron chairs, a mosaic glass table and baskets of colorful flowers hanging from a garden arbor. It was a tranquil setting, only made more beautiful by the rolling landscape beyond.

  Before speaking Cathy reached into her pocket and pulled a small envelope out.

  “Jack, Dana gave me this a couple of months back. She told me that if she didn’t show up here for several days in a row and you came looking for her, to give it to you.”

  “What is it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t open it.” She glanced at it as if expecting him to open it there. Cathy gave a pained expression. “I heard about the fire. I tried to phone Dana on her cell but it just went to voicemail. I even took a drive over there. Is she okay, Jack?”

  “You haven’t seen her?”

  “No. She’s usually here by midday, Monday to Friday.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to her?”

  “On the day you left for your trip. She seemed upbeat, and excited about her work.”

  “Anything else?”

  She shook her head.

  “Thanks, Cathy.” He nodded and turned to head out.

  “Jack, I’m not one to pry but if she’s in trouble, and there is anything I can do, just let me know.”

  He nodded. “Listen, I’d appreciate if you keep this letter between us.”

  Cathy gave a strained smile as he walked away. Jack waited until he was back on the main street before he tore the envelope open. Inside was a scrap of paper with the address for a safe deposit box in the Wells Fargo Bank. He flipped over the paper but there was nothing on the other side. There were no instructions just the words:

  WELLS FARGO

  SAFE DEPOSIT BOX 212

  620 Mountain Village Blvd

  What the hell? Jack stood there for a minute or two as pedestrians passed him. It was busy on the street and on any given day he might have paid attention to those around him but in that moment he was lost in thought. He fished out his phone and dialed for an Uber to take him to the bank, which was twenty minutes east of the main stretch, not far from Heritage Plaza.

  It took only five minutes, give or take, for a driver to show up.

  After getting dropped outside, he handed the guy cash and headed in. A line of four people waited to be served while another three stood in front of cashiers. Jack approached an older woman sitting behind a central desk that handled new accounts, and scheduled bank appointments. As he approached she peered over her specs at him and gave a warm smile.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Yeah, I have a safe deposit box here. It’s 212.�
�� He slipped the note across the counter. She glanced at it then lifted her eyes.

  “You opened this, sir?”

  There was no point lying, instead he simply replied, “My girlfriend did. Dana Grant.”

  “We just need some identification, and then I’ll check to see if she has you designated as someone that can open it.”

  He pulled out his driver’s license and she got up and disappeared out back. He expected one of two things to happen: either they would turn him away and say that he would need Dana with him or they’d call the cops. His pulse sped up a little as he watched her converse with another bank employee. They looked at him and then she returned. “Okay, if you want to come this way.”

  Surprised, he followed her. Why hadn’t Dana told him about this? Especially if she had put his name down as someone who could open it. The woman led him out back into an expansive room of steel drawers. “There are client rooms off to the right if you wish to use one. If you have any questions just let me know.” She gave him a key and left him alone. Jack began scanning boxes for 212. After locating it, he inserted the key and pulled out a standard sized steel box. He carried it out into one of the private client rooms and set it down, eager to see what was inside.

  Chapter 4

  His heart hammered as he opened the lid and gazed at the contents. Inside were multiple items: several stacks of cash, her passport, a yellowed stack of old newspaper clippings, a small tablet and a Glock 22 with a fully loaded magazine. He’d taught Dana how to fire a gun a long time ago because she’d specifically asked but she’d never mentioned buying a gun. Jack thumbed through the old clippings, scanning the headlines. Many of them dated back over twenty years, all of them were about unsolved deaths. What were you looking into? He set them down and took out the tablet. He pressed the side button and it blinked to life, a white glow emanating from the screen. A few seconds and it loaded a screen full of icons. There was one with his name on it. Jack tapped it and a video expanded to full screen.

  Initially the footage was shaky as she tried to adjust the camera.

  It was Dana, and from the background she wasn’t in Telluride.

  It was daytime, crystal blue skies; there were lots of people.

  But where was it?

  She looked panicked, out of breath and was sweating. She kept glancing over her shoulder at the crowd of people around her.

  “They’ve found me, I don’t know how so I’ll make this quick. Jack, I know we promised not to keep secrets from one another and I had every intention of telling you, but if you’re watching this, I’ve failed in what I set out to do. Jack, I haven’t been working for a travel blog.” She glanced nervously over her shoulder again. “I… I don’t have time to explain. I thought I could fly under the radar but I’ve drawn too much attention and I think they’re on to me. All that matters now is that you get to Santa Fe. I’ve hidden a flash drive beneath the sink in room 14 of the hotel La Fonda. I can’t risk bringing it back with me. I’m going to mail this now and…” She turned and something or someone must have caught her attention as fear spread across her face and the recording ended there.

  Jack stared at the screen and then replayed it two more times before picking up her passport and thumbing through it. She wouldn’t have used her passport to fly to Santa Fe, as it wasn’t required for domestic flights but he was curious. It was very possible that she drove. Regardless, if she managed to mail the tablet, had she returned and placed it here? Bank staff weren’t allowed to add items to a safe deposit box unless designated and by the sound of how serious she was, would she have let staff near the tablet? Dana’s words replayed in his mind. They’ve found me. Who were they? And what was she doing down in Santa Fe? Why had she lied to him?

  He spent the next ten minutes browsing the tablet hoping to find more information, anything that might clarify what she’d got herself caught up in but there was nothing. No browsing history, no messages, and she wasn’t logging into any email accounts, which meant she’d been very careful covering her tracks.

  Jack pocketed the cash, which amounted to twenty grand, and then slid the Glock into the back of his jeans and covered it with his jacket. He set the tablet to one side while he closed and returned the empty box.

  After leaving the bank he caught a ride to his property. The second driver had a similar response to the home as the first. He crumpled a few extra dollars into his hand and watched him drive off down the driveway before turning back to what remained.

  A wave of fear, sadness and regret for taking the trip washed over him.

  How could he have been so blind? He’d always been so cautious.

  The truth was he’d just been pleased to have her back in his life. Waking up beside her was more than enough. Jack turned towards the burnt-out husk and inhaled the smell of charred wood. He trudged in with a heavy heart and gazed around. He spent several minutes sifting through the blackened remains hoping to find anything that could be salvaged. As he did, he placed several calls. First he contacted all the lodgings in Telluride to check if Dana had booked in and then he phoned Dalton.

  “Did she like the chain?” were the first words out of his mouth.

  “Dalton.” His heart stuck in his throat as he tried to prevent himself from losing it.

  “Jack?”

  “Uh… it’s all gone.”

  “What? What’s gone?”

  “The house. Everything. I can’t find Dana. I…”

  “Slow down, Jack. Start at the beginning.”

  Jack quickly brought him up to speed. When he was done Dalton went quiet on the other end.

  “You’ve checked the hotels? She might have booked in.”

  “Already done it. She’s not here, Dalton.”

  “Then maybe she left town. Maybe…”

  “Something’s wrong. I know it.”

  “Now Jack, just take a breath and—”

  “She was pregnant, Dalton.” He spat the words out there.

  Dalton went quiet then replied. “You never told me.”

  “It’s early days. She didn’t want me to say anything just in case she had a miscarriage or something like that.”

  Jack heard Dalton catch his breath. “Jack, I’m so sorry. Look, if you want to come out here, I know Karen wouldn’t have a problem and…”

  “I’ve got to find her.”

  Dalton didn’t try to talk him out of it. He knew Jack better than that.

  “If you need anything. Call me.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He hung up. As he crouched on the ground shaking his head something caught his eye. The sun was reflecting off steel. Cautiously Jack stepped over large black beams and made his way across. He reached down and noticed a corner of a photo frame sticking out of the mess. He pulled it out and brushed off the ash. The glass was melted, and most of the photo was gone except a small portion and even that was nothing more than a fragment. He removed it and gazed at the burnt scrap. He recalled the day they’d taken it. It wasn’t long after returning from San Francisco. Jack recalled how peaceful he felt. The warmth of Dana’s body, the sound of the river babbling nearby, and making love to her later that evening.

  Jack balled his fist. The good feelings were quickly replaced by rage. Jack threw the photo frame at the crumbled foundation and yelled, his voice echoed through the valley. He scanned the area for the staircase that led to the basement. There was so much rubble covering every inch of the ground, it was hard to tell where one room began and another ended. All the money he’d taken in San Francisco was never placed in a bank; it was kept at the house in a safe to avoid unwanted questions and attention. Jack sifted through the piled-up mess for close to fifteen minutes before he pulled back a charred piece of wood to reveal the stone staircase. Climbing down into the darkness he used his phone as a flashlight to illuminate the way. He coughed several times and squinted into the darkness as he made his way inside. Not much had been spared. It was hard to recognize what was furniture and what was just p
iles of ash. Everything was either burned badly or completely gone. At the far side of the wall he washed the light over where the safe was hidden. The false wall was gone, exposing the safe, and the iron door was wide open. Empty. Not even one dollar.

  Jack had never maintained a regular bank account. Until fourteen months ago all expenses were paid for in cash to avoid leaving a paper trail. He recalled the purchase of his home being a fiasco. It certainly raised a few eyebrows when he offered to pay for it in full with cash. The previous owner thought Jack was some rich benefactor. But he didn’t care, as long as he wanted it. The house had been on the market for a long time due to its price and it was costing them plenty to leave it empty.

  Jack sighed and dropped down to a crouch, rubbing ash between his fingers. For a brief second the thought that Dana might have taken the money and torched the house entered his mind. It only lasted a second before he dismissed it. He knew her better than that. Rising to his feet he glanced at the gun rack. The mangled remains of his collection now looked like some abstract artwork found in a museum. A couple could have been cleaned and possibly restored but that was the furthest thing from his mind.

  Not wasting another second he double-timed it back up the steps. Bright daylight briefly blinded him as he traipsed into the rear yard and towards the shed, the only structure that hadn’t been touched by the blaze. His garage was gone. His vehicles a write-off. After retrieving a shovel he walked a hundred yards into the surrounding woodland and searched for two Gambel oak trees he’d marked with paint. He centered himself between the trees, gave the ground a few jabs and then thrust the steel shovel into the soft dirt and began tossing it into a mound off to his right. It took close to twenty minutes before the shovel struck metal. He dug around, and then Jack wiped sweat from his brow and got on his knees to wipe away a thin layer of soil. He raked his fingers along the edge until he found a handle. A few hard pulls and he extracted a large military-style container. Unlocking the latch, he flipped it open to reveal a dark foam insert holding two Heckler & Koch P30L handguns, a shoulder holster, magazines, several boxes of ammo and a fixed blade knife with ankle sheath. He reached down and hauled up the next box that was loaded with a duffel bag that contained an extra set of clothes, and fifty grand in cash.