by Jon Mills
Hard to Kill
Debt Collector 4
Jon Mills
Direct Response Publishing
Copyright © 2016 by Jon Mills
All rights reserved.
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Debt Collector 4: Hard to Kill 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.
Contents
Synopsis
Also by Jon Mills
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
A Plea
Readers Team
About The Author
Synopsis
Jack Winchester is a drifter. A ghost to those who pursue him and a danger to those who confront him. Once a notorious hitman for a New Jersey crime family, Jack is now a fugitive trying to right his wrongs. Wanted by the FBI and hunted by one of the Sicilian Mafia’s top assassins, he travels to New Orleans to reconnect with an old flame. But things aren’t what they seem. Not only must he cross paths with a ruthless drug lord just as Hurricane Danielle makes landfall, but he’s about to discover that he may be the only one that can save his ex and daughter.
For my Family
Also by Jon Mills
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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
Debt Collector 9: Her Last Breath
Debt Collector 10: Trail of the Zodiac
Debt Collector 11: Fight Game
Lost Girls
I’m Still Here
The Promise
True Connection
Things do not change; we change.
Henry David Thoreau
Chapter One
NEW ORLEANS
PRESENT DAY
Out of all the bars in New Orleans, they had to pick the one he was in. When the guy snapped the pool cue in half, Jack cursed under his breath and prepared for the worst.
Ten minutes prior, he’d been casually sitting at the bar sipping on bourbon thinking about the conversation he’d had with his ex, Theresa. She was holding down a job as a waitress at a fancy cocktail bar in the French Quarter. He’d been in New Orleans for just under a month and it had taken him the better part of two weeks to summon the nerve to go speak to her. It wasn’t that they had finished on bad terms or that he didn’t think she would give him the time of day, but they hadn’t seen each other in over eight years. Four of those he’d been inside and well, after the trouble in L.A., he had gone back and forth on whether to check in on her.
The look on her face when she came over to get his order was priceless.
Now, it was late evening and Bourbon Street was crowded with drunk tourists. He had managed to find a small, low-key place down on Frenchmen Street, about ten minutes from her workplace.
He wasn’t looking to get plastered, just have a few drinks, maybe find some company and return to his room at the Hotel Royal. What should have been a quiet evening turned into chaos after five guys came into the joint. For the first half an hour he didn’t pay much attention to them. They ordered pitchers and tucked themselves away in the far corner of the room where the pool tables were. The bar was dimly lit, six booths off to the side and a small dance floor that wasn’t currently in use. There was a rowdy bunch of tourists eating oysters and drinking beer just down from him. He’d just wanted to be alone with his thoughts but Murphy’s Law said otherwise.
Over the span of an hour the place soon filled up with patrons until folks were shoulder to shoulder. He cursed under his breath at the guy who had referred him to the place. It’s quiet. No trouble, he said. A mass of sweaty bodies mingled, people chatted and glasses clinked. Perhaps the evening might have ended well if it wasn’t for a rabble of girls who came in just after nine. From the moment they stepped in the door, eyes were on them and they knew it. They wore skimpy cut-off shorts, loose tops that showed off their cleavage and they looked as if they were on the prowl for a good time. Out the corner of his eye, Jack watched as they ordered shots and starting dancing all provocatively. One of them took a selfie while another pretended to put her tongue in her friend’s ear. The beat of the music was low until one of them asked the bartender to turn it up. The bartender tossed them a nonchalant look and reached under the bar. The volume went up a few notches and the dark-haired girl with large brown eyes looked pleased. She shot Jack a seductive glance before twirling out onto the dance floor to join her other friends.
Jack swiveled on his stool, rested his elbows on the bar and admired the view. It had been a while since he’d been with a woman. In the back of his mind he had kind of hoped that his ex was single but she wasn’t. Theresa made it clear that she had a guy, a good one and she wasn’t interested in picking back up where they had left off. The conversation that day lasted no more than five minutes.
“Now that’s trouble if I’ve ever seen it.”
Jack cast a glance over his shoulder. The bartender was wiping down the counter. He was college age, probably trying to make some dough to get through whatever he was majoring in by day. When Jack looked back, three of the five guys had ambled out onto the dance floor and managed to edge their way in among the women. The other two were still playing pool but occasionally glancing over and smirking. At first it looked as if the ladies were into it. A couple of the women ground up against the guys and ran their hands through their hair. It was your typical flirting that was to be found in a bar when folks got tanked up on liquor. However, it was the one who’d asked for the music to be turned up that caught his attention. A large black fella was p
ulling her into him even though she appeared to be telling him to let her go.
“Hey!” the bartender yelled over. “Give the lady some space.”
The guy sneered and broke into laughter backing away and joining his other two friends at the pool table. His two buddies didn’t seem to be having any trouble with the other girls. They continued dancing away completely oblivious to their pal’s misfortune.
The girl came over to the bar looking red-faced and pissed. She fished around inside her purse and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. Jack didn’t look directly at her. He continued sipping on his drink while she placed an order.
“Thanks, Matt,” the girl said to the bartender. “The guy’s an asshole.”
“They usually are,” the bartender muttered.
Out the corner of her eye Jack saw her glance at him while Matt placed a cold bottle of beer in front of her.
“Waiting for someone?”
At first he didn’t think she was speaking to him.
“Me? No.”
“I’m Rachael.”
Jack cast a glance at her and nodded. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Pretty. The kind of girl he could quite easily have slipped into bed with back in New York. Back then he didn’t care how old they were as long as they were over twenty-five, though even that was a little on the young side for him. Most of the women he’d met were in their early thirties, but occasionally a few would slide in looking older than they were.
“Jack,” he replied.
He watched her friends dancing.
“I didn’t want to come out tonight but,” she gave a nod to her friends, “they dragged me out. Said it would be good for me. You know, after breaking up with my boyfriend.” She emphasized the word boyfriend. “To be honest I’m just not into the bar scene. What about you?”
“Depends on the crowd.”
He let her talk. His mind was still preoccupied with Theresa.
“So, you from New Orleans or visiting?”
“Just passing through.”
She nodded before taking a swig of her drink. “On vacation?”
“Something like that.”
His eyes drifted from the dance floor over to the pool area. The black dude muttered something into his friend’s ear before ambling over. Obviously, “no” meant very little to him. It wasn’t uncommon to see a guy try a second time. It all depended on the woman. Those who knew their worth would shut them down again, others might see their persistence as endearing. It took all types.
Rachael was still talking to Jack when the guy came up alongside her.
“Hey, I think we got off to a bad start. How about I buy you a drink?”
She held up her bottle. “Already have one.” She looked back at Jack. The guy looked Jack over before trying again.
“C’mon, loosen up a little. Your friends seem to be doing fine.”
“Look, I’m not interested,” she said.
Some might have thought that would have been the moment to walk away with your dignity in check, but not this fool. No, the alcohol had blocked out what little computing power he had in his tiny brain.
She snorted.
“Whore,” he muttered as he turned to leave.
“What the hell did you call me?”
Now she had every right to go off on him but this was only going to end badly.
“You heard.”
She grasped a handful of his shirt and shoved him He turned and grabbed a hold of her arm. Jack sighed. This was not going to be the peaceful night he envisioned.
Jack turned to him and spoke in a calm voice. “Let her go.”
“Stay out of this, man.”
“Get off my arm,” she said again struggling to free herself.
“Not until you come over and have that drink with me. I know what you girls are like. Coming in here flaunting it all over the place.”
“Let go of me.” She tugged hard but he only seemed to enjoy it.
Jack slipped off the stool, whacked back the remainder of his drink and placed the glass on the counter.
“You should listen to her.”
He sneered. “What? What are you going to do?”
Back in his early days he would have pulled the guy outside and beat him within an inch of his life, now, with the FBI probably looking for him, avoidance was a must. Thankfully he didn’t have to say any more as Matt from behind the bar reappeared.
“If you guys are going to start trouble, take it out, before I call the cops.”
The guy didn’t even reply to the bartender; he was too busy eyeballing Jack. Jack glared back at him and for once, it was kind of nice not to throw a punch or bend a guy’s arm around. The hulking fella released his grip and backed away. “Whatever.”
“Jerk!” the girl said looking red in the face.
The asshole walked back over to his buddies.
“Thank you,” she said before going into some rant about how guys didn’t have manners. Jack wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was still watching the guy as he returned to the table, took another swig of his drink and said something to his pal. They looked as if they were trying to tell him that it wasn’t worth it. It didn’t work. A minute later he picked up a cue stick and snapped it in half.
Shit, Jack thought. There’s always one.
What frame of mind did you have to be in to want to take things that far? The frame of mind that came from being filled up with liquid courage. His two buddies followed for moral support while the others on the dance floor were too busy with Rachael’s friends to notice.
Now every guy was different. You had the ones who were full of themselves but unsure of their own ability — they were all mouth and no action. Then there were the ones who were ready to fight but they really had to have their buttons jabbed to push them over the edge. Those he didn’t have to worry about. It was the psychos. The ones who didn’t think at all, instead they reacted. This guy was one of those. He wasn’t into theatrics like some of the punks he’d met along his travels.
Jack saw the pool cue coming at him out the corner of his eye. He slid back fast, grabbed the guy’s wrist, and gave him a right hook into the side of his face before he could wheel the other half up.
That was all it took for his four buddies to step up to the plate. He didn’t wait for them to charge him before he grabbed her bottle of beer and tossed it at the head of the first guy. It hit him square on the nose sending him down with blood gushing out. The second guy caught him in the side with a punch. Jack parried his blow with an elbow in the gut and an uppercut to the face. The two guys on the dance floor attacked him at the same time, throwing him back against the bar while the large black guy got back up and reached for the snapped pool cue. He didn’t get close enough to use it though. Jack gave him a swift kick to the nuts and then slammed his head into the nose of the guy to his left that was holding his arm. The other one let him go and made a run for it. There was always one who ran. Loyalty only went so far.
As the men groaned and writhed around on the floor, Rachael turned to him.
“You want to get out of here?”
He smirked. There it was, the opportunity to end the night on a good note. The thought of taking her back and spending the next hour tangled up under the sheets sounded good but after the day he’d had, he just wanted to be left alone.
“As much as I would love to, and don’t take this the wrong way, as you are…” he sucked air between his teeth. “I’m just going to call it a night.”
With that said, Jack turned, fished a few dollars out of his pocket and tossed it on the counter. Matt gave him a curt nod. As he walked back out onto the busy streets, he didn’t realize that his presence in New Orleans had set in motion a chain of events that would come back to bite him in the ass. Nevertheless, he’d soon find out.
Chapter Two
Sicily, Italy
Salvatore Nicchi sat at a small café table overlooking the turquoise Mediterranean. Behind him a bustling marketplace,
colorful street life, and the ancient ruins of Palermo. He sipped on his small espresso. His mind was lost in the past. So many years had flown by since his rise to power with his brother Vito. He recalled being seventeen. Both of them having a head full of dreams, and never really realizing the cost of living a life inside organized crime.
Now Vito was dead.
It wasn’t that he expected his brother to live long into his seventies. He knew what he was like. His need to teach people a lesson had put him in the crosshairs of more than one hit man. Hell, some were hired by the same organization.
But it was still his brother. His flesh and blood. Some things superseded the organization.
They had buried more than enough family members.
“More coffee, sir?”
“Thank you.”
Unlike Vito he had let others take on the risky jobs. Salvatore remained behind the curtain, pulling the strings and guiding the affairs of Cosa Nostra the way his father and grandfather before him had done. It was the reason they had lived long into their nineties. They got to see their children grow without the fear of being killed. He intended to do the same.
Salvatore basked in the sun-drenched hills that surrounded the capital with an ache in his heart. If only Vito had listened to him. He should have been here, by his side, enjoying the wealth they had obtained. But that wasn’t meant to be.
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