The Debt Collector (Book 1 of a Jack Winchester Organized Crime Action Thriller) (Jack Winchester Vigilante Justice Thriller Series)

by Jon Mills

  As she cut away his shirt with scissors, she could see one open stab wound. She washed the wound to get a better look at it. Fortunately, it didn’t appear to be too deep; maybe an inch at the most. While this was still shocking, it didn’t come close to what else she was observing. All across his back were large scars. The skin almost resembled a dry lakebed with the sheer number of lines. Jason returned with the towels. He ground to a halt. The look on his face at the sight of Jack’s back matched her own. Neither one said anything.

  Jason used the towels to clean up the blood, and they wrapped the other around him. She knew it was critical to keep a person warm when they went into shock. This was one of the few things Matt had taught her after several of his men had experienced unusual accidents. Tending to his wounds, she thought back to the many times she’d patched up Matt’s co-workers. Whenever she asked why they couldn’t go to the hospital, he always gave the reason that it was too packed, medical bills cost too much, and, well, he would get this look in his eye. It was the same one she had seen many a time. One that made it clear that anything to do with his line of business or activities outside of work wasn’t up for discussion.

  “Do you have a handheld mirror?”

  “Yeah, um…Jason, in the drawer over there.”

  Jason retrieved it, and she handed it to Jack.

  Awkwardly he held the mirror behind him and glanced over, trying to get a better look at the wound before handing it back to her. Dana shot him a curious look.

  “Don’t tell me that in addition to being a antiques collector, you’re a medic as well as a fighter?”

  He handed it back. “Not exactly. But I know what a serious knife wound looks like and what’s just a flesh wound.”

  “A flesh wound?” Jason stifled a laugh. “Look at the amount of blood on your shirt.”

  “I have thin blood.”

  “Flesh wound or not, we need to stop the bleeding.”

  Dana set the bowl on the table and retrieved clean dressings from the cupboard. She applied pressure on the two wounds and taped up three sides.

  “There. That should do until we get to the hospital.”

  “No hospital. I need you to stich it up.”

  Her eyebrows rose at the very suggestion. She paused for a moment, contemplating the question alongside every one she wanted to ask, but instead she turned to Jason.

  “There’s a first aid kit in the bottom drawer, and some surgical stitching in a box underneath my bed.”

  Jason nodded and dashed off to collect the items. Dana moved to the sink to wash her hands before pulling a bottle of rye whiskey from the refrigerator. When Jason returned, she told him to head off to bed. It was close to eleven at night, and while he didn’t have school the next day, she thought he’d seen enough gore for one evening.

  She poured herself a glass to steady her hands, and gave the rest of the bottle to Jack. As she worked the thread through his skin she noted that he barely winced; either the alcohol was doing its job, or he was used to experiencing this kind of pain. By the look of his back, he had endured pain far beyond what anyone else had.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

  “I lived in a rough neighborhood.”

  Ten minutes later she was done. She tossed the bloody rags into the bowl and cleaned up while he observed her handiwork in a tall mirror.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?” he said before taking a gulp from the bottle.

  She never replied. He was right. It wasn’t the first time she had tended to an injury. At first her need was out of necessity, and then out of fear. For reasons she rarely spoke about, having surgical suture on hand prevented people in the town from talking.

  “I guess you’re wondering about the scars.”

  “No.”

  She feigned disinterest. Without a doubt she was curious, but she barely knew him and time had taught her that it was better to ask few questions. When she returned, she handed him a denim shirt.

  “You look about Matt’s size.”

  She took in the sight of his chest and abs. It was solid muscle. He was no overdone fitness type, but it was clear that he took care of his physique. She forced herself to look away, not wishing to make him feel uncomfortable. He took the shirt and slowly slipped into it.

  “Thank you.”

  “It should be me thanking you. What you did tonight…” She paused while washing away the stained water. “That could have turned out a lot worse.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but instead continued buttoning up his shirt.

  “I’ll put you up in the spare room at least for a couple of nights.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

  “Those bandages will need changing. It’s the least I can do.”

  He seemed to hesitate a moment before nodding in agreement. In all truth, combined with a dose of guilt over everything that had transpired since his arrival, the thought of having him around for a few more nights gave her a sense of security that she hadn’t felt in years. She didn’t expect the bikers to return, but that didn’t prevent thoughts of retribution churning over in her mind.

  Chapter 17

  EARLY SUNDAY MORNING, Jack had been up long before the rest of the house. It wasn’t because of the pain he’d suffered through a large portion of the night, but purely out of habit. Contrary to what most might have figured, there were only three opportunities to shank or gut another inmate without the use of bribes: first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and in the prison courtyard. All of which meant staying vigilant and surviving on little sleep. He stood on the back porch, smoking a cigarette, as the sun rose slowly. Apollo stretched out on the ground beside him. He enjoyed the quiet; however, the gentle rhythm of the stream among the pines mixed with a chorus of birds did little to alleviate his anxious mind. The sheriff would be showing up soon, fishing for answers, and that was the last thing he needed. The whole situation had become even more complicated. Not knowing where the money was hidden was tricky enough, but having some cop nosing around and running a check on his background wouldn’t be good.

  He made a quick phone call. Groggy and barely awake, Roy picked up on the other end.

  “We’ve got a situation.”

  Roy groaned on the other end. Jack brought him up to speed on the events that happened the previous night.

  “Shit.” Jack heard a match strike on the other end of the line, and Roy exhaled deeply. “This rule of yours, Jack, is getting old fast.”

  “What did you expect? Let her get raped?”

  “I don’t give a shit. I don’t like this one bit. I expected you to get in and get out. You are getting too close to this.”

  “I just need a bit more time.”

  “And the cop?”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  He sighed on the other end of the line. “You’ve got a week, Jack. If you don’t find the money…”

  “I know.”

  Gafino didn’t need to finish what he was saying. Alarm bells immediately went off in his head. Jack knew all too well what it meant. Roy didn’t deal in empty threats. Collections didn’t last days and weeks—well, they were unheard of in his trade. Under any other conditions he would have been in and out the very same day he had arrived.

  “Morning,” a voice from behind him made his heart leap into his throat. Hanging up, Jack turned around to find Dana stepping out onto the porch.

  “You should be resting,” Dana said.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” he answered with a groan, stretching slowly. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

  “No, I guess that makes two of us.”

  The very mention that she’d been up made him wonder if she’d overheard his conversation.

  “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  He nodded, holding her gaze. They stepped back inside the kitchen. He undid the buttons on his shirt and she removed it. The sound of tape peeling off and the pull of skin
made him wince. She replaced the dressing, stained with dry blood, with a new one. For a moment neither of them said anything as they stood close together. Her eyes occasionally met his.

  He decided to break the silence. “How’s it look?”

  “Ah, just a flesh wound, you’ll survive,” she said making light of it as he had the night before.

  He let out a short laugh that turned into a groan. He slipped his arm back into his shirt while she put on some coffee.

  “Why didn’t you ask me about the scars?”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder as she poured out their drinks. “It’s none of my business.”

  “But you must be curious?”

  She placed his cup in front of him and hovered a carton of milk over it. “Milk?”

  “No, just black. Thanks.”

  Taking a seat across from him, she stirred her coffee and added a spoon of sugar. “We’ve all got our scars, Jack.”

  Intrigued by what she meant, he was about to follow up with another question when Jason came into the room.

  “Morning, son.”

  He grunted a reply that only teenagers his age would understand. Half-asleep, he ambled his way around the kitchen on autopilot, going through the routine of gathering items for breakfast. Dana took a few more sips of her drink before excusing herself for a moment and stepping out.

  Jason slumped down at that table. A bowl in one hand, a cup in the other, he scanned Jack.

  “How you feeling?”

  “I’ve felt better.”

  He nodded affirmatively while shoveling away a heaped spoon of cereal. With his mouth crammed, he continued. “Those were some serious fighting moves you put down on those guys yesterday.”

  Jack remained silent.

  “You think you could teach me?” He paused. “I mean…when you are feeling up to it?”

  Gone was the attitude he’d expected from Jason. It seemed to be replaced by a newfound respect. Whether the kid’s confidence was misplaced or fueled by a selfish desire to gain, Jack found it amusing.

  “Passed the test, have I?”

  He tapped the air with his spoon. “Maybe.”

  Jack snorted as he got up and sat his cup down in the sink.

  “So? What do you think?” Jason glanced over with an impish smile.

  “I think I need a shower. Keep an eye on Apollo, will ya’?”

  Apollo cocked his head to one side. Jason didn’t look too impressed, but he gave a reluctant nod.

  Leaving the kitchen, Jack made it up a few steps on the staircase when a gust of air blew in. Dana returned, holding a few of his folded clothes in one arm. She handed them off to him, closing the door behind her with her free hand.

  “I hope you don’t mind; I thought you might need some fresh clothes.” She paused. “The others are in the wash.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, and there’re fresh towels on the rack in the washroom.”

  Half an hour later, a police cruiser pulled up in front of the house. Jack eyed it from the second-story bedroom window. He’d been searching for his handgun, but it was nowhere to be found. He could have sworn he’d left it on the bedside table.

  Staring down, he watched the cop climb the stone steps to the front porch. It was the same officer from the night before. He expected the man was back to get that statement. No doubt he’d want to hear Jack’s side of the story multiple times before he was satisfied.

  The whole event from the previous night had riled him up. He knew all it would take was the cop to dig into his background, and he’d be in trouble. He sighed. Any chance of backing out now was gone. If he ran, he’d spend the rest of his days looking over his shoulder. The thought of returning to Riker’s ate away at him. He pushed the thought from his mind; there was no way in hell he’d let that happen. If he went down this time, so would Gafino.

  The sound of heavy boots on a hardwood floor, and the crackle of the officer’s radio made him weigh his options. In years gone by, before Riker’s, in a time when he was a foolish kid, he might have put a bullet in a police officer without hesitation if it meant escaping the law, but now it was meant to be different. That was all behind him, this was all meant to be a fresh start. Meant to be, he scoffed at the thought while cursing Gafino’s name under his breath.

  About to head downstairs, Jason met him at the door, looking sheepish. He looked nervously behind him before pulling out Jack’s gun.

  “Sorry I borrowed it.”

  Jack pulled him into the room, trying to keep his voice to a minimal.

  “Don’t ever take this. Do you understand?”

  Jason looked shaken up. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Jack pulled the clip out and checked that all the bullets were still there.

  “It’s not like I haven’t used one. Luke and I shoot off rounds all the time from his rifle in the forest out back.”

  “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t a toy.”

  “Like I don’t know that.”

  Jack narrowed his eyes.

  “Fine.”

  “Now be on your way.”

  Jason ambled back to the door and cut a glance over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall. Jack blew out a deep lungful of air. He tucked the gun under the mattress before heading downstairs.

  Conversation in the kitchen was low when he entered. Dana threw him a glance. Seated across from her, nursing a cup of coffee, was the officer.

  “Jack, this is Sheriff Grant.” She paused. “Matt’s father.”

  He rose to his feet and extended his hand.

  Matt’s father? Perfect, he thought as he felt the firm handshake.

  “Sorry for your loss,” were the first words that flew out of his mouth.

  “Yeah, well, it’s still an open investigation. We’ll find him.”

  The reply struck him as odd. Could Matt’s father possibly think he was alive? What part of his disappearance had convinced Dana that he was dead?

  “Coffee?” Dana asked.

  Jack nodded while slowly taking a seat.

  “Were you injured?”

  “Oh, no, just a few bruises.”

  His eyes flicked between her and the sheriff as he waited for the interrogation to begin. There was something he disliked about being in the presence of police. Cities, small towns—it didn’t matter. In his early years growing up in Jersey, he had had a clear respect for the badge. At first, like any kid, he’d admired police. As he had grown into his early teen years, he had feared them. By the time he had ran with Gafino’s crew, he knew them. The badge meant very little. Dirty cops, that’s all he’d ever known. If they weren’t on Gafino’s payroll, they were working for someone else. Either way, they couldn’t be trusted.

  “First time in Rockland Cove?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What brings you here?”

  And there it was, the question that would lead to a million more.

  Out the corner of his eye, he could see Dana watching as the water boiled. Steam spiraled up. She leaned against the counter. Jack was well aware that every word he spoke was under scrutiny. He wasn’t sure what Dana had told him already, so he stuck to his original story.

  “Business.”

  “And that would be?”

  “He’s a collector. Of antiques. Isn’t that right, Jack?”

  Jack squinted at her before finally nodding. “Yeah.”

  The sheriff followed his gaze, then looked at Jack again.

  “Interesting. Seems an unusual trade for a man of your skill.”

  Jack noted the way the sheriff didn’t break eye contact for even a second. It was what they were trained to do—look for cracks in a facade.

  “I’m just glad he was here.” Dana added, placing a cup in front of him.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I’m independent.”

  The sheriff took a long pull from his cup. “You must come across a lot of rare and desirable items. What’s the most valuable piece you’ve held in
your hands?”

  He knew the cop didn’t give a rat’s ass. It was a test, but one that he was more than prepared to answer. In all his years collecting debts for Gafino, he’d been through his fair share of antique stores, but one in particular came back to him in that moment. The face of a man who refused to pay for protection flashed across his mind. He was the owner of five antique stores spread across the upper north side of New Jersey. He knew he was going die, which is why he offered his most valuable possession. A rare sculpture made by Pablo Picasso that was worth over seven million dollars. Jack would have taken it and left that day, if it wasn’t for what the man did next. Jack had had one foot out the door when the owner took out his frustration on his wife, turning and slapping her repeatedly. Against his better judgment, and even with Freddy telling him to leave it, Jack couldn’t. Something snapped in him that day.

  “A sculpture by Picasso Pablo.”

  “How much did it sell for?”

  “I don’t know. It was dropped.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yeah. Yeah it was.” His pushed the thought of the antique owner’s bloodied face from his memory.

  “Well, let’s get this out of the way, shall we? Maybe we can step outside and you can take me through what happened.”

  Jack nodded, and the sheriff followed him and Dana out.

  “So what will happen to them?”

  “They’ll be charged, put into the court system. No doubt they’ll post bail.”

  “Do we have anything to be worried about?” Dana asked.

  “Hopefully not. The court order will take care of that.”

  “Any idea what they were doing here?” Jack asked.

  “According to them, it was a road trip.”

  “You get many coming through here?”

  “No. That’s what concerns me.”

  “Will there be any charges laid against Jack?” Dana asked.

  The sheriff shook his head. “For now, no. The men know they are already walking on thin ice. They opted not to press charges. Plus, with you and Jason witnessing the event, you shouldn’t have anything to worry about.”

  “That’s good to know,” Jack said, glancing at Dana.