Debt Collector - Reborn (Book 3 of a Jack Winchester Action Thriller) (Jack Winchester Vigilante Justice Thriller Series)

by Jon Mills

  Deon leaned forward in his chair and chuckled. “That’s why you are good at what you do.”

  “How so?”

  “You see beyond the law, when I am restricted by it.”

  “Restricted? You have to draw a line in the sand somewhere.”

  Deon’s mind drifted back to when he was a kid. His mother came down hard on his brother for getting involved with the gangs. She’d warned him not to get involved; that his actions would in turn influence Deon. She didn’t have to worry. Two weeks later he was shot in a drive-by shooting. It was a harsh wake-up call to Deon, but one that he heard clearly.

  Still, no one should have to go through that.

  Deon’s radio crackled.

  “That doesn’t change the fact that both of them are still missing,” he said before trying to listen to what the dispatcher was saying.

  Any central unit, a 216 just occurred at 432 East Seventh Street at the Madison. Five suspects, Chinese. Shots fired.

  “Did you say he was staying at the Madison?”

  John nodded. Deon was up and out the door within seconds.

  Chapter 26

  The rain battered hard against the window. Jack’s silhouette cut into the wall momentarily as he held onto one Desert Eagle .357 semi-automatic that he’d taken from the men who’d burst into the mission. John was going to toss them away but after jack lost his Glocks, he needed something besides the shotgun. He’d convinced John to let him dispose of them.

  He’d been in his room less than five minutes when the woman across the way told him that some men had been by earlier, knocking on his door. Jack told her to get inside and lock the door. He’d peered out of the window into the darkness, scanning the street, but couldn’t see for shit. Sheet lightning lit up the night sky.

  It was the sound of a gun going off that caused him to hustle. He’d dashed over to his bag and pulled out both pieces. One he placed in the small of his back while he quickly checked the magazine on the other. Each gun held nine rounds.

  Closing the door ever so slightly he killed the lights and smashed the bulbs. Using the window like a mirror he waited patiently for them. His heart hammered inside his chest as he waited. He had no idea how many there were. His mind spun through escape scenarios. He could go out the window and down the fire escape but they would probably have at least one man waiting below. Police would be there soon. The alternative was the roof. There was another fire escape on the east side of the building, as well as one on the north. One other option was to jump down to the building on the west side.

  It wasn’t the sound of boots he heard first, it was the door creaking. His pulse raced as he prepared for the worst. In the reflection of the window he saw the first guy; short, stocky, sure of himself — a total amateur. Common sense should have told him not to enter a dark room. The man’s hand reached inside, blindly searching for the light switch. A short click, then the realization that they weren’t working. No lights came on.

  It was all about timing. He waited a few more seconds until he saw the glimmer of the barrel, then instantly Jack whirled around and fired two rounds through the partially open door. The sound of the man’s body hitting the floor was met by Chinese shouting.

  He had seven bullets left in the one gun.

  He glanced at his watch. In the distance he could hear the sound of a siren. Still facing the door, down on one knee, he didn’t see the next, he heard him. Jack spun onto his back and fired two rounds through the window. The guy was on the fire escape. Glass shattered and the man returned fire. He’d only been hit once. Jack fired again and the man slumped down. As he went to get up and approach the window, another man burst through the main door and plowed into him sending both of them out the window onto the metal fire escape. The metal cut into his shoulder as he smashed against it. All hell broke loose. Rain battered them. The cold wind beat against their faces as they wrestled for control. Both of them still had their guns in their hands. The man fired, the bullet missed Jack’s ear by an inch. A high-pitched ringing made him temporarily deaf in his left ear. He struggled as the man pinned him. Instead of trying to push him off, he pulled him tight and bit down on his neck. The Chinese thug screamed as Jack clamped down deeper into his flesh. With a natural response to recoil, he tore away from Jack, sending blood spurting out the side of his neck. Jack fired another round into his head and the man went over the edge plummeting to his concrete grave.

  He spat the chunk of flesh from his mouth before a hail of bullets snapped past him, some ricocheting off the metal fire escape. He dived back through the window and rolled only to find himself embroiled now with a fourth man. This time his gun was knocked from his hand. He head-butted the guy in the face only to have his nuts crushed with a knee to the groin. Neither man had the luxury of waiting. Jack went for his gun but was kicked repeatedly forward in a series of stunning moves. A foot came down and Jack caught it, twisted it, and then locked his leg. But this guy was no amateur; he spun around and grabbed hold of Jack’s arm, bringing it into a lock with his legs across his neck and body. Jack struggled to slip out but the guy had him tight and was pulling on his arm. Any second now the arm bar was going to dislocate his elbow.

  Using the only thing he had available to him, he bit into the man’s leg. The guy let out an agonizing cry but continued to hold on. Don’t make me chew through your fucking leg, he thought as he bit down harder. Even biting through the outside of his clothing, he knew when he had penetrated the skin. There was a pop and the guy released his grip. A second, maybe two passed as both of them tried to recover from the pain. The Chinese guy lunged at Jack with a firm grasp around his throat.

  The sound of sirens got louder.

  Jack slammed his wrists with the palms of his hands and used his body to toss him off. But this bastard wasn’t taking no for an answer. Before Jack could even get up, he was back on him in the same position going for a chokehold. Using all the strength he had remaining, he pried his hands away from his throat, then clamped down on the hands, brought his legs up and twisted them around the man’s head. Then in one swift motion, he pushed up his body causing the man’s arm to become straight. One more shove and he heard it break. There was no way he was going to give him another chance to choke him, he reached for the gun that was within a few feet. His hands scraped the carpet. The cockroach and his compadres shot by. Fuck, I hate those creepy bastards, he thought as he lunged back and snagged up the Desert Eagle. Wheeling around fast, he fired three shots into the man.

  Two bullets left.

  He turned over coughing hard while trying to catch his breath. It felt like his throat was tightening up. The sound of boots clattering up the fire escape had him sliding up behind the double bed. Down on the ground he saw the man’s boots hit the floor. Sliding his arm under the bed he waited until he was so close that he knew the bullet wouldn’t miss. It tore apart his boot causing the man to scream and fall back. Staggering to his feet, Jack lowered the gun. The Chinese man’s eyes were wide with fright as the final two bullets lodged in his skull.

  Jack reached around for the second Desert Eagle but it wasn’t there. It must have fallen out. He dropped the empty one and picked up a Glock from the man he’d killed. A quick check of the magazine and he was ready to go.

  He snatched up his duffel bag, and was about to exit when he heard the police outside.

  There was no way he was going to get caught like this. He wasn’t going back. He’d rather bite a bullet than spend another second behind bars. His mind went into overdrive. He glanced out the window and saw several officers racing into the lobby. Malese’s car was still there but there were no exhaust fumes coming out of the back.

  He didn’t recall if she turned it off or left it going.

  Exiting his room, he rushed towards the staircase but heard police coming up. Backing up, he was running back to his room when he came to a grinding halt. At the far end of the corridor in the second stairwell, through the door, was a man holding Malese by the throat
. No smile on his face. No sense of worry about police. Jack stepped forward and he vanished out of sight. He raced down the corridor and burst through the fire door out into the stairwell. The sound of footsteps slamming against concrete, then a door opened. He turned back for a second. The need to get out was overwhelming. He was like a hedged-in animal.

  The thought of Malese being harmed overrode his flight instincts.

  Taking two steps at a time he bolted up the staircase; bag over his shoulder, the Glock in his hand. Upon reaching the metal door, he pushed it open and found himself on the roof.

  Six stories high; wind whipped at his face, stinging his eyes. He slammed the door behind him as his eyes fell on the Chinese man standing on the ledge of the building with Malese.

  Jack locked the door behind him by jamming a large metal antenna from the building into the handle. It wouldn’t give him much time but it would allow him a few minutes.

  “You want me, not her.”

  The man wasn’t armed. Jack thought he was crazy. One bullet and he could take him down but not with him clutching Malese’s throat.

  “Let her go.”

  On the roof were several large metal vents that jutted out. The Chinese man stood off to one side. Even if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have been able to get a clean shot. The guy kept shifting behind the vents as Jack got closer.

  Tears streamed down Malese’s face.

  “Whatever you want, just let her go.”

  There was a long pause as if he was contemplating what to say.

  “As you wish.” Then he pushed her back.

  “No!” Jack wheeled up the gun while rushing forward but it was too late. Malese disappeared over the edge. The sound of her scream echoed in his mind.

  He fired off several rounds at the man but he moved fast behind the metal air vents. The bullets pinged and ricocheted off into the night sky. One second he was there, the next he was gone. Jack rushed to the edge, nearly falling over as he peered down. Below a small crowd gathered around Malese’s body. They looked up along with a few of the officers. He ducked back hoping they hadn’t seen. He recognized none of them, except one, the officer from the mission.

  Chaos and disorder gripped him, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t get the sight of her body out of his mind. The sound of pounding against the door to the roof brought home the reality that he was in a shitload of trouble.

  Chapter 27

  Jack slipped down the west side of the building using a pipe attached to the side. Two stories down he landed on the opposite red building that was butted up against it. He didn’t stop for even a second to look back and see if police were after him. His body was aching, mouth bloodied and he hadn’t even realized that his neck had been nicked by a bullet. Warm blood collected around his shoulders as he wiped his hand back there. There was no time to stop now. When he got to the ground, he made a dash for it. Enveloped by darkness and the heavy downpour, he removed his jacket and gave it to some old homeless person in exchange for an old blanket. It stunk of piss and cigarette smoke but it would do for now. Slipping into the alley, he headed for the mission.

  He had nowhere else to go. He couldn’t get to Malese’s car as it was parked out front. Emergency services had descended upon the place. Sirens wailed into the night. Blue and red lights flashed. The image of Malese falling burned in his mind. She didn’t deserve to die, and especially not that way.

  These animals didn’t have any moral code.

  Jack blended in with the homeless and shuffled north on Wall Street, east on Sixth and then north on San Pedro. It was a short fifteen-minute walk but one that would forever stay with him.

  When he made it to the back of the mission, he banged against the metal door until one of the workers opened it. Drenched, exhausted, and in pain he didn’t listen to the woman ranting in Spanish.

  “John Dalton. Where is he?”

  She stared at him like some kind of freak show. She pointed to his office. Jack staggered down the corridor, leaving a trail of blood droplets behind him. He shouldered into the partially open office door. John was behind the desk on the phone. His eyes widened upon seeing him.

  “I have to go, I’ll call you back.” He jumped up as Jack collapsed on the ground in front of him.

  He was certain it was Jack Winchester on the roof. The man had a face you couldn’t forget. Now inside his room with several officers, he gazed around at the bloody massacre. He’d been called out to his fair share of gang hits but none as vicious as this. He stared down at a pool of blood around the man’s head. They were Sheng Ping’s men, he’d seen many of them over the past year.

  Why did they come after a stranger?

  “Did you find the boy?”

  “No sign.”

  “What the fuck happened here?” Alex said as his boots crunched on broken glass. Brent was a short distance behind him, gazing at the smeared blood and lifeless bodies.

  Deon crouched down and ripped open the crimson-stained shirt on one of the dead. A tattoo of a dragon devouring a snake was common to see on Triad members.

  “The owner says Winchester paid in cash, he says he didn’t see the boy.”

  Deon made his way past Alex who scoffed. “Five less scumbags we have to deal with.”

  Down on the ground he watched as medics placed the body of Malese Wu on a stretcher. He wasn’t looking forward to visiting the family and telling them she was dead. He’d done it seemingly countless times over the years and it never got easy. Training for it was minimal. There was nothing that could prepare you for the look in parents’ eyes as you told them that they would need to come down to the morgue to identify their child. He turned to see the rain washing away the blood off the pavement down into the gutter. Skid Row was a shit hole full of blood, tears, and pain.

  Whoever this Winchester guy was, he sure as hell wasn’t a security guard.

  A few hours later the wheels on American Airlines Flight 171 touched down at LAX. Isabel had endured Cooper’s snoring and dribbling all through the flight. Next time she would go separately or opt for first class. Once they got their bags, Cooper wanted to head directly to the hotel to get some more shut-eye, as if he hadn’t already had enough in the six hours they’d been up in the air.

  But sleep was the last thing on her mind.

  While others wound down at night, she did the opposite. It was when her brain switched on. When she was a detective in San Francisco, she often found herself writing reports at one in the morning in some twenty-four-hour café. There was something about the silence. It meant, fewer cars on the streets and less assholes to deal with.

  “You’re not going to get much done tonight. It’s pissing with rain. Everyone is going to be as miserable as hell. Anyone with a brain will show up in the morning. You know how these cops are at night.”

  Reluctantly she agreed to head to the hotel for the evening. It wasn’t that she didn’t think she could make headway with whoever was on shift but she knew if she got stuck into it now, she would still be awake at six, and then she’d be no good to anyone.

  They checked into the Westin Los Angeles Airport Hotel just off I-405, a few miles from the airport. Cooper must have thought he was going to get his dick wet, as he said it would be cheaper to share a room — a double of course.

  “I’ll take one room for the night,” she said to the clerk. Cooper’s eyes lit up. “And he’ll get his own.”

  Five minutes later she rolled a small case into the room and looked around. She slumped down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. She hoped this wasn’t a wild-goose chase. A part of her was beginning to doubt that they would find him. And if even if they did, what could they possibly hope to extract from him without leverage? On paper they had nothing against him.

  She pondered what Frank Banfield had said about Jack.

  Did he honestly think that she would back down just because he had? Oh, he was mistaken. This wasn’t about getting a promotion, pleasing her superiors or ego. It pissed her off to
no end that someone could get away with murder and walk free.

  Isabel had been fourteen when her father was murdered in a home invasion. The memory of that night still haunted her. It was what drove her into joining the police. Every time she put away someone, she saw the faces of the scumbags who had got away with killing her father.

  It wasn’t as easy as nabbing those responsible for crimes.

  They had to be convicted. That was the part that was left out of the speech an officer had given at her school when she was a year away from graduating. The justice system was flawed. Those who did evil ended up with a sentence even less than those who committed fraud. It seemed that it was less about what crime had been committed and who the lawyer or judge was on the day of court.

  The number of people that had been let off, or given a measly three-year sentence only to get out and repeat the same crime, seemed countless. Her time within the department had made her jaded. The truth was the FBI was meant to be different, but the more time she spent carrying that badge the clearer it was becoming that it wasn’t. It was just another glorified version of the same shit she’d endured for years.

  The court still had to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the person was guilty. She was tired of seeing assholes walk, while others who should have never ended up in court were handed down harsh sentences.

  Isabel turned her head at the sound of a knock at the door. She rolled her eyes. He really didn’t give up. When the door opened Cooper was standing there with two glasses in his hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.

  “Dom Pérignon, madame?”

  “Cooper,” she glanced at her watch. “It’s after eleven at night. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  “Come on, just one glass.”

  He had this boyish charm to him that made it hard to say no, even though she had said no more times than yes to the man.