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

by Jon Mills

  They didn’t have long. He motioned to Zhang.

  “Let’s go.”

  Entering the stairwell, they began descending past the bodies. After they had made it three floors down, two firefighters burst through a door.

  “Upstairs. It’s on fire.”

  They took off. Another firefighter came in a few seconds after.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No, there’s someone trapped in here.” Jack led him into a room. The moment he had him in there, he kicked the guy to the floor, removed his headgear, and knocked him out with several punches.

  “Sorry.”

  Zhang looked on confused. Jack stripped the fireman of his gear and got into it.

  “When you get out, ask to speak to John Dalton. He’ll help you.”

  A few minutes later they made their way down. As they entered the lobby, police were rushing in. One of them was Officer Deon Smith. Keeping his head low, and with the mask covering his face, he handed off the boy to Deon.

  “Found him on the top floor. Says his name is Zhang Cho.”

  His voice sounded muffled by the mask.

  “Thanks. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Zhang glanced back at Jack as Deon led him out of the building. He said nothing but his eyes conveyed gratitude.

  Five minutes later, a block from the building, a pile of firefighter’s clothes were found slumped over a dumpster by a homeless man.

  Chapter 39

  Officer Deon Smith responded to the call sometime around noon.

  His morning had already been filled with more horror than he’d experienced in the past few years on the job. Not only had fellow officer Alex Riley been arrested and charged, he had more dead bodies on his plate. All of them were Sheng Ping’s men.

  “Repeat.”

  An officer had been called to respond to Long Beach Harbor. Someone had made an anonymous call to the police to alert them to the bodies of Sheng Ping and six of his men. They were to be found on the yacht called The Voyager.

  Deon could barely believe what his ears were hearing.

  “Are you sure it’s Sheng Ping?”

  “I’m staring at him.”

  “And he’s dead?”

  “A bullet straight through the head. Yeah, I’d say he’s dead.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Oh by the way. There is a note addressed to you.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “Probably best you read it.”

  He was still wading his way through the aftermath of the bloody massacre at the apartments. In the elevator three bloodied bodies stacked on one another, on the fifteenth floor body parts scattered everywhere, and six men killed, another one on the stairs, then even more on the sixteenth floor.

  He’d watched the fire service pull in the body of Yu Cheng. A known member of the Triads and said to be Sheng Ping’s right-hand man. Deon had only seen him in surveillance photos before this.

  At a first glance he assumed it was a gangland hit until an officer gathered information from a resident who had witnessed it.

  “One man?”

  “The witness referred to him as Gwai Lo.”

  Deon frowned. “Who the hell is that?”

  “It’s not who, it’s what. Gwai means Ghost or Devil. Lo is man. It literally means, Ghost Man. She also used the term Bok Guai.”

  “White Devil,” Deon muttered. He’d heard that term before.

  He flipped through his notes to the evening at the China Doll. One of the survivors had referred to Jack Winchester as Bok Guai. Who the hell was this man?

  It didn’t take him long to get down to the harbor. Several cruisers were on scene along with the crime scene investigation unit. The area had been cordoned off with yellow police tape. Deon ducked underneath and was met by the officer who contacted him.

  “Right this way.”

  He led him down the wooden dock towards a sixty-foot white yacht. The bodies on board were covered up. As he walked towards the cabin he ducked his head and stepped inside. Laid back across a table was a white sheet. The officer pulled it back to reveal the corpse of Sheng Ping.

  “That’s him.”

  Deon nodded.

  “Oh. The note.”

  The officer ferreted inside one of his pockets and retrieved a thick envelope, inside was a large wad of cash, and a scrap of paper. Deon thanked him and then read it. It was brief and to the point.

  Officer Smith,

  John Dalton said you were a good man. I believe his words to be true. I’ve met a lot of cops in my time who have looked the other way. Men who should have never worn the badge. I don’t believe you are one of them.

  I make no excuses for my actions, neither will I expect you to understand.

  Enclosed is ten thousand dollars. This is my money, not Sheng’s.

  Please give this to John Dalton to be used to cover any expenses involved with the care of Evie and Zhang Cho. Please see to it that they obtain the best attorney who will ensure they gain a special immigrant juvenile status.

  And as for Sheng. You’re welcome.

  J.W.

  Deon thumbed through the hundred-dollar bills in awe before stepping out into the noonday sun. He removed his hat, and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He chuckled.

  “Only in America.”

  Outside Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Isabel strolled out with her phone in one hand and her other arm in a sling. She’d been holding off on making the phone call to the bureau.

  Cooper was still recovering and would be in for at least another week.

  She breathed in the afternoon air and let the sun warm her skin. Glancing down at her phone she hit the speed dial and felt her pulse race a little as she expected to get her ear chewed out by her boss.

  It connected.

  She spent a moment bringing him up to speed on what had taken place.

  “To say I’m disappointed would be an understatement. However, it isn’t all a loss. At least now we know the kind of man we are dealing with.”

  “I’ll be on a flight back to New York this afternoon. Cooper will return later.”

  Isabel moved closer to the parking lot to avoid the noise of a family nearby.

  “Perhaps instead of returning you can pick up where you left off.”

  “You want me to pursue him?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  Isabel searched for the words.

  “He was hard enough to find before. Next time I don’t think we’ll be as lucky.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you think outside the box.”

  “And Cooper?”

  “Have him contact me.”

  “Right. Sir, I have to ask. Is this really the best use of the bureau’s money and resources? I mean, pursuing one man?”

  “Do you know how long we had the Gafino family under surveillance?”

  She had a rough idea but didn’t want to sound like an idiot, so she never replied.

  “Back then we had a lot of agents working the case. Believe me, we can spare one or two to follow a man who is now not only wanted for multiple murders but evasion, and ties to a known criminal syndicate.”

  “And…”

  “If it’s a problem, Baker, I’m sure another agent would be more than willing.”

  “No sir. It’s fine.”

  Chapter 40

  Jack Winchester was jerked awake by the motion of the Greyhound bus. His mouth was dry. He caught the reflection of himself in the window and the woman beside him. Beyond the glass it was pitch-dark. Only the stars could be seen and the faint silhouette of trees. He glanced at his watch. It was just a little after two in the morning.

  He rolled his neck around and shot a sideways look at the woman beside him. They had spent the better part of an hour chatting before both of them fell asleep. He’d been on the road for several hours. After L.A. he was ready for somewhere new.

  Thoughts of all that had taken place briefly passed ac
ross his mind. Cloudy thoughts, images of the dead and the faces of two young children.

  The knowledge that they were now safe brought some sense of peace to the inner turmoil he had felt prior to arriving on the west coast.

  Perhaps Eddie was right. Maybe he couldn’t change who he’d been but he could help those whom he crossed paths with. It wasn’t a goal, a change in career, or even an aspiration at this point.

  He yearned for a quiet life, and if his days gave him only that he would be satisfied.

  But that was the thing about life. There was no telling what tomorrow would bring, who he would meet, or where he might find himself. Evil people would always exist. Trouble would always have a place in the heart of cities and towns.

  It would be easy for a person to turn the other cheek, walk away, and live out an existence without violence.

  But that wasn’t him.

  He’d learned a lot through his time down on Skid Row. Good people still existed. There was hope to be found in the hands of strangers and friendship to be gained if a person was willing to accept help.

  Transformation didn’t come without a price. It was tough and even harder when people weren’t ready to let go of all the bad things they had done.

  His thoughts reflected on the FBI agent, Isabel Baker.

  The way she looked at him as though he was a prize to be had. There was a hunger in her gaze, which made it clear that it wouldn’t be the last time he would see her. If the FBI were now after him, that meant they had been looking into the incident in New York.

  Who else had they got to?

  If he wasn’t safe, neither was Frank or Dana.

  His short-lived life back in Rockland Cove now seemed like a joke. To think he could live out his days with a family, a wife or even a kid. That just wasn’t in the cards for him.

  Eddie’s words never rang truer than now.

  It’s not an easy path to take. You can’t surround yourself with those who might be harmed. I think you already know that. Maybe you won’t have someone there beside you at the end of the day. But when you rest your head on that pillow, you will know that you have done what others wouldn’t do. You will have helped those who couldn’t help themselves.

  Jack pressed back into his seat trying to get comfortable. The journey to New Orleans would take one full day and sixteen hours. It would give him plenty of time to reflect.

  As the bus bumped its way across the United States, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift away from the horrors of his past, the regrets of yesterday, and all the blood that had been shed.

  Tomorrow was a new day.

  A chance to right his wrongs.

  An opportunity to help those in dire situations.

  And maybe, in time, he’d find a way to change.

  THANK YOU FOR READING

  Debt Collector: Book #3

  Book 4 will available in June 2016

  Sign up at www.jonmills.com for news on its release.

  Sneak Peak At Book 4

  Coming June, 2016

  Debt Collector 4 Sample Chapter

  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.

  The waiter topped up his cup from a French press. A small amount dripped onto the white tablecloth.

  “My apologies, sir. I will get a new one.”

  Salvatore waved him off. “It’s okay, Alberto.”

  He returned to looking out at the glassy blue sea as sixty-foot schooners bobbed along, and fishermen brought in their nets. He breathed in the salty, warm air while closing his eyes and remembering better days.

  Time seemed to stand still as he wandered through the memories.

  Even when he heard a chair across from him being pulled out he didn’t open his eyes.

  “Good day, Giovanni,” he said softly.

  The aroma of his thin cigar reached his nostrils before he met his gaze.

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “That is has.”

  “How is business?”

  “I can’t complain.”

  “Your mother?”

  “She is well. She passes on her thanks.”

  Giovanni gestured to the waiter and asked him to bring him some coffee. Giovanni was a man who dressed impeccably. He wore only the finest suits, tailored to his huge frame. That morning he was dressed in a tight, black suit, white shirt and red tie. Salvatore’s introduction to him was unlike any other. His mind drifted back to a day he would never forget. Giovanni had been paid handsomely to assassinate Salvatore by a rival member of the Sicilian crime family. He’d made his way through six of Salvatore’s best before he managed to corner him on a boat just off the shore of Palermo. As he kneeled waiting for the bullet to pass through his head, Giovanni had asked him one question.

  “Is it true?”

  “About?”

  “What my mother said. Are you him?”

  He paused then chuckled.

  “The irony. To be shot by my own illegitimate child.”

  There was silence, then the cold metal pressed against the back of his skull was removed.

  Salvatore had met his mother, Carina, in his early twenties. They had a whirlwind relationship only to have it cut short when her father learned about her involvement with him. He hadn’t seen her since then. Almost twenty-five years had passed since that night. While the rumors had reached him, it took Carina another ten before she had the nerve to tell him through a letter that he had a son.

  Over the following years he’d made every effort to ensure that she never went without. She lived in the best area of the city, all her expenses were paid, and in turn she was instructed that his son never be told who he was. She had obviously changed her mind.

  There were very few things that he regretted in his life, but not being there for his son was one of them. The cost of being a part of the Sicilian Mafia was high. Most grew into it by family association. He didn’t want that life for his child. And yet here he was years later looking into the eyes of one of the top hit men in Italy.

  Fast and agile, in a period of nine years he’d notched up more kills than most of the other hit men combined. But it was the killing of seven men in a restaurant in the capital that had finally caught his attention. It was said that he’d entered, ordered some juice, and then without hesitating pulled two Para-Ordnance P18.9’s and opened fire. So much blood was spilled that day, he soon became known as one of the most feared and well-paid hit men in the region.

  The waiter came over and placed a white cup down.

  Salvatore snapp
ed back into the present.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Giovanni said. “Tell me what I can do to help.”

  He reached down into a brown leather bag, and pulled out a folder. He slid it across the table to him. Giovanni nursed his coffee. Steam spiraled up from it as he opened the folder and looked at the face of Jack Winchester.

  Salvatore could hear him flipping through pages.

  “One man did all of this?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “No.”

  He continued reading, taking sips of his drink every few minutes. There was a refinement to everything he did. He was clean, exact and Salvatore knew that the job would be done. Over all the years he’d known him, there hadn’t been one hit that had gone wrong. What made him deadly wasn’t the body count. It was that he wasn’t concerned with whether a kill was up close and personal or from one hundred yards. It was all about getting the job done. There was little ego involved.

  “How much are you willing to pay?”

  “Money is not an issue. You will be set up with an account. I want your full attention to be on this.”

  “Do you want him brought to you?”

  “No. Make it clean. I don’t want this to be traced back.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes.” His eyes flitted up. “Make it slow.”

  A Plea

  Thank you for reading Debt Collector 3: Reborn. If you enjoyed the book, I would really appreciate it if you would consider leaving a review. I can’t stress how helpful this is in helping other readers decide if they should give it a shot. Reviews from readers like you are the best recommendation a book can have. Without reviews, an author’s books are virtually invisible on the retail sites. It also let’s me know what you liked. You can leave a review by visiting the book’s page. I would greatly appreciate it. It only takes a couple of seconds.

  Thank you — Jon Mills