Angel of Death - Debt Collector 5 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  “I do. But like I said, I don’t take on every job.”

  Jack took a seat in one of the armchairs close to a small round table. “The last job I took on, I thought I was helping a father find his daughter. It turned out the father wasn’t her father at all. She was being used as a pawn in a game. How can I be certain you are telling me the truth? How can I be sure that ‘your daughter’ doesn’t want to stay in Peru?”

  Patrick came over to the table and sat across from him. He brought out his wallet and emptied out three photos. They were of the same girl. One was taken when she was no older than four; the other in her teens and the last one was when she was a full-grown woman. He spread them out in front of Jack.

  “I know it might sound as if all I care about is my work but I love my daughter, Mr. Winchester. Do you have a child?”

  Jack’s eyes flitted up from the photos to his. He nodded.

  “Then you would know that there is nothing greater than the love a father has for his daughter. I never went to the feds because they would snoop around in my business affairs. I can’t have that. I’m sure you understand.” He gathered up the photos except the most recent one. “This must be done discreetly. Money is no object. Whatever you need I will provide. For now I just want to know if the man I’m paying down in Peru, has seen her. It’s easy money. In and out.”

  “And if he’s lying?”

  Patrick closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He never replied but Jack already knew what he would have requested. Patrick fished around inside his pocket and pulled out a smartphone. He flipped through it a few times, then hit play on a video. He slid it in front of Jack before getting up and walking away from the table. Jack kept his eyes on him for a few seconds before looking down at the video. Initially it was hard to make out what he was seeing. It was dark and there appeared to be numerous silhouettes of people moving around in a forest.

  “What is this?”

  “Keep watching.”

  Torches of fire came into view and illuminated those in the stream of video. All of them were wearing dark brown robes like a monk’s habit. Hoods covered faces. Seconds passed and then a crowd parted to allow two monks through. They were standing either side of a woman dressed in white. She was barefoot and her head was down as though she was drugged. As the video progressed, Jack watched them take her up a series of steps to a large altar where she was stripped and placed naked on a stone altar. The two figures who brought her up stepped back and another came forward dressed in the same attire except his was yellow. The camera kept zooming in and out. One moment it would be clear, then blurry. It was like some bad footage uploaded to a video site by hunters. Once it refocused, it was angled so that there was a clear shot of the figure in yellow looming over the girl who didn’t appear to be resisting any of it. Another figure came into the frame holding a wooden tray, upon it was a sharp blade with a handle that looked as if it was carved in the shape of a serpent. The man grasped it with both hands and began chanting some form of prayer. Across the group others chanted in unison with him as he raised the blade above the naked woman. He held it there getting louder with his words until he glanced down and in one swift move plunged it deep into her heart. The girl jerked upwards for a second or two letting out a bloodcurdling scream before he repeated the act three times. By the second time he stabbed her she was no longer moving.

  Jack turned towards Patrick.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “The Eternal Movement. It’s not done to everyone, only to those who the Sage has selected.”

  “The Sage?”

  Patrick squeezed the bridge of his nose. “They drink ayahuasca. Castillo believes it’s a holy medicine. When a person consumes it they have visions of snakes and jaguars as well as many other beings. He believes the snake is a sage that comes to teach and guide them along a path towards the light. Whatever message he brings back he incorporates it into their belief system. It becomes part of their ceremonies, rituals and teaching. He believed he was told to sacrifice that woman.”

  Jack’s face screwed up as he looked back at it.

  “She willingly gave herself to him,” Patrick said.

  “What?”

  Patrick looked down. “I know it’s hard to believe but it happens. Tribes did it for years all throughout history. Castillo didn’t see it as anything more than another step in the right direction.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the police?” Jack looked at him and then realized. It would have meant more snooping around.

  “We left immediately after. Our daughter wasn’t there at the time. She had no idea and we never told her.”

  Jack handed back the cellphone looking disturbed.

  “And you believe he is going to do this to your daughter?”

  He slipped the phone back into his wet jacket. “I can’t be sure but it’s for this reason that I must get her back. She is not safe. This guy is a loose cannon. Who knows what he will do next?”

  He turned towards the door but not before placing a card on the counter.

  “That has my number if you change your mind.”

  Patrick opened the door and was about to leave. “Mr. Lefkofsky, you forgot the letter.”

  “Keep it. Read it.”

  Jack nodded still gripping the envelope. After he had left, Jack went over to the mini-fridge and fished around for another beer. He stood by the window watching Patrick return to one of the black vehicles. Patrick glanced up for a few seconds and then disappeared inside. The vehicle became a blur in the evening rain.

  He took a swig from the bottle, sat it down and gazed at the card on the counter. He thought about what he had seen in that video. Though he had seen all manner of murders and tortures committed in his time working for his old boss Gafino, nothing had been like that. To think that someone would have willingly handed herself over to be sacrificed didn’t even compute.

  A bead of water streaked down the side of the bottle and formed a partial ring around the bottom. Jack ran his finger up the side before taking another swig. Fuck it, he muttered. He grabbed up the envelope and took out the letter. Like the previous one it looked as if it had been scribbled in a hurry. This time it just said the words: Help. Cusco.

  He ran a hand around the back of his tired neck and squeezed his muscles for relief. He gave it some thought and considered what John Dalton had said. He’d never been out of the country, and certainly hadn’t been involved with any cult. Though he had grown up around religious folk and admired their faith, he had never got involved. He snatched up the business card and made the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Fifty percent up front, the rest when the job is done.”

  “Can you drop in on her boyfriend before you leave,” Patrick said before giving him the address for the boyfriend. “He probably can give you some better insights into where exactly she might be in Peru in the event that the man I’m paying is lying. I tried to get her boyfriend to talk to me but he wouldn’t. We’ve never really got on well.”

  Chapter Seven

  Dave Bowman owned a garage just off the highway in Key Largo. After finally managing to get his mother to understand that he wasn’t in trouble with the FBI and reassuring her that all they wanted to do was talk to him, she had given up the name of a garage. It wasn’t listed under his name but he owned it. It took a lot of convincing to get his mother to agree to phone him and have him show up.

  Agents Baker and Cooper sat in an unmarked vehicle one street down from the shack. That’s exactly what it was. Nothing more than metal siding, a roof and a chain-link fence that went around the outside. Blue and yellow signs were featured on the outside advertising breakdown service, exhaust work, auto electrics, wheel alignments and tune-ups. While it was a legitimate service that employed a small team of mechanics, Isabel was aware that it was just a front for the drug trade and gunrunning. His mother had confirmed that he rarely went there other than to ensure deliveries arrived on time.

  As they sat si
pping on hot coffee in the car, Cooper glanced at Isabel.

  “You really think he is going to give up the location of Winchester? Or that Winchester would be dumb enough to leave him with the details of where he’s heading?” He chuckled.

  “I don’t concern myself with what I think they will do. These guys are living on borrowed time. I know it. They know it. They will jump at any chance to buy themselves time. With the recent raid, he is going to be on edge and definitely not wanting to stare down a lengthy jail sentence.”

  Cooper made a slurping sound for the sixth time and Isabel glared at him.

  “What?”

  “Do you have to make that sound every time you take a sip?”

  “It’s hot.”

  “So let it cool down.”

  “I don’t like warm coffee.”

  She shook her head and looked in the direction of the garage. Bowman’s mother had told Isabel that she would arrange to meet him at eleven. Her watch showed ten fifty-five.

  “By the way, the chances of you being able to get the go-ahead to follow up on Winchester even if he does give up his location are slim to none. The FBI has bigger fish to fry at the moment with that recent string of murders.”

  Among the many operations the FBI were consumed with, they were currently hunting a serial killer who was going nuts through the Everglades. Hikers were going missing and for the longest time they couldn’t figure out if they had got lost or had been attacked by an alligator. Eventually a body turned up and since then they had been working overtime.

  “Listen, once I have a hard bead on where he is, Thorpe will be more than happy to have me chase up the lead. It’s all in how you phrase it. If he thinks he will reap some of the glory, you can bet your ass he will green-light it.”

  “Heads up,” Cooper said giving a nod in the direction of the garage. Two bikers rolled in on Harleys. They scanned the road and waited outside for someone to open up the gate. Cooper turned over the engine and eased around the corner, quickly picking up speed and turning into the fenced-off garage before they closed it. The looks on their faces were priceless. Isabel hopped out and flashed her badge as Bowman mouthed the word “fuck.”

  He shut off his bike and immediately went into a spiel about how he was not involved in any illegal shipments and neither was he tied to the recent load of guns that were discovered at the club.

  “I’m clean.”

  “We’re not here about that.”

  He frowned and looked at his long-haired buddy.

  “Let’s go inside,” Isabel said. She pulled back her jacket to make it clear that she was carrying. Agents had to have their wits about them when dealing with even a few of these bikers. She had seen casual conversation go sideways in seconds. Their tolerance level for bullshit was extremely low and if they were carrying narcotics it was a given that they were going to act all jumpy. Fortunately, Bowman seemed at ease. Pissed off but at ease. He led them into an office and tossed his biker helmet on a table. It was a mess inside. Papers all over the table. Two chairs were pulled out and loaded up with boxes of greasy mechanical parts. The walls had old pieces of newspaper clippings about their involvement in local charities and sponsoring Little League events. It was all a front for their illicit dealings. The whole place smelled like engine oil and grime.

  Bowman took a seat behind the desk and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He tapped one out.

  “So what’s this about? I’m fully licensed.”

  Isabel stared at the different photo frames on the wall. One of them in particular she showed great interest in. It looked as if it had been taken in New York City, somewhere down near the Brooklyn Bridge. Beside Bowman were Gafino and Winchester.

  Isabel tapped the frame and turned back towards him. “Old friends of yours?”

  “I sold a couple of bikes up there.”

  She smirked before taking a seat across from him. Cooper kept an eye on the couple of antagonistic-looking fellas outside.

  “So where did he go, Bowman?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure I follow.”

  “Winchester.”

  “How would I know, I haven’t seen him in years.”

  She shook her head and breathed in deeply. Reaching into her jacket she pulled out a yellow folder and tossed it across the table. Bowman glanced down then back at her.

  “What’s this?”

  She gave a nod and he opened it. He ran a hand over his head at the sight of him with Winchester.

  “Let me guess, he was down here for a bikers’ convention?”

  “Would you believe me if I said that was true?”

  She shook her head to indicate no. He grimaced. “I was repaying a favor.”

  “Which was?”

  “Giving him a place to stay for a while. I thought he was here to collect. I owed Gafino a fair chunk of change. I wasn’t aware that he had been killed. Anyway, Jack said that the slate was clean if I would put him up for a month. That’s all.”

  She squinted at him.

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “So where did he go?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t know.”

  Isabel saw his knee bouncing up and down nervously. His finger pecked the tabletop and his eyes kept shifting towards the door.

  “Let’s try that again.”

  He shook his head. “He’ll kill me if I tell you.”

  “Bowman.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Chicago. That’s all I know. I swear.”

  As they left the garage, Cooper kept looking over his shoulder. He was certain that one of them was going to pull a weapon but it never happened. As crazy as they were to get involved in the drug trade and gunrunning, they weren’t foolish enough to shoot an FBI agent without real cause. As it stood, there was very little tying Bowman to the recent raid. He knew that. So keeping his cool was the best thing he could have done.

  “What now?” Cooper said slipping into the passenger side of the car and gazing back at the garage.

  “I’ll talk to Simon and get the next flight out.”

  Chapter Eight

  Dispensary 420 was located on Clark Street in Chicago. Patrick said that James Gunnar had been dating Danielle right up to the time she left for Peru. The taxi pulled up outside Smash Hand Car Wash. A large white building was on the other side of the street from the business. Like most cannabis dispensaries, the windows were blocked using advertising decal of cannabis leaves and the name of the store.

  “There you go, sir,” an African American guy with thick dreadlocks tapped his steering wheel. Jack leaned over and handed him some cash. He then made a comment to Jack about how he could get him cheaper and better quality marijuana if he wanted.

  “Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.”

  Jack slipped out and looked both ways before dashing across the busy intersection. When he stepped inside, the place had a very clinical appearance to it. Almost like a doctor’s office. The lobby consisted of six chairs, a table with magazines on the cannabis culture, a tropical fish tank and a thick window with some kid behind it who looked young enough to be still in high school. When Jack approached the window, the kid asked him for his ID.

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Well sorry, bud, we can’t help.”

  “I’m not here to fill a prescription.”

  The kid shifted back in his seat as if he was nervous. “Now listen up, this is bulletproof glass and reinforced walls. If you want to start trouble, I’ll call the cops. The last guy who tried to hold us up was in cuffs before he had time to get out. Now, having said that,” he looked around nervously, “I shouldn’t tell you this as they could have my job for it but if you are just looking for weed but don’t have a card, I can hook you up with a contact.”

  Jack smirked. “Listen, I’m not here to start any trouble. Tell James I know Danielle and want a few minutes of his time.”

  The kid, who was wearing thick glasses and sporting some kind of ponytail, nodded a fe
w times. “Okay, cool. Cool.” He swiveled in his chair and went over to the door. “Take a seat, I’ll be right back.”

  He waited for Jack to sit before he disappeared out the back. Jack glanced around at the posters on the walls advertising all the benefits of medical marijuana. So much was changing. He always thought it was humorous that the FDA still classed cannabis as a schedule 1 drug having no medical benefits. Not that he knew how it helped but he’d never seen any issues from people using it.

  A door cracked open and a lanky guy with a buzz cut, a ring in his nose and tattoos came over to the window

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m an acquaintance of Patrick Lefkofsky.”

  “For God’s sake, man, I told him already, I don’t know where she is.”

  He was about to leave when Jack leaned in.

  “I don’t care what your history is, or what you think of her father. I need to speak to you.”

  He frowned slightly. “What are you, a cop?”

  “No.”

  “A private eye?”

  He shook his head.

  “Look, I don’t feel comfortable speaking with you and I have a lot to get done today. Unless you are here to fill a prescription I can’t give you any more of my time.”

  With that said he turned and exited. The kid shrugged. “My offer still stands.”

  “Buzz me in.”

  “You heard him.”

  “Buzz me in.”

  “Man, I don’t want to call the cops. To be honest, this is my second day on the job and I really need the money.”

  Jack reached into his jacket and the kid went for the phone. He pulled out a wad of notes and rolled off a couple of fifty-dollar bills. He slipped them under the glass.

  “Two minutes of his time. I’ll tell him I showed my medical card.”

  The kid gnawed at his bottom lip as if weighing the consequences. His eyes flitted to the cash in the tray. “Shit, man. Just make it quick,” he said snatching up the money before Jack changed his mind.

  He reached under the desk in front of him and a buzzer sounded. Jack pulled on the door and entered a corridor. To the right was the office where the kid was. In the next room was the dispensary itself; a large room with a counter that went from one side of the room to the other. The smell of dank weed permeated the air. A colorful menu of buds, oils and edibles was displayed on the wall. Inside were a few people placing orders, two staff members and a security guard.