The Debt Collector (Book 1 of a Jack Winchester Organized Crime Action Thriller) (Jack Winchester Vigilante Justice Thriller Series) (6 page)

S
HE COULD HEAR
THE RAIN pelting even harder against the windows by the time she’d thrown on her jacket and boots. Finding a hammer and a bucket of nails from the basement, she double-timed it down the concrete steps that were quickly turning into a mini waterfall. She wished Jason hadn’t shot off to his friend’s house; she could have really used his help.

For the longest time, Jason had been a loner. Throughout his time in school he’d made friends, but either they moved away or lost interest. In recent months he’d made a connection with another kid that kept to himself. He and Luke Evans had something in common, what that was, was anyone’s guess. Matt Grant, the local deputy sheriff, and her father-in-law had suggested pot. She hoped not, but she wasn’t going to put it by him.

Luke was the complete opposite of Jason. He wore black gothic clothing and listened to ear-bleeding music. The four times he had shown up on their doorstep looking for Jason he was never once without earphones jammed into his ears or gum snapping in his mouth. His appearance was a stark difference to his single mother, Shelly, who was on the board with the town council. She dressed impeccably, and had found it hard to cope since Luke’s jerk of a father went off with a younger, much slimmer, tourist. As much as any mother would have recommended not letting him spend so much time with Luke, she knew that approach rarely worked.

Moving quickly across the gravel driveway, she glanced up at the roof, expecting the worst. New shingles covered ten of the twelve rooms that she had available. While her guest was in one of the shingled rooms, she was still worried about the water stain on the carpet. Patrick said there was likely a flashing problem, and the water was still making its way in. He’d said he’d have to tear up the work he’d completed. She felt that was just another excuse to extract more money out of her and keep the job running longer than it should have. But he was adamant that it was because water travels. Either way, it had caused her untold stress, and the thought of losing her only customer was just adding to it.

She tapped on his door. From inside she heard his dog bark, then a rustling sound. When the door cracked open, she could see that he wasn’t fully dressed. His shirt was off.

“Oh…um…”

She tried not to stare. He gave a small smirk.

“I hope…um…” She stumbled over her words. “Everything’s to your liking?”

He opened the door wider to give her a clear shot of the small metal trashcan taken from the washroom. It was positioned perfectly over the stain. Water dripped slowly down into it, pinging each time it hit.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry. The guy was supposed to have fixed the roofing. I thought by placing you in the shingled one you wouldn’t get any issues. But, uh…”

He shrugged. “It’s okay, I’ve been in worse.”

Well that was a first
, she thought. Her last group of guests complained about everything, and they had been dry.

“Worse?”

Where the heck had he been?

“You want to come in?” he asked.

“Actually I was just about to get some tarps on the roof.”

“By yourself?”

She nodded. He glanced past her.

“Where’s your son?”

She motioned in the direction of the road, as if it even made any sense. “He’s visiting a friend.”

He swiveled around. “Well, I’ll give you a hand then.”

She flung her hands up. “Oh I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Listen, I haven’t got anything else to do and…” He looked back at the water dripping through.

“No, really, I’ll have this done in a jiffy. I’m really sorry about the inconvenience. Once I’ve checked the other rooms, I’ll move you into another.”

She took a few steps back and stumbled, feeling even more ridiculous.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She tried her best to not look like a total buffoon, but she knew that train had left the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes. Go back inside.”

He cocked his head with a slight smile, one that she could have looked at for hours. “Alright…if you insist.”

* * *

A
fter checking
the other rooms and noting that three of them were leaking—the others were fine, at least for now—Dana hauled up several rolls of plastic tarp left beside the construction material and lugged it over to the far end where the shingles were off. She dumped them on the ground and hurried back, water pouring off her hood, to retrieve a large ladder from the side of the motel. Patrick, of course, had bought the largest ladder known to mankind. It clanged loudly as she dropped it several times; each time she did she noticed her guest watching from his window. He was taking a sip from a cup. Coffee? Tea? Who cared? Her cheeks flushed red from humiliation and the cold.

After managing to get up on the roof without breaking her neck, she began the arduous task of getting the large planks of wood covered. The roof wasn’t steep, but coated in water it felt like she was about to slip at any moment. The wind howled, making it virtually impossible to keep the tarp down long enough for Dana to nail the edges down, let alone keep her balance. For every nail she got in, the tarp blew up in her face, almost sending her careening off the roof.

She felt like a surfer fighting against a turbulent wave.

“You know, it would go a lot faster if both of us did it.” A voice called out from down below. She peered over, knowing full well who it was. He stood there with his arms wrapped around himself, no coat on. She smirked and gave a short nod. She felt even more embarrassment, but realized he was right.

“Come on down for a moment.”

* * *

D
ana stood
outside his doorway while he threw a jacket on. With the door ajar she could see his dog, Apollo, staring back at her, as if sizing her up. She wasn’t scared of dogs, but this one seemed unpredictable. A few minutes later Jack appeared. She bit down on the side of her lip as they walked in silence. She couldn’t believe that it had come to this—getting her only guest to assist her in repairing her motel. Yep, she had officially reached an all-time low.

“I’m Dana, by the way. Dana Grant.”

She extended her hand, and he shook it.

“Jack Winchester. But…” He smiled. “You already knew that.”

As the gravel crunched beneath their feet, he continued, “Shouldn’t the roofer be doing this?”

She threw a hand up. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“So are you trying to upgrade?”

“Looking to sell.”

“So you don’t want to keep the business?”

“Can’t afford to.”

Returning to the spot where she’d positioned the ladder, Jack offered to steady it while she went up, but the idea of a stranger gawking at her ass—even if he was handsome—wasn’t something she felt comfortable doing. She insisted that he go up first, and with a smirk in reply she sensed he knew why. Like grappling with a bed sheet, they laid out the tarps and Jack attempted to get a few nails in. She snuck a glance at him as water streamed down his features. He couldn’t have been more than thirty-eight, she thought. She’d only turned thirty-six three months ago. His face appeared to show the signs of a life lived beyond his years. She spotted a small scar on his neck, and several on the backs of his hands.

“It must be difficult.” He cast a glance at her, continuing to hammer a nail in. “You know, not having your husband around to help out with these kind of things?”

She was hesitant in her reply. “I guess. He wasn’t exactly the sort of man who offered to help.”

“Do you mind me asking how he died?”

She scrutinized him. “If you don’t mind. It’s kind of personal.”

“Sure. So what about your son? How’s he coping with it all?”

Had he not heard what she just said? “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Sorry, I’ll keep hammering.”

As he took the next swing, he let out a yell and winced in pain while gripping his finger and sliding back on the roof. He steadied himself on the top of the roof with his other hand.

“Shoot. Are you okay?” Dana blurted out.

He grimaced, furiously shaking his hand out. “I’ll be fine.”

They continued. Once they had the tarp secure, they made their way back down.

“I’ll move you into room five; there is no leaking in there.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“After what I just put you through? Yes, I do.” She gave a nod to his hand. “By the way, you’re bleeding.”

He glanced down to see blood droplets.

“Come, I’ll get you all patched up and into a better room.”

After she got him keys to room five, Dana led him back to the house. Inside, she took a seat across from him at the kitchen table.

“Nice place you have here.”

“Thanks. It could use an update, but it’s home.”

“You know, I could do that,” he said as she applied a small adhesive bandage to his finger. “You give this much attention every time you apply a Band-Aid?”

She grinned, taking up the box and placing it back in the cupboard.

“Call it second nature. Lately I seem to be going through boxes of these with my son.”

He nodded.

“Can I get you a hot drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“No, I’m good.”

“How about something stronger?”

She rifled through her fridge, and pulled out half a bottle of wine.

“Really, I’ll pass.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I think I will have one.”

She grabbed a tall wine glass from the cabinet and poured three fingers worth.

“Listen, I kind of feel bad. There’s no fridge or microwave. As you can see, we’re in the middle of renovations and…well…” she trailed off. “Look, I usually don’t do this, but since you’re the only guest here…You are welcome to join us for dinner tomorrow evening up at the house.”

He rose to his feet. “Oh, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t; it’s just me and my son.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“C’mon, it’s my way of saying thank you.” She took a deep gulp of her wine, almost finishing it in one go.

He nodded. “You’re welcome.”

When he turned to leave she added, “Well the offer is there, if you change your mind. We’ll be eating at six.”

“Thanks.” He held up his finger. She cocked her head with a smile. “I’ll see myself out.”

The door closed behind him and she knocked back the rest of her drink, contemplating what she would tell Jason.

T
HE ATMOSPHERE
AT THE MOTEL on Friday morning was vastly different from the night before. For one, he no longer felt like a stranger. Jack woke to the rumble of throaty exhaust pipes. He slowly opened one eye and took in the sight of gold light spilling in through the gap in the curtains. Apollo was already up, scratching at the bottom of the door.

“Okay, okay.”

Jack swung his legs over the side of the bed and cleared the sleep from his eyes. He ambled over to the window first, and took a quick glance out. Outside, leaning to one side, were five pristine black Harley Davidson bikes. Each one had been custom sprayed with a reaper on the fuel tanks. Two heavily tattooed men straddled across them; the other three weren’t anywhere to be seen. Both of them wore black leather cuts with the phrase
Brothers of Mayhem
printed in white.

Over the years he’d come across his fair share of bikers. Riker’s was full of them doing time for gun running, narcotic distributing, or murder. He understood them while few others might not have. In many ways, they were a lot like the crime families of New York. They looked after their own, pretended to be running legit businesses while behind the scenes they operated illegally. And, like the mob, they were a haven for the lost. Most misunderstood their appeal, but he didn’t. It wasn’t about acting badass or looking cool. Well, for some it was, and course on the surface it probably looked that way to everyone. But it was more about comradery and a sense of belonging to something beyond the status quo that held them together. It’s what kept them from ratting on each other. In many ways, they were stronger than kin.

He wondered what they were doing here. Maybe they were passing through? Perhaps visiting a friend or family member? Either way, he would have to be even more vigilant. More people on the site meant more prying eyes. He couldn’t afford any mistakes. This was already becoming more complicated by the minute.

Apollo gave them a passing glance before going off to relieve himself. Jack pulled out an old packet of cigarettes, half empty. He tapped one out and placed it between his lips. He lit it and tossed the burnt match before taking a deep pull and letting the nicotine hit him. While he made his usual mental note to give it up, he knew it was pointless. Habits died hard, and this was one he hadn’t been able to kick since he was a kid. He threw another sideways glance at the men before looking around and inhaling the fresh morning air. The gravel was still waterlogged, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before it was dry; the sun’s heat already felt like it would climb again into the high seventies.

He finished his long drag on his cigarette and kept a watchful eye on Apollo. The other three bikers came out of the office, followed by Dana, who made a gesture toward him before leading the men to a room. Jack returned the morning greeting. He again noted how attractive she looked. Fresh faced, and even with little makeup on, she had a natural beauty that radiated. No doubt she caught the attention of men in the town. It had been over a year since the disappearance—or as she put it, the death of her husband—Matt Grant. He’d half expected her to say that she was seeing someone when she mentioned it was just her and her son. He wasn’t sure why his mind went there. While he entertained the thought of learning more about her, he didn’t want to lose sight of why he was here. It wouldn’t be long before Gafino would grill him.

No, tonight he planned on taking every opportunity to pry them for information. In the meantime he needed to dig up more information from the locals. Anyone who knew Matt, anyone who could tell him about the night he vanished. He would need to be careful. It went completely against his usual method of operation, and in a town this small there was a high chance that words whispered could find their way back to Dana—or worse, the police. He’d start with the last known place Matt had been seen: The Thistle Inn,
on the corner of Oak and Union
.

* * *

H
eading
that afternoon to The Thistle Inn, Jack thought back to the first and only time he’d met Matt Grant.

Like most of the narcotics distributed on the streets, Gafino’s packages came in from outside the city. Rarely, if ever, did Jack get involved in that segment of the business. The physical danger and risk of being killed or doing time if things went sour were a lot higher than making rounds to businesses who paid for protection. It wasn’t a call that Jack made, but Gafino. Gafino left that line of work to men who were expendable. For the most part, Freddy and Louis handled it. They knew what to expect and always met in different locations with multiple exits. Unlike him, they’d seen it all. Undercover feds, greedy distributors, and those who used what they sold. But even his crew could only be in so many places at once. Freddy would handle a deal in one end of the city, Louis in another, and a few more of his men elsewhere. Looking back, it was clear to see that Gafino’s greed and need to dominate the market invited a new line of distributors who hadn’t been thoroughly vetted.

Matt Grant was one of them.

He was a wildcard down from the coast of Maine. His enticing offer of an unlimited amount of cocaine was too good for Gafino to pass up. The only problem was, with so many drug deals going down at any given time in the city, it soon became hard to determine which ones delivered one hundred percent pure cocaine. Not everyone tested; some assumed Gafino’s reputation alone would prevent them from double crossing him. Those who did, only tested small batches on scene with chemical packs and finger licking, and even then they couldn’t determine if an entire batch was completely cocaine without testing it all.

It was a gamble, and a costly one at that.

It wasn’t long before Gafino got word that his crew was selling fake cocaine. If it weren’t for a cop busting one of the street peddlers, no one would have voiced complaint purely out of fear that Gafino would retaliate against accusations. But busted and thrown against a cruiser, Danny, a kid who handled a neighborhood in the south end, said he saw the cocaine bubble when the officer tested it. Anyone with a lick of sense knew that cocaine didn’t bubble. This was the first sign that buyers were being duped and someone was playing a dangerous game. Faced with backlash and a huge loss of revenue, Gafino began clamping down on every deal immediately. They had to find out fast which distributor was cutting or diluting the drugs they were buying. Loads were never large enough to attract attention, but never small enough that they couldn’t carry out business for several weeks. Frequency of deals was the key to Gafino staying under the radar.

Once they had narrowed it down to a handful of distributors, it was just a case of determining what to look for. They knew there was all manners of bulking agents being used: baking soda, lactose sugar, and benzocaine powder to name a few. On the surface they mimicked the look and feel of cocaine, but when tested, the product would react differently. They assumed that whoever was duping them was giving them legit cocaine to test and keeping the rest of the fake packages below. The feds were notorious for doing this. It was fair to say that everyone was on edge. There was no way of knowing if they were walking into a sting operation or dealing with a low life just looking to score big.

But with Roy’s reputation on the line, the orders were clear. They were to test every package in a load. If any distributor refused, they were to be brought in. Gafino didn’t just want them dead; he wanted to toy with them before snuffing out their light. In his mind, what they had done was beyond business; it was personal.

That day was forever ingrained into Jack’s memory. He’d chewed it over for years in his cell. What he’d missed, what he should have seen, and how he had managed to escape. Ten days after they had begun checking all transactions, Gafino had asked him to help. Against his better judgment, he agreed. He was assigned to deal with Matt Grant. The exchange was meant to occur in an apartment in the west part of Chinatown. Immediately upon arriving on site, Jack didn’t like the look of it one bit. There were only two exits beyond the front entrance; both relied on a fire escape mounted to the side of the building like a black steel snake. Either you went down, or up to the roof and jumped a six-meter gap to the next apartment block. Neither seemed appealing if things turned sour. There was little that frightened Jack, but heights was one of them.

Jack moved in and knocked on apartment twenty-two. An African American with a neck as thick as any man’s thigh answered the door, and to anyone else, it would have been a frightening situation. But Jack had scraped knuckles with his fair share of thugs in and outside of the ring. Muscle may have been an indication of strength, but it also signaled weakness in speed. Stepping inside, Jack took a mental note of where the fire escape exit was and the position of the thug. Sitting across the room from them, on a black leather couch, was Matt Grant. With buzzed hair, dark circles around his eyes, and a nervous twitch, he couldn’t have weighed more than a buck forty. He had all the signs of someone who was using.

He motioned Jack to take a seat. Spread out on the table were several bags of cocaine, already slit and ready for testing. To the left of him were two suitcases. One was open, displaying packages of cocaine.

“Care to partake?” Matt asked, gesturing to a few lines of white powder.

Jack shook his head.

Matt snorted a line and then wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Down to business, then.”

Jack tossed a few chemical packs on the table.

“Test it.”

Matt stared up at him, shrugged, and went through the process that was always done. When he was finished, he asked for the money.

“Test the rest,” Jack said.

“What?”

“Gafino wants it all tested.”

Jack noticed his hesitancy as he reached over and grabbed a couple of packages.

“All of it.”

“That’s not the deal. I’ve shown you it’s legit.”

“Do we have a problem?” Jack answered.

Matt and the thug by the door exchanged a nervous glance. Jack’s eyes darted between them. Matt’s motion to grab another package was slow, but it wasn’t a package he was going for. Buried beneath the first layer of packages was a handgun. Out the corner of his eye, Jack spotted the thug reach for his own gun. In that instant, firearms unloaded and a hail of bullets shattered the room around them. As the thug dropped, Jack turned back and noticed that Matt had already vanished out of the half open window. The noise of feet clattering up against the steps of the steel ladder made Jack dash to the window. He fell back as a snap of bullets barely missed him. Reluctantly stepping outside, he grimaced, looking ten stories down. With little thought to his own safety he ascended the steps two at a time until he reached the top. He was fully aware that Matt had the advantage, and within a matter of minutes the place would be crawling with cops, but he couldn’t let him get away. He fired a few rounds over the edge of the building and clambered quickly over onto the roof’s surface. Rolling behind an air vent, he caught sight of Matt double-timing it toward the far side.

He was going to jump.

This guy was as crazy as hell. Hauling himself up, he darted in Matt’s direction, raising his gun in hopes he could get a bullet in him before he took the leap. Zeroing in on Matt, he fired once, then again. The first missed and by the time the second one hit him, he was already in a midair vault between buildings. When he landed, Jack heard the sounds of sirens. He watched as Matt limped away, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the opposite stairwell.

It was the look of fear in the man’s eyes that Jack would never forget.

The next thing he knew, two cops were shouting at him to drop the gun and get on the ground. Jack turned, releasing his grip on the weapon and getting into a spread eagle. He spat gravel as they cuffed him.

All things considered, he got off lightly; the thug hadn’t died from the gunshot wound and there was only a little amount of real cocaine on scene. Jack got the minimum sentence with the assistance of a dubious lawyer on Gafino’s payroll.