Narc - Debt Collector 7 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  His eyes drifted over the walls. There were a few doodles but no numbers. Right then, the door swung open so he ducked into the cubicle. Minutes passed, then he heard two guys oohing and arghing as they proceeded to relieve themselves.

  “So did you bring any?”

  “Enough.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “What they don’t know doesn’t hurt them.”

  The sound of tap water gushing. Jack leaned forward and peered into the thin gap at the side of the door. Outside washing his hands was Jimmie, and he was with a bald man.

  “And Ray?”

  “Ray has his head so far up the asses of the Colombians he hasn’t a clue what’s happening on the streets. Relax. Look,” Jimmie said, pulling out a small gold container that would have usually held cigars. He pried it open and flashed the contents. It was hard to see what was inside but he had a good idea. It was common for dope heads to carry around a small baggie. Most of the time if it wasn’t stored in a pocket, it was shoved into the crack of their ass. For the rich though, that was too crude. They needed something flashy. It was all about presentation. They couldn’t just roll up dollar bills, they needed a gold money clip; they couldn’t just tuck the thinnest part of the tie in behind the largest, it had to be clipped.

  He heard them snort a few times then the door to the bathroom opened and the noise of bar music flooded in. Jack gave it a few seconds before taking a piss and exiting. When Jack reemerged, Jimmie was on the dance floor with his girl. She was grinding up and down his leg like a dog in heat.

  Jack retook his seat and Isabel frowned. “What?”

  “I’ll tell you later.”

  He continued to eye Jimmie from across the room. They ordered some more food and when Bo came across, Jack pointed him out. “Who’s that guy and the others?”

  He figured he could ask, as by the reaction that Jimmie had got out of Bo, he didn’t think they were exchanging phone numbers.

  “Jimmie Mitchell. They run a charter fishing company on the south side. Largest one on Chokoloskee Island. If you don’t know them now, you will do soon. They’re curious about any newcomers.”

  Jack nodded.

  Suddenly, just out the corner of his eye he saw a flash of white. He turned to see an SUV with tinted windows come into view. Its speed of approach, and the way it swerved into the lot made him move instinctively. His hand reached for Isabel. At the same time a tinted window came down and gunfire erupted. Its rapid fire meant an AK. Both of them hit the ground as the place was riddled with bullets. Jack looked up in time to see a Hispanic man leaning out the SUV window. Wood, plastic, glass and alcohol spat across the room. Jack had seen it countless times. Rival gangs establishing territory.

  He eyes darted around the room as patrons took cover under tables and slugs snapped. One unfortunate guy was clipped in the back of the leg; he buckled and took another in the back. Cries and moans filled the air. A red mist hit Jack’s face as someone close by took a round to the side of the head. It blew apart and the guy hit the deck hard. His dead eyes stared at him as blood seeped from the open wound.

  Jimmie Mitchell had taken cover behind the pool table. His gaze flitted over to Jack. A look of anger spread across his face. Jack looked away. The noise was deafening. No one could have done anything. It wasn’t a time for heroic moments.

  The wounded were on the ground twitching and groaning for help.

  Within seconds it was all over. Wheels spun and grit spat against metal as the SUV tore around to exit the lot.

  No sooner had the gunfire stopped than Jimmie darted towards the front door and pulled a revolver and started unloading at the vehicle. The back window smashed as it burned rubber, and kicked sand in the air.

  “Jimmie, get in here.”

  Jimmie looked pissed as he rushed back inside. The same bald man Jack had seen in the washroom was now on the ground motionless. Jimmie tucked his gun away and dropped down to his knees.

  “Call an ambulance.”

  Chapter Ten

  Lieutenant Sergio Garcia arrived on scene not long after medics hauled away a blood-stained body bag. He was sick and tired of being called out to shootings. After being with the Collier County Sheriff’s Office for close to eighteen years he was about ready to throw in the towel and call it a day.

  His wife had been on at him to call it quits ever since they’d had his last child. In the chaos of the scene his mind drifted back to that conversation.

  “You’ve done your time, Sergio,” Maria said.

  “I know.”

  “We have Lukas to think about now and I don’t want to be raising him alone.”

  It was hard to explain to her why he hadn’t handed in his notice. He couldn’t blame her. Since joining the department, he’d known of four other officers gunned down in cold blood. He’d taken the position thinking District 7 wouldn’t be as dangerous as it was in one of the major cities — he was wrong. The Everglades had offered up nothing but bloodshed and it just kept getting worse. Of course it was all drug related. Those they had caught refused to speak.

  Garcia pushed out of his cruiser and joined three other officers on site. He ducked under the yellow tape that cordoned off the bar and pulled out his notebook. The first one to approach him was Bo, he prepared himself for the backlash. Bo was gesturing to his property and acting as though it was the Ritz Hotel.

  “What is being done about this? I’ve called the sheriff’s office multiple times and nothing has been done. This is the third time there has been a shooting.”

  “Perhaps you should vet your clients, Bo.”

  Garcia walked straight past him and surveyed the carnage. “What we got?” he muttered to an officer.

  “Two dead, five critically injured. Witnesses say they saw a white SUV swing in and open fire. Damn gangbangers.”

  “And the victims?”

  “Sherry Holt and Terry Dodson.”

  Garcia placed a tired hand over his face and rested another against his firearm. He shook his head. “Anyone notified the families?”

  “It’s been called in. But I don’t think anyone is getting out there for at least a day.”

  “Why?”

  Officer Davis gave him a look of astonishment. They had been run off their feet for the past month with the bodies of dead women showing up in the Everglades and the feds were all over it.

  “What a mess.”

  “Oh it’s a mess alright,” Bo bellowed passing by them and grumbling about how fucking useless the police were. “You folks always show up after. Here’s a thought! How about you actually bust down a few doors and stop it before it happens?”

  Garcia smiled politely. “Will do,” he replied giving a nod while peering at the other officer’s notebook.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Bo muttered as he went inside the bar and began to tidy up. The place was riddled with holes.

  Garcia breathed in deeply. “Anyone recognize the shooters?”

  “One guy over in the corner.” He motioned towards a muscular, six-foot guy, who was standing near a table with a leggy woman.

  “New?”

  “Yeah, poor bastard, seems they only moved into town today to start a charter fishing business.”

  He shook his head. “After this, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re gone by tomorrow.” He patted the other officer on the back and headed inside. On the floor was a trail of blood where the injured had tried to hide beneath a table. Sergio leaned up against the counter and pulled out his heart medication. He’d been suffering from high blood pressure. The stress of the job was what Maria called it. It was just another one of the reasons she was pushing for him to retire.

  Truth was he loved his job when he wasn’t dealing with assholes selling drugs. They had no moral compass. They didn’t care who they harmed in the pursuit of the mighty green dollar. The number of teens he’d seen overdose because they’d managed to get their hands on heroin was countless. Their faces still plagued his dreams. He was lucky if
got five hours sleep a night. It didn’t give him much hope for his own child. At forty-one he was beginning to feel his age. Heart arrhythmia, high blood pressure and issues with his digestion. It was catching up with him and the stress wasn’t helping.

  “My name’s Lieutenant Garcia from the Collier County Sheriff’s Office, and you are?”

  The woman extended her hand and spoke in a Southern drawl. “The Redfords. This is my husband, Jack, and I’m Isabel.”

  He shook both of their hands, avoided small talk and got straight down to business. “I was told by one of my officers that you can ID the shooter?”

  The man nodded. “Not exactly much I can tell you. It was pretty dark outside, but he was Hispanic.”

  “Any noticeable facial features? Birthmarks, facial hair, glasses?”

  “Well he wasn’t tossing gang signs if that helps.”

  Garcia paused with his pen hovering over his notepad. “You’ve started a charter business, I hear?”

  “That’ll be right.”

  He didn’t like the way the guy looked at him. There was arrogance to him. Almost like he had a chip on his shoulder. He’d seen that look in the eyes of those who disliked cops. Years on the road had brought him in contact with all types. Most ordinary folk got this nervous disposition with cops, almost like they thought they were going to be carted away in handcuffs. They would over elaborate and go out of their way to make it clear that they hadn’t broken the law but not this guy.

  “Would you mind sticking around? I would like to have you come down to the station.”

  “Why? I’ve told you what I know.”

  “And I appreciate it but this isn’t our first rodeo. I have some faces that I would like you to take a look at.”

  He groaned. “I really don’t want any trouble, and well after what we saw tonight, we are pretty tired and my wife is on edge about the whole thing. Maybe you can swing by in the morning with those photos.”

  “Or maybe I can take you in now.”

  “Lieutenant, have I broken the law?”

  “No but I’ve got two dead bodies on my hands and a whole lot of people in pain. A few minutes of your time I don’t think is much to ask.”

  “Actually I think that would be a great idea,” Isabel piped up.

  Jack shot her a look. Garcia followed his gaze.

  The woman didn’t strike him as the fishing type. Unlike others, there was a professional tone to her voice as if she had just stepped out of some corporate office.

  “Well there we go. Stay right here and I’ll have you good folks escorted down to the station and we’ll get this wrapped up this evening and have you back within the hour. How’s that sound?”

  “Peachy,” Jack mumbled.

  Yeah, he didn’t like that guy. Garcia walked off to speak with Bo.

  “Why did you agree to that?” Jack asked once Garcia was out of earshot.

  “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?”

  “I might have skipped over a few things but seriously, the second this guy brings up my mugshot, we are going to have to do a lot of explaining.”

  “Settle down. The bureau has already dealt with it. Your mugshot isn’t even in the records.”

  “Maybe not the feds but I’m pretty damn sure the cops would have it.”

  She turned and scooped up her drink and downed it. “You ever talked to someone in the witness protection program?”

  “Can’t say I have. Though I might have a killed a few.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We might not be able to interview the suspects but we might be able to unearth a few details from the cops about who those girls were seen hanging around with before they were murdered.”

  She had a point. The thing was he was paranoid about spending any amount of time inside a police station. He saw Garcia talking to Jimmie. Jimmie was animated and held his hands out. While he couldn’t hear him, he kind of figured he was being asked about the rounds he fired off as the SUV tore out of the place. Someone had obviously thrown him under the bus. Perhaps that was the purpose of the visit. Maybe it wasn’t to kill but to incite violence in order to get Jimmie locked up.

  “Okay, folks, you want to come with me,” Garcia announced loudly. Several looked at them as they collected their keys off the table. One of which was Jimmie. He gave Jack a deadpan stare and didn’t take his eyes off him the whole time as they ambled out to the waiting cruiser.

  Jack fidgeted in his chair and pulled at his collar as the silver-haired county cop sorted through some files in a steel cabinet behind his desk. In front of them was a gold plate with his full name on it. Beside that a photo of his family. Everything was in place. A white coffee mug sat near the edge. Inscribed in black and blue ink were the words: RULE #1 The police officer is always right. RULE #2 If the police officer is ever wrong, see Rule #1.

  Cute, still, it didn’t make him feel relaxed. Jack glanced at Isabel who appeared to be as cool as ice. With his back still turned, the cop continued to prod them with questions. “So where did you say you came from?”

  “New York.”

  “Long way from home. Why fishing?”

  “Seemed like a change. A slower pace of life.”

  “Slow? Guessing you haven’t done much fishing. The boys down here work from sunset to sundown. It’s hard labor for little pay. I certainly wouldn’t want to do it. Nope. I stick to fishing on weekends for a few hours, that about suits me fine. Besides I don’t think the wife would appreciate me smelling of fish guts.”

  He turned with a smile on his face and dropped a stack of folders on the desk in front of him.

  “We’re new to it but ready for the challenge,” Isabel said with a winning smile

  What was this, an interview? Isabel sounded like a peppy intern ready to go down on her employer if he gave her a position. He shook his head ever so slightly and she must have caught it and elbowed him in the ribs.

  Garcia sipped at his coffee before opening the first folder and twirling a pen around in his hand like it was some weapon.

  “So what did you do before this?”

  There it was. The question he was waiting for. Had they gone over that? He felt his pulse accelerate as his mind went blank. Fortunately he didn’t have to say anything, Isabel was on top of it faster than he could summon a thought.

  “Media. I worked in journalism.”

  “Well I wouldn’t exactly call it journalism, dear,” Jack said smirking. “More chasing after fictitious stories.”

  “Fictitious? It was hard-core. Do you know how many hours I spent chasing leads all over the country? How much sleep I lost? Or the risk that I took?”

  He knew she was referring to him, that’s why he couldn’t resist the urge to push her buttons a little.

  “If you can call looking up names on a computer — chasing.”

  Her nostrils flared and his lip curled.

  “And what about you, Jack?”

  The officer paused and looked up at him.

  “Debt collection. Yeah, hunting down those who didn’t pay.”

  He winked at Isabel and she just glared back.

  “Oooh, I imagine you must have had your hands full. Seems everyone in this country is swamped in debt. They just don’t know when to stop buying stuff they don’t need. And I mean why not? Credit card companies are jamming that next shiny card down their throats knowing full well it’s going to lead to debt. Pretty insane really.”

  He went back to looking in his folder.

  “Actually that’s not really the insane part. The insane part is that most debt is sold off to another company for pennies on the dollar. So usually by the time the debtor is getting a knock at the door, it’s already changed hands three or four times. Yep, it’s big profit.”

  “I bet. Did you ever deal with some tough cases?”

  Jack had to stifle a laugh. He thought the whole thing was goddamn amusing. However, Isabel didn’t. She had been giving him the death stare for the bett
er part of five minutes. He wasn’t sure if it was because of what he’d said about her or the fact that he was toying with the cop. In reality it was probably both but he couldn’t help himself. It was something about police departments that brought out the cheeky side of him.

  “Nothing that a bullet couldn’t fix.”

  The officer stared at him blankly then roared with laughter. “Oh that’s a good one.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Of course Isabel remained tight-lipped. She forced a smile.

  After several minutes of searching through the folders, Lieutenant Garcia pulled out four photos. “You recognize the shooter from any one of these men?”

  His eyes drifted over the photos, he pursed his lips and shook his head. “Nope.”

  “What about these?”

  The next set wasn’t any different. This cycle went on for another ten minutes until he was down to three folders. Then he spotted him. Jack tapped the photo. “That’s him.”

  “You sure?”

  “It was dark, of course I’m not one hundred percent positive but out of everyone you have shown me so far, that looks the most like him.”

  “The most like him? You mean Hispanic?”

  “That and the goatee.”

  Garcia pulled his glasses off and squeezed the bridge of his nose as if a tension headache was coming on.

  “Who is he?” Isabel asked.

  “A known drug dealer in the area. We’ve busted him numerous times.”

  He closed the folders and returned them to the cabinet.

  “You don’t think he’s related to the murder of those women,” Isabel blurted out. “Do you?”

  Garcia glanced over his left shoulder as he tucked the folders away. “Oh you heard about that?”

  She gave a nod.

  “Yeah, those girls had fallen in with a bad crowd.”

  “Locals though?” Jack asked.

  “Yep.”

  “So, um, did you ever chat to the families?” Isabel probed further.

  “We did.”

  He wasn’t offering up much so Isabel continued. With each passing question the atmosphere in the room changed. It felt like the temperature had gone up several notches.