by Jon Mills
FIGHT GAME
Debt Collector 11
Jon Mills
Copyright © 2018 by Jon Mills
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The Debt Collector 11: Fight Game is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For my Family
Contents
Also by Jon Mills
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
A Plea
Readers Group
About the Author
Also by Jon Mills
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Undisclosed
Retribution
Clandestine
The Debt Collector
Debt Collector 2: Vengeance
Debt Collector 3: Reborn
Debt Collector 4: Hard to Kill
Debt Collector 5: Angel of Death
Debt Collector 6: Prey
Debt Collector 7: Narc
Debt Collector 8: Hard Time
Debt Collector 9: Here Last Breath
Debt Collector 10: Trail of the Zodiac
Debt Collector 11: Fight Game
Lost Girls
I’m Still Here
The Promise
True Connection
Prologue
Port of New Jersey
An oil-stained rag muffled the scream. Crouched nearby, a young Jack Winchester casually washed blood from his knuckles in a bucket of frigid harbor water. He shot Freddy Carlone a cold glance and gestured for him to remove the rag. A painful groan spilled from damaged lips followed by saliva, blood and a broken tooth. Before them was Angelo Gafino, twenty-one, the only son of Roy Gafino who was the head of a notorious crime family operating out of the New Jersey area. Stripped of clothes, bound with rope, Angelo dropped his head forward causing more blood to splatter on the steel floor of the 40-foot-long shipping container. The smell of singed flesh lingered in the air, the result of attaching jumper cables to his skin and shocking him repeatedly while questioning him.
Angelo began pleading. “I told you. Someone set me up.”
Jack replied without looking at him. “Give me the names of those working with you.”
“Oh God, please, Jack, this is a mistake. Just let me speak to him.”
“He’s done talking. Give me the names.”
Jack rolled out soft, brown leather skin to reveal an array of immaculate shiny blades. He extracted a 7-inch fillet knife and turned it over in his hand, catching his reflection for a second — a crisp black shirt with sleeves rolled up, dark jeans and black boots.
“Look, just hold on. Think about this for a second, Jack. Why would I want to kill my own father? I’m set to take over when he dies. It makes no sense.”
Jack cast a glance over his shoulder, and raised an eyebrow.
“All right. I wanted him to step down sooner but I wouldn’t dare try to kill him. You have to believe me.”
Jack rocked his head back and breathed in deeply. “Freddy, find out if Louis has arrived with the camcorder.” Freddy nodded, his boots clanged against the steel floor as he let himself out at the far end. A chilly September wind blew in before the doors sealed shut leaving Jack alone with Angelo.
“Please, Jack. I’m begging you. I’ve known you since you were fifteen. I was the one who introduced you to my father.” He paused, thinking Jack would reply but his mind was focused on the task at hand, on the instruction of his boss. There was no room for emotion. He’d learned to shut off that part of him that felt remorse for anyone except women or children. “Look, if it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t have even given you the time of day. The only reason you are in this family is because of me. You owe me.”
Jack approached with the knife and brought it up to his neck.
“The only debt I owe is to your father.”
“Yeah, that’s right. And one day he’ll want to collect on that. What then, huh, Jack? If he would turn on his own son, what would he do to you?” He shook his head and spat another glob of blood on the ground. “I’m begging you, as a friend, don’t do this.”
“You’ve got this all wrong,” Jack replied. “You did this to yourself.”
The large cargo doors groaned open as Freddy returned. Louis was in his shadow, a beefy guy with a square jaw, who rarely smiled and nearly had as many kills to his name as Jack. Freddy handed over the camcorder with the LCD screen open. All Jack had to do was hit play. He walked behind Angelo and showed him the short five-minute video that had been recorded without his knowledge. Several attempts on Roy Gafino’s life over the past year had made Roy doubt everyone around him. Among the many jobs Jack had to do, one of them was protecting Roy and that involved finding who was behind it. It wasn’t an easy task as no one on the street would talk, all of which led Jack to believe that it was someone on the inside. Someone with power. Someone who could instill fear into the hearts of anyone. To make certain, Roy ordered that everyone including Jack be tailed. Captured in rainy nighttime footage was Angelo, filmed at a distance, standing with two West Coast men hired to kill Gafino in a downtown club. Gafino wouldn’t have been the first to go out that way. Many of the top guys were taken out on their own turf. Anyway, it was meant to occur on the night Jack was off. Angelo had arranged a private meeting with his father to discuss a new business venture, except it was all a ruse to get him alone, away from those who watched his back.
Had Jack arrived a few minutes late, Roy would have been lying in a pool of his own blood. He could still recall the incident like it was yesterday. The violent scene of smashed ceramic washbasins, stall doors with holes in them, mirrored glass shattered and two men with multiple gunshot wounds in their back replayed in his mind.
However, it wasn’t their deaths that stood out so much as it was the look of shock when Roy watched the video after and the realization that his son was behind it dawned on him.
After that he became a different man. His instructions were clear, son or no son, he was to die. Roy was a hard man given to rules that weren’t to be broken — no exceptions. It was
how he built a name for himself, rose through the ranks to make people fear him. Backing off because it was his flesh and blood wasn’t in the cards. It was all about sending a message to those on the streets.
Jack closed the camcorder’s LCD display and set it on a wooden table.
Angelo slowly nodded and chuckled. “You think killing me changes anything? It doesn’t. It won’t. If it’s not me, someone else will get to him.” He laughed again. “Maybe one day, Jack, it will be you.”
“Why?” Jack asked, unable to grasp how he would turn on his own father. He understood reaching for power, there were countless men who envied Roy’s position but they didn’t have a foot in the door, they weren’t his flesh and blood. Angelo had lived a lavish lifestyle, wanting for nothing, unlike Jack who had suffered at the hands of an abusive father and stepmother. Gafino had pulled him out of the city’s gutter, given him a place, a purpose and an identity. In Jack’s mind loyalty was the least he could offer in return.
“You’re asking me?” Angelo said. “Surely you can’t be that naïve.” Jack walked around him and stared. “Or maybe you can.” Angelo laughed and rocked his head back. “One day you’ll understand, Jack. One day.”
Freddy took the rag and jammed it back into Angelo’s mouth, and then Jack leaned forward, brought the knife to his chest and began to slice beside tattoos of an 8-ball and the Virgin Mary with a rose. Muffled cries dominated. His death wouldn’t be quick. Roy had made that clear. He wanted him to suffer.
Twenty minutes later, Freddy encased Angelo’s mangled feet in “cement shoes” — one bucket filled with thick slop that would rapidly solidify below the freezing cold surface of the New Jersey Harbor.
Jack crossed the room and returned with a bucket of bloodstained water and tossed it over his face. After removing his rag, Angelo gasped; his swollen eyes snapped partially open but he couldn’t summon the strength to lift his head.
“Take him out and toss him in the harbor.”
Louis and Freddy went either side and dragged his limp body away. The metal bucket scraped across the container’s floor, some of the liquid cement pouring out like gray breakfast oatmeal.
“Please, Jack. Don’t do this.”
Jack ignored his pleas and fished a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from his leather jacket and placed one between his lips. He then slipped into his jacket and shut the doors on the torture chamber. There were many places like this throughout New Jersey; he just never thought his closest friend would see the inside of his.
Outside, a cold September air blew against his skin, chilling him to the bone. Jack cupped a hand over the cigarette and lit a match. Smoke rose with his breath as the end glowed in the darkness. He flicked out the match and followed his two colleagues to the isolated dockland slip as they dragged him closer. Without hesitation they tossed him into the Elizabeth Channel.
“Jack!” Angelo’s final scream was drowned as he sank into a watery grave.
Chapter 1
Twenty-three years later
A warm band of summer light bathed Jack Winchester’s face in the guest room of John Dalton’s home in Los Angeles. He touched his neck where a scar reminded him of the violent past he’d left behind but could never forget. Rolling to his side, he pawed at his eyes before scooping back the covers and rising. He ambled over to the window and placed a hand against the frame, and looked out over the concrete jungle before checking his phone messages from Dana Grant. She’d encouraged the seven-day trip, as it had been a while since he’d caught up with his old friend. Dalton’s work at the Unified Rescue Mission on Skid Row along with Jack’s constant travel had kept them both busy. But that had all changed fourteen months ago, and for the better. With Dana back in his life, and a healthy amount of cash squirreled away from his time in San Francisco, he’d finally put roots down in Telluride, Colorado.
Seated on the edge of the bed, Jack turned at the sound of a rap on the door.
“Hey Jack, you decent?”
Jack grunted back a tired response.
Dalton poked his head in and noticed the scars on his back, left over from beatings and countless knife fights on the streets of New York. He rarely showed them but the reaction was always the same. Dalton hesitated then said, “Ah… breakfast is nearly ready.”
“Enough time to take a quick shower?” Jack asked.
Dalton nodded and ducked out. The aroma of eggs, bacon and toast carried on the air making his stomach grumble as he headed for the bathroom. While on vacation, he’d also assisted Dalton down at the mission, serving soup to the down and outs on Skid Row. It was a selfless task that felt good. It put him in touch with his humanity and for a short while he would forget his crimes. Every face he saw reminded him of someone, a friend, an enemy, even himself.
Ten minutes later, Jack strolled into the kitchen. He rolled up his shirtsleeves and tucked his white V-neck T-shirt into the front of his black jeans. He ran fingers through his damp hair before taking a seat at the end of the table and feasting his eyes on the mouthwatering spread. There was enough to feed five. Dalton tossed a dish towel over his left shoulder and stirred freshly brewed coffee. The teaspoon clattered as he dropped it into the sink.
“Where’s Karen?” Jack asked.
“Oh. Called in early for her shift. Yeah, she didn’t want to wake you to say goodbye but she told me to tell you not to leave it so long next time.” He smiled as he ambled over holding a steaming hot French press. “Coffee?”
Jack gave a nod and Dalton filled his cup. “Thanks.”
After Dalton joined him, taking a seat off to his left, he glanced at Jack. “So.” He took a sip of his drink. “You didn’t sleep well last night?” Dalton dabbed a knob of butter on his toast and shot him a sideways glance.
“Ah man, I’m sorry. Did I wake the little one?”
Dalton shook his head. “No. She sleeps like a log. I heard you cry out.”
Jack inhaled deeply and filled his plate of eggs with fresh fruit, strips of sizzling bacon and a generous scoop of black beans.
“Anything weighing on you?” Dalton asked.
There was always something weighing on his mind but he’d got into the habit of not telling anyone. It was easier to hold it in than to burden others. Besides, his transgressions couldn’t be compared to others. Who else had spent the better part of their young life killing for the mob? His memories weren’t of graduation, college, the ideal career, getting married, having kids and a settled life; his was full of bloodshed, and the faces of victims. But that was all before prison, before Dana, before Eddie Carmine and several years on the road trying to right his wrongs.
“If you’d asked me that question fourteen months ago, I would have had a different answer but strangely enough, things are good. Really good.”
“Yeah? So how’s Dana settling into the nomad lifestyle?”
“I haven’t been on the road.”
“Get out of here. You’ve stopped taking jobs?”
Jack took a bite of his toast. “The last job paid more than enough.”
Dalton chuckled and studied him. “So you’re telling me after all this time you were doing it just for the money?” He paused with his fork hovering near his mouth. “I don’t buy that.”
Jack shrugged. “No, it wasn’t all for the money but you’ve got to put food on the table, right?”
Dalton raised his eyebrows as he shoveled away a forkful of egg. “So Dana didn’t play a role in you calling it a day?”
“I…”
“What about righting wrongs? Not settling down? Huh? What happened to all of that?”
Jack sighed. “Comes a time when everyone has to call it a day.”
“Did Eddie?”
Jack looked at him but didn’t answer. He’d given a lot of thought to Eddie Carmine over the years. The secrets he’d kept, the double life he’d led, the wisdom he’d imparted, and the letter he’d left behind before his untimely death. He still carried those slips of paper. Though they were worn and wr
inkled by time, the letter was still folded up inside his wallet, a reminder of who he was or could be.
Dalton returned to poking at his food. The fork grazed the plate sounding like nails on a chalkboard. Jack gritted his teeth.
“So that’s it. You’ve finally made the choice to leave it all behind.”
“Yep,” Jack said without hesitation.
Dalton bit down on the corner of his cheek. “For good?”
Jack put his knife and fork down and sat back with his coffee, staring out the window. Blue skies stretched out over a bustling region. He knew Dalton doubted him. He had this knack of seeing through walls people erected. Perhaps that’s why he was so good at reaching people, helping them and turning lives around.
“I don’t know,” Jack replied.
“You know, Jack, Karen often asks me when I’m going to give up working for the mission. She thinks I’ve done enough and that maybe it’s time to pass on the reins to someone else.” He took a sip of his coffee as Jack listened intently. He respected Dalton because in many ways they were like each other. “And maybe there will come a day… but not yet.”
“Why not?”
Dalton wagged his fork in front of him. “There’s too much to be done. Too many people to be helped, and to be honest, too few out there willing to do what it takes to help another,” Dalton said looking him in the eye. “And Lord knows that people need help. Folks who are willing to sacrifice. Set examples for us all. Sure, I don’t deny there wouldn’t be meaningful folk lining up to take my spot but few would do it once they saw what I really had to deal with daily, and even less when they saw the paycheck at the end of the month.” He breathed in deeply then lifted a cup to his lips and sipped. “Let’s face it, Jack, if I was in this for the money I would have given it up years ago. No. You’ve got to be driven by something deeper to do this kind of work.” He jabbed his knife at Jack. “You’ve got it. I see it in you.”
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