Fight Game - Debt Collector 11 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  “Where did he go?” a cop’s voice bellowed. Out of sight but not out of mind, Jack was about to scramble to his feet when he came face to face with a woman holding a handgun on him. She was a black woman, late sixties, a ton of long beads around her neck, and a pair of thin spectacles balancing on the end of her nose.

  Slowly, Jack raised his hands.

  “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “And I don’t want a broken table but it looks like we’re shit out of luck.”

  They stared at each other, Jack with one hand and knee on the ground and her eyeing him over a gun that looked too big for her tiny hands. More sirens. Another cop bellowing to get guys on the ground.

  “Get over there,” she said twitching the gun towards her couch. “No funny business as I’m just itching for a reason to squeeze this trigger.”

  He nodded and stayed low, sliding across the ground until he parked his ass on the leather couch.

  “You kill someone?”

  “Nope.”

  “Steal?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s a whole lot of sirens out there.” Her eyes darted to the window. She shuffled over and peeked out before closing it. Jack surveyed the room. There was a rainbow colored throw rug beneath the broken table, and a wall with shelves covered in crystals. A dream catcher hung above the door, and on the table was a stack of tarot cards. “Well? You gonna explain?”

  Jack sighed. “I hardly think it matters. Would you believe me?”

  “You leave that to me. Now get those gums flapping.”

  For a woman of her size and age she didn’t scare easily. Hesitant, he told her the truth. When he was done she nodded and sniffed a few times and walked towards the doorway that fed out into a corridor.

  “Am I free to go?”

  “Of course but I would advise against it unless you want to find yourself in the pen tonight.” She turned away. “I’m putting on some green tea. If you want to join me come on in, otherwise the door is off to your right.” She disappeared out of view. Jack remained seated for a minute or two before getting up and stepping into the hallway. He glanced right towards the exit and then back to the kitchen. He could hear her filling up the kettle. Her response caught him off guard. He fully expected her to either shoot or at the bare minimum call the cops. Realizing the streets would be crawling with cops he headed into the kitchen and took a seat at a round table.

  “You live alone?” he asked.

  “For the past twelve years. But don’t you go getting any ideas,” she said raising her eyebrow. “My husband passed away. God rest his soul. I have a son but he’s behind bars.”

  Now he was starting to get a clearer idea of why she hadn’t reacted like anyone else might. Those who had family inside understood that not every situation was black and white. In the years Jack had spent inside Rikers he’d met a lot of good people; flawed, and at times deserving of being locked up but good people nonetheless. Many came to their senses inside; others fell apart and grew bitter and angry. “How long?” Jack asked.

  “Three years so far. Armed robbery. Some days I wonder where I went wrong. His father was a good man and I think when he died something broke in my son.” She poured out two cups of tea and brought them over, then took a seat across from him. Jack sipped at the drink and sat there quietly as she looked him over.

  “You some kind of medium?”

  She laughed. “I’ve been called many things but not that.”

  “But the tarot cards in the other room…”

  “I do readings for people but I hate labels. Too often we use them to divide each other, to make ourselves feel superior to another. We are all equal…” she fished for his name.

  “Jack.”

  She nodded and sipped on her drink. “Would you like me to read your cards?”

  “I’m not sure I believe in all that.”

  “You don’t need to. Few do but the cards are rarely wrong.”

  He shrugged, and she went and retrieved the cards. As she shuffled back into the kitchen she stopped and he figured she must have noticed his handgun sticking out the back of his jeans. She didn’t say anything but simply took her seat and began. Over the next fifteen minutes she mumbled incoherently at times and Jack simply nodded, his eyes every so often lifting to the clock on the wall. He’d been keeping track of time knowing that the longer he stayed there the more likelihood that Tyson would think the cops had taken him in and possibly go searching for him. Although he wasn’t in a rush to leave, he couldn’t stay there. At some point he’d have to venture out and see the state of things.

  Right then the woman, who still hadn’t given her name, turned a card of a man lying facedown with ten swords in his back. She glanced at him and then at the card again. She then turned one that didn’t need any explaining. It was the card for death.

  She hesitated for a minute or two before sharing her thoughts.

  None of which were good. She didn’t refer to Cosmo but to a stage in his life that was coming to an end. She saw great pain and suffering. By the expression on her face as she closed her eyes, Jack wished he had exited earlier. He was struggling, as it was, to remain positive. She brought the cards together and walked over to the kitchen sink and laid them down. There she gripped the edge of the counter and stared out.

  “What did you see?” he asked.

  “I think it’s time you leave,” she replied without looking at him.

  Jack wasn’t going to argue. The chair screeched as he pushed it back. He thanked her and wished her well and headed for the door. Just as he was about to exit she spoke his name, “Jack.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You can’t control the path laid out for you without altering the path for others. Just know that both will come at great cost. You just need to decide what matters more.”

  Jack frowned, nodded and exited letting her words linger in the back of his mind. As he left the building he removed his leather jacket and offered it to someone who was homeless on the street in exchange for a baseball hat, sunglasses, and a light brown hooded rain jacket with a hole in its pocket. It stank of vomit, cigarettes and alcohol but it made it far easier to blend into the crowd. Even after forty minutes in her apartment, cops were still present in the streets. He crossed a road and melted into the crowd while cops stopped people resembling his description and questioned them.

  “And I’ve told you for the second time. We can’t help you. Had I known you were from the media I wouldn’t have even told you about his property.”

  “But were you aware that he had ties to the mob?” Kelly asked Chief Wilkerson.

  “No.”

  “Surely that will affect how you move forward with the investigation?” Zach said. “It’s information like that which could really help. For all we know this Jack guy may have murdered Dana and buried her in a shallow grave. Have you thought about that? Just give us a snapshot of what he looks like, we’ll handle it from there.”

  Zach was acting like he was some kind of private detective.

  They were in the lobby of the station talking through the glass barrier. It was very impersonal but the cops had made it clear from the get-go that they weren’t going to help them. Kelly had gone in hoping to ride the wave of her sob story on Dana’s family member having died but Zach was too impatient and thought flashing his card from the Chronicle would carry some weight. It didn’t. It only got their backs up.

  “It’s time to leave before we escort you out. And if I hear you have been harassing any of the locals in town, you’ll regret it. Now on your way,” Wilkerson said.

  “Real nice!” Zach said. “You know my taxes pay your wages.”

  “You’re from a different state.”

  “Now you’re splitting hairs,” he replied.

  Kelly pulled Zach away, otherwise he would have continued arguing and they would have found themselves thrown into a cell under some bogus charge. Outside Zach wanted to go back and file a formal complaint but Kell
y managed to get him to see sense. “You’ll only piss them off. Forget it. Let’s head to the computer store before it closes and hope to God that has something.”

  Zach groaned. “No face. No number for the person he visited out of state. We have shit to go on, Armstrong, and believe me, Johnson isn’t going to accept that half-assed draft article of yours. That thing had better be ready to go to print when you hand it in, otherwise don’t bother.” He shook his head and looked back at the police department.

  The computer store was on Colorado Avenue. Two tech heads in their late twenties ran it, both looked like they’d graduated from some tiki bar in Hawaii or California. They had long hair, goatees and threw out a lot of surfer or pothead lingo. Their website spouted how they could rescue 98 percent of hard drives that had suffered from water or fire damage or they would give your money back. Whether or not it was true was still to be determined.

  “We need to face the fact, Kelly, that there is a good chance we’re not going to find anything on him or her. Johnson will keep us on a short leash if he thinks we don’t have anything. Look, I want to get to the truth but instead of running around let’s just make up the truth. Isn’t that what we’ve always done? Give the people what they want, give Johnson what he needs, and we come off the heroes. It’s a win-win situation.”

  “For you,” Kelly said as they crossed the road. A truck honked its horn and Zach flipped the driver the bird.

  “And you,” he quickly replied catching up with her.

  She pushed into the store area and approached the counter, striking the shiny silver bell to alert the staff. The smell of weed was thick in the air, and the odor only got stronger as a kid emerged from the back with a head visor magnifier. It made one of his eyes look larger than the other. He flipped it up. “Hey,” he said greeting them like they were close buddies of his. He got on a stool and leaned across the bar. “It should only take another five minutes. We’re nearly done. You’re lucky that computer was built with strong material. A lot of the older models used cheap plastic. Marko is just backing up what he can right now. Care to partake?” he said removing a bummed joint from his mouth. Kelly grimaced and shook her head.

  “Sure,” Zach said clasping it and taking a huge hit.

  “You’re aware it’s illegal in public,” Kelly said.

  “Ah, people don’t worry about it around here,” the computer guy said taking it back. “I’ll go see how my boy is getting on.” As he walked out back they heard him asking where the Doritos were.

  They took a seat in a small waiting area that contained two black leather chairs, a small table covered in computer magazines, and a retro gumball machine. Kelly had just squatted when the owner came out again. “All right. All done.”

  “You managed to save the data?”

  “Yep but the computer is a state. Now if you’re looking for a new computer…”

  “We’re not. How much do I owe you?”

  He rattled off a figure and she paid up and they headed out eager to discover the secrets the data held.

  Chapter 17

  A large crowd had gathered beneath Cosmo’s apartment. Black-and-white cruisers blocked off access as did yellow police tape. Cops went in and out while local media set up their equipment to capture a sound bite. Jack stood among the curious onlookers, a slight hunch to his posture with the hood up. He was taking a big risk but whoever was responsible for Cosmo’s death and calling the police had to have been in the area at the time. Was it possible they would still be there? Could he spot them? Jack surveyed the many faces: young, old, the wealthy, and the homeless. Everyone stopped, hoping to catch a glimpse. People had a natural curiosity especially if death was involved. He saw one gal snap a selfie with a smile as if it was something to be proud of. A couple of officers were taking statements from those who were in the Laundromat at the time. An elderly man made gestures as if to indicate height. With so much attention, both of them would need to stay low for a while. Jack reached into his back pocket and pulled out the necklace belonging to Dana. He clutched it and stared down, hearing her voice in his head.

  A siren wailed a few times, and lights came on and the crowd parted to allow a dark sedan through. Jack kept his head low but eyed it as it crawled through the crowded street and parked at a 45-degree angle near a cruiser. The driver’s door opened and a dark brown cowboy boot emerged. As the driver got out, Jack noticed he was a burly man dressed in a dark pinstriped suit and bolo tie. He removed his shades and gazed up at the hard sun, wiping sweat from his brow. The second he did, Jack recognized him. It was the man from the video. The 200-pound man swept his hand back across his jacket to reveal a badge on his waist and a handgun before thumbing his waist.

  He’s a detective?

  Jack moved through the crowd trying to get closer, trying to hear what an officer was saying to him. The detective put his aviators back on and looked out at the crowd and barked out a few orders to the officers stationed near the yellow tape. Jack froze avoiding eye contact and running a hand over the lower half of his face as if he was wiping drool away. Between the heads of onlookers he studied the detective as an officer led him up the steep steps to the apartment. He disappeared inside and Jack glanced over at his Ford sedan and memorized the plate number.

  Keen to get a closer look at the car, he made his way around walking with a slight limp. Squeezing through the crowd of locals and tourists he peered into the vehicle, glancing every so often up at the apartment windows to make sure he wasn’t being watched. If there weren’t such a large police presence and so many eyeballs he would have ducked into the back and waited for the detective to return. Instead all he could do was glean what he could from the inside. A coffee cup sat in the center console, a newspaper on the passenger seat, and a packet of cigarettes on top. Beyond that the car was immaculate. No dust, no clutter. He took pride in what he owned, and by his appearance that crossed over to what he wore.

  “Step back,” a cop bellowed at the crowd.

  EMTs emerged from the apartment with Cosmo’s body in a black bag. Jack hung around for another ten minutes before the detective came out and stood at the top of the stairs looking out over the crowd. If Jack wasn’t mistaken he was scoping out the faces, possibly searching for anyone who might stand out, like him. Jack remained still. Movement would only draw his eye. He hunched down and waited until the detective descended before shifting behind two onlookers. As the detective got closer to his vehicle an officer called out to him. “Detective Garcia, a quick word.”

  He stepped away from the car and chatted with the officer but was too far away for Jack to hear. When he returned he raised a hand. “I’ll be at the office.”

  Jack moved quickly through the crowd heading for three cabs that were parked in a turnoff waiting on tourists. He hopped in the back of one, banged the door shut and glanced over his shoulder waiting for the sedan to drive away.

  “Hey, no bums.”

  Jack turned to see an oversized Mexican looking at him in the rearview mirror. His gut was pressed up against the steering wheel making it look like he was trapped. Jack fished into his pocket and pulled out two twenties and handed the cash to him. The driver looked at the green then back at him and quickly changed his mind. “Where to?”

  “Just um… follow that vehicle. Keep a few cars back.”

  “Sure.”

  He fired up the cab, and the radio kicked in playing some god-awful rap music. The driver pressed a button on the side of his seat and it sank down putting space between his gut and the wheel. The cab suspension bounced as they slipped into the flow of traffic.

  “The name’s Hector.”

  Jack nodded but didn’t reply.

  “Where is your friend going?”

  The detective’s car hung a left onto Sandoval Street and weaved in and out of traffic.

  “Just don’t lose him.”

  Hector started rambling about how traffic in the city had got worse over the years, and how Uber was taking all the b
usiness away and if the city didn’t figure out something fast their company would close down.

  “Do you know, for thirty years we have held the status of being the only city to have one cab company. Can you believe that?”

  “Take a right here,” Jack said, ignoring him and keeping his eyes fixed on the sedan.

  “It’s crazy. There was a time you could earn a good living, now all these ride programs are screwing it up. What am I meant to do? Use my own vehicle and risk getting stabbed in the neck by drunken assholes? Screw that. At least here people respect us. I think it has to do with the cab itself. But if you pick them up in your own vehicle they think they can do whatever the hell they like.” He shook his head. “I blame the city. We have far more regulations and costs than these Internet services. Our company has tried to follow suit, you know with these newfangled phone apps but it’s a joke.” He sighed. “Do you know, we used to have twenty taxis and now we only have ten? A lot of our guys quit, as you just can’t make a living doing this anymore. Besides, people kept complaining that we didn’t get there fast enough. Seriously? They should try getting across town when it’s packed with idiot tourists. This city is a nightmare. Anyway they said they are thinking of just selling the business off to some limousine and shuttle service. Can you see me doing that? Suit, tie, and yes sir, no ma’am. Fuck that!”

  The dark sedan wasn’t heading for the police department but had turned left off Alameda Street and merged onto Camino Alire. They continued for another twenty minutes weaving through back streets until arriving outside a large Catholic church. Jack tapped Hector on the arm and had him stop near the side of the road.

  “Wait here for me.”

  “It’s going to cost you.”

  Jack thumbed off a wad of bills and his eyes widened. “Shit. If you need me to drive you around the city today, I’m your man.” Right then he got on the radio and told dispatch he was going to be unavailable for a while. Jack got out and Hector shouted, “Take your time, my friend.”