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

by Jon Mills

  Floodlights at the front of the pound automatically came on as they walked across the gravel.

  Jack whistled twice and the dog turned and bolted toward him. Jumping, spinning, whining with excitement, his realization overwhelmed him.

  “Hey, boy,” Jack said, leaning down and cupping his face. “Miss me?”

  “Excuse me, do you know this dog?”

  “You could say that. I’m here to pick him up.”

  “Are you the one who injured the dog?”

  “Hell no, I’m his owner.”

  “Well I’m going need to see some proof.”

  “Isn’t this proof enough?”

  “Formality.”

  Jack flashed his driver’s license.

  “No, I mean—”

  “I don’t have anything else.”

  “Surely you registered the dog?”

  What fucking planet was this lady on?

  “Lady, I’ve barely been out of the clink twenty-four hours, I haven’t got laid, haven’t eaten, and I’ve had one of the worst days—so unless you plan to call the cops, you’re going to have to take my word on this.”

  Turning to open the door on his car, he heard the familiar sound of a gun being cocked.

  “Sorry, but I’ve taken care of that dog for the past four years, and I have no clue who you are. Who’s to say you aren’t the same guy who put this dog in here?”

  Was this woman for real?

  Moving faster than she could respond, Jack twisted her wrist and unarmed her. He released the clip, pocketed it, and handed the tiny handgun back to her. Unable to comprehend how the table had been turned, the woman stood there dumbfounded.

  “I appreciate all you’ve done, but I’m taking my dog.”

  Keeping an eye on the woman, he motioned to the open door. Apollo jumped in, looking pleased with the outcome.

  “Look, here’s some money for your trouble.” He handed her a wad of notes and then slipped into his car, gave one final nod, and pulled away.

  Chapter 8

  JUST OVER EIGHT HOURS LATER, Jack arrived in Rockland Cove, a small town located on the coast of Maine. Full of Victorian houses, quaint motels, and lobster shacks, it held a beauty that seemed frozen by time itself. As he blew past the welcome sign that read: Population: three thousand, five hundred and sixty, he wondered what it would have been like to grow up there. City life had a way of draining energy out of you, but it was all he’d ever known. The sound of New York cabs honking impatiently, tourists and locals clogging up sidewalks and the ever-present cloud of darkness seeping out of alleys, seedy back joints and strangers’ eyes wasn’t something you got used to. You lived with it. You endured it and unless you were one of the lucky few who got out, you died in it.

  Here, though, the atmosphere felt light. A cool summer breeze blew in the smell of salt from the ocean, a few locals waved to one another, and trouble seemed to be absent. In the early hours of morning, the sun not fully up, yachts bobbed along the glistening harbor and early morning fishermen loaded their boats with traps. The town had all the charm of a New England fishing village. A main square in the downtown was lined with antique stores, art galleries, and beautifully adorned wooden plaques hanging outside gift shops, each one engraved with unique coastal names.

  The Impala curled down the steep roads and into a lonely stretch on the outskirts of town. Dense trees lined the roadside, shifting from oaks to towering pines as he got closer to the address he was searching for. Soon the leaves would change from the lush emerald-green landscape to reds and yellows. Apollo stuck his head out the window, sucking in the warm morning air and panting hard.

  Slowing down to a crawl, Jack pulled over to the edge of the road to observe the place. Nestled in, slightly back from the road, Old Orchard Motel looked as if it was right out of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Steps led up to a large Victorian house that overlooked a rundown collection of rooms to the right. Outside, various construction materials sat untouched: unopened bags of shingles, a concrete mixer, and heaps of sand. A half-lit neon sign flickered, displaying rooms available, and a rusted Ford pickup truck was parked out front.

  Stepping out of the car, he let Apollo out to relieve himself and then poured a bottle of water into a plastic container. As the dog lapped it up, Jack lit a cigarette and grabbed the folder. He’d only had time to get the address, with no further details; he was curious to know who he was dealing with. It was always the who, not the what, that mattered to him in any job. How much they owed made little difference. Why they owed it was what made it interesting. Some jobs were simple. In and out, threaten or kill, but always collect. Others required a little more tact. Depending on the gravity of the situation, he would scout out the target, learn their schedule, and assess the level of risk before deciding on the best course of action. He never rushed in; that was a one-way ticket to an early grave.

  Attached to the top of the next page was a photo of the man with a shaved head. A flood of memories: gunfire, a woman screaming, and police storming in flashed through his mind. Matt Grant. His one regret—or as Gafino would say, mistake.

  Getting back into the car, he leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept since leaving. The car was luxury compared to the bed he’d been given inside lock-up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but he awoke to the sound of a storm door creaking open. Rubbing his eyes, that’s when he first caught sight of her. Jack paused. She was attractive. Mid to early thirties? She wore her long, shiny raven hair back in a severe pony. Next to her, carrying a backpack, was a young boy; he couldn’t have been more than fifteen years old.

  He watched as they made their way down the long winding steps to the truck. He gave a short whistle and Apollo jumped back into the car. He waited for them to go by before he followed. Matt was either in the house, or they would lead him to his location. Either way, he was determined to learn their routine.

  He followed from a safe distance, letting another car slide in between them. The chances of being noticed were slim, but he wasn’t going to take chances. If you dropped your guard for even a moment in this line of work, it could be the last.

  The road became narrow as it wound its way around the cove shaped like a U. The beach was pebbled in areas and sandy in others. They passed a white lighthouse and curled down onto the main street. The town was backed up against a vast forest. They passed more boutiques, a small strip mall, and small groups of kids heading toward a high school at the far end of the town, perched up on a hill. He watched them cut into the parking lot. The boy jumped out and his mother waited as he wandered off into the crowd. A few minutes later, she pulled up outside a hair salon.

  Satisfied that she wasn’t meeting Matt, and thinking that he had a good half hour before she left the salon, he doubled back, hoping to get a better look at the inside of the house. When he returned he pulled up to the front of the house. Dropping the window down to give Apollo plenty of air, he briefly checked the main office. It was locked. There was no note saying when or if they would be back, and no times listed as to when they would be open. It was unusual for a motel in a tourist town.

  He cautiously approached the house. Pulling his Glock from behind his back, he twisted a silencer on the end and kept the muzzle low. He ducked into the covering of the forest that surrounded the house and circled to the rear. There was no movement inside; at least from his vantage point. There was no telling where Matt was, or if he had seen him already. It was possible that he was in the shower, watching television, or asleep.

  Jack crouched for a moment, trying to make a call on whether to enter or wait until he came out. She’d be back soon. This was likely the only chance he would get. He crept up to the house, thankful that the trees provided much needed cover. Scurrying to the rear of the house, he leaned back against the wall. Straining to hear the sound of anyone inside, he reached for the sliding door.

  Unlocked.

  He slid back the chamber on his gun and entered.

&nb
sp; Chapter 9

  “THERE YOU GO, SWEETHEART. You’ll have all the men after you now.” Dana stifled a laugh, turning her head from side to side and giving a nod of approval. She’d held off getting her hair done for months. She was so used to it being at the bottom of the totem pole when it came to priorities that it felt good for once to get some TLC.

  This year would be different.

  The past was behind her, and she planned to keep it that way. It was a new start, even if the tension at home was still present.

  “What do I owe you?”

  Tonya threw her hand up. “On the house, darling,” she said in a thick Jamaican accent.

  Dana stood with several notes between her fingers.

  “That’s what you said last time.”

  Tonya put a hand on her wide hips. “Put your money away, and learn to accept.”

  “Look, I’ll pay you back. I’m good for it.”

  “I know, honey.”

  Dana gave a crooked smile.

  “Now, what have you got planned for the weekend?”

  “Besides working?”

  “Working? Don’t tell me you’ve filled a room?”

  She threw her jacket on, and picked up her bag. “There’s meant to be a coachload of players coming through town; thankfully they called my place first.”

  “Players? You mean the hunky, hot kind that are extensively easy on the eyes?”

  “Bowling. Old people.”

  She grimaced. “For a moment I thought you were in for an interesting weekend.”

  “Tonya, you are too much.”

  “Can’t blame a girl,” she said, sweeping up the hair around the chair.

  Dana approached her and gave her a kiss on the side of the cheek.

  “Shall I book you in at same time next month?”

  “Only if you let me pay,” Dana replied.

  “Ah, I can’t promise anything.”

  She shook her head. “Go on then.”

  Tonya was one of the many things she loved about the town. She’d grown up in the area, and with so few people living there, everyone knew each other on a first name basis. People were warm, friendly, and would walk over coals to help you. The past few years had proven that. Tourists from the city visiting her motel would tell her they’d never come across a place like it. Where they came from, everyone owed everyone. Here, they took care of their own. Maybe that’s why she’d stuck around so long; that, and the fact that for families it was a great place to raise kids. Even if it had been a long time since she’d felt any sense of family.

  Stepping outside, she was greeted by a familiar voice.

  “Dana.”

  “Sheriff,” she replied.

  Inside, Jack cleared each of the rooms on the ground level before making his way to the staircase. The first step creaked and he froze. Worn oak floors. Might as well have been an alarm bell ringing. He readied his gun and ascended. After several intense minutes of peering into each of the rooms, he tucked his weapon into the small of his back, satisfied that the house was empty. In the main bedroom, he picked up a photo frame. Inside it was Matt, the woman, and the kid standing in front of a newer motel sign. Their arms were wrapped around each other, painting a portrait of better days. The walls of the rooms looked freshly painted, and the neon sign fully worked. He checked the closet. Male clothes still hung inside.

  Entering the kid’s room, he put a hand to his nose. Its appearance resembled the typical teen room, as well as the odor. There was no masking the stench of old pizza laying on the bedside table. Still, it was a far cry from the cesspool he grew up in. Jack ran his fingers over the strings on a guitar and began routing through drawers. Under the bed he found a bong. He sniffed. It had been used recently.

  Where would you hide, a quarter of a million dollars? There is no way they would have banked that; it would have raised too many eyebrows. He himself would have kept it close. Somewhere where he could grab it and make a run for it, if push came to shove. Opening closet doors, rummaging through bags, running the tips of his fingers along ledges, he coughed as dust fell. He searched suitcases, boxes, bags, and the basement. Nothing. Where the fuck was it?

  Back on the landing, he pulled at a cord to the attic. Steel stairs clattered as they slid down. Climbing up into the darkness, the only light came from a large window at the far end, which illuminated the dust, covered boxes, and years of junk.

  Great, this was going to take forever.

  It smelled musty and historic, like an old vintage typewriter.

  At the sound of tires on gravel, he moved to the window.

  Shit, she’s back, he thought.

  He’d hoped it was going to be easy. In and out without anyone getting injured.

  “Hello?”

  Strange. Dana could see a car, but there was no one around. She got closer to the car. As she did, she fell back on her ass, startled by a large dog barking at her. She trembled. She didn’t like this one bit.

  “Apollo.”

  A rough and gravelly voice came from the direction of the house. Cupping a hand to shield her eyes, she saw the silhouette of a large man coming down the steps.

  “Sorry about the dog; he’s actually harmless.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  As he came into view, she stopped squinting. He was tall, broad, and had a sharp jawline with the perfect amount of stubble. His eyes were nearly as blue as his dog’s. She noted that for his age, he had a full head of hair: deep brown, thick enough to run fingers through. Holding his hand out, she took a hold, feeling his firm grip. He hauled her up as if she was a feather. She didn’t want to stare, but she found herself transfixed. Trying not to gawk, she brushed off the grit.

  “What were you doing up there?” she asked, almost forgetting her manners.

  “Oh, I wanted a room.”

  Her eyebrow arched with a good dose of skepticism thrown in.

  “Your office was closed…”

  She glanced in the direction of the office, then back again.

  He thumbed over his shoulder. “I thought someone might be at the house.”

  “Right. Sorry about that. We don’t get a lot of people stopping by here with the new bypass that they’ve put in.”

  “Yes, it’s a little out of the way.”

  “We don’t allow any animals in the rooms.”

  “I’ll be sure to mention that to Apollo.”

  She glanced at him, hearing the joking tone in his voice.

  “Well, he can tend to drag in the odd bloodied rabbit.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I’m kidding. He’s as good as gold. You won’t even know he’s here.”

  She bit her upper lip. She didn’t want to cause a scene. There weren’t any other guests, so there was no problem there.

  “Well, okay, let’s get you signed in.”

  She led him to the office. A wall of heat hit them. The temperature had risen to twice what it was outside, and it was lingering somewhere in the high seventies. Switching on the air conditioning, it let out its usual groan and churned to life, barely offering any relief. It was one of the many things that was desperately in need of replacement, along with the long list of things that had fallen into disrepair.

  The man tapped on the unit, and it let out a loud hum.

  “Seems like it’s on the blink.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry I can’t offer you much in the way of comfort. There are modern lodgings in the town.” She paused, watching him look around. “It’s actually closer to everything, too,” she said.

  She couldn’t believe she was actually referring potential business to the new inn that had opened up. But in all truth, she still found it a little odd that he hadn’t been there already. Few people had booked in at her location over the past year, and those who had were either lost, drug addicts, or had changed their mind once they saw the rooms. As much as she wanted to get the place back to its former state, the expenses were too much. She was fortunate that the motel was pa
id for in full. That was the one smart action Matt had taken. Where he had managed to come up with the money was another story.

  “It’s fine,” he said, smiling and meeting her eyes.

  Okay, hope you enjoy bed mites, she thought.

  She pulled out a book from underneath the counter. Inside was a pen. She flipped to a new page, not wanting him to see the large mass of empty pages, revealing how many had stayed in the past year.

  “Pleasure or business?”

  “What?”

  His gaze penetrated her. She felt herself becoming flushed.

  “Are you visiting for pleasure or on business?”

  “A little of both, I guess.”

  She watched him sign his name: Jack Winchester.

  It was a strong name. She cast her gaze over his muscular frame. It suited him.

  “Hopefully more for pleasure,” he said, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

  She wondered what he was implying by that. And what type of business was he in? She wasn’t into prying. As long as he paid his bill, didn’t damage anything, and kept his distance, it was fine.

  “How long will you be staying?”

  “A few days I think should do it.”

  An unusual reply, she thought. He didn’t sound certain.

  There were twelve rooms at the motel. She turned and grabbed the key to room eight. It was the only one that wasn’t in a complete state. She kind of felt guilty, knowing there were far better options in the town, but she needed the money and it would give her motivation to work on cleaning up the rooms. Maybe this was the beginning of turning this place around?

  “I’ll show you to your room.”

  Not that that he needed directions, but she hadn’t been in room eight for weeks and the thought of him running across a cockroach made her even more nervous than he did.

  “So you and your husband run the place?”

  “It’s just me and my son now.”

  “Oh, he moved out?”

  She paused at the door before twisting the key in the lock.

  “He’s dead.”