Debt Collector - Reborn (Book 3 of a Jack Winchester Action Thriller) (Jack Winchester Vigilante Justice Thriller Series)

by Jon Mills

  “We try but our hands are tied. We give them a bed, food and usually put them in contact with Kids in Need of Defense. A local pro bono attorney who can try to get them a special immigrant juvenile status.”

  “What is that?”

  “It, uh, allows unaccompanied minors to be able to stay in the U.S. due to the fact that they have been abused, abandoned, or neglected in their home country. It basically gives them asylum. They can’t return home because it’s not in their best interest or safe. Problem is, they have to comply with law enforcement and well, most of these kids are so afraid of what the snakeheads will do to them or their parents that they usually return before an attorney shows up here, or… like what you just saw there. They come and get them.”

  “All of them?”

  He nodded, rubbing his thumb and two fingers together. “Money. Big money. That kid you saw out there was told that he owed seventy thousand. Most of them don’t even know how much they have to pay off so they keep on working and can never get out of their situation. Do you know how long it would take to pay that off? Some of these kids are working for ten or more years before they either disappear or are cast out onto the streets. We usually see them later in their twenties, most are strung out on meth and have been abused. It’s horrific.”

  Jack was about to say something when they were interrupted. A woman appeared at the door. “They’re still here. They are trying to take the Lo family.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Jack sat there for a minute. His mind was going back and forth on the thought he was chewing over. He sighed and reached down into his duffel bag. He unzipped it and pulled out the two Glocks. He tucked one in the small of his back and the other he shoved into the front of his pants.

  He picked up his pace when he heard a gun go off. Bursting into the lobby he saw the shortest one of them first. Not even batting an eye he pulled both Glocks and fired a round. He watched as the dark brown eyes on the short one’s face widened before the bullet powered through his shoulder sending up a red mist over the face of someone close by.

  Screams erupted as Jack dived for cover behind a set of chairs when the other Chinese guy unleashed a flurry of bullets that peppered the windows. Glass shattered. Everyone hit the ground. Below the chair Jack could see him holding on to a young mother. Jack extended his arm, squeezed the trigger, and emptied another round into the man’s leg. He landed, thrashing around and screaming in agony. Jack stood up without a thought to whether the guy on the ground still had a hold on his weapon. Out the corner of his eye he saw John on his belly looking up at him. The second man was squirming around holding his leg and yelling something in Chinese. The Lo family was cowering in the corner as he got closer to the man who was trying to reach for his gun. Jack stood on his hand and was about to fire another slug into him when John called out.

  “Jack, no.”

  Still pinning the man’s hand beneath his boot, he cast a glance at John.

  The sound of sirens could be heard closing in. Jack kicked away the gun, flipped the second guy over, and held his hands behind his back until the police arrived.

  Chapter Eight

  Isabel had been lumbered with Special Agent Daniel Cooper from the New York office. They arrived in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn, a little after one in the afternoon. The homes dated back to the 1900s according to Cooper. The guy was a walking encyclopedia. He was an African American who had been fast-tracked through the FBI and already had a long line of accomplishments under his belt. Of course he was all too ready to share them with Isabel. She could tell that working with him was going to be a pain in the ass, just by the way he would leer at her. He was single, so was she. That was a bad combination. She’d only once got involved with a guy that she worked alongside. It was her first partner back in San Francisco. He wound up with a bullet in him. She swore she wouldn’t do it again. Anyway, it didn’t matter; she didn’t have time for men. She indulged occasionally in a one-night stand when she went out with friends but that was about the extent of it. She had yet to find someone who was her equal. Someone who made her want to be a better person. Someone who didn’t look down on her for being a woman.

  She knocked on the door and they waited a few minutes before trying again.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” his words seeped out from behind the closed door. When it opened they were greeted by the sight of a middle-aged man wearing gardening gloves and holding pruning scissors.

  “Detective Banfield? I’m Special Agent Baker, and this is…”

  “Cooper,” he said before she could do it for him. Typical man, didn’t like having anyone introduce them. Had to be in control.

  “What’s happened now?”

  “We were hoping to have a few minutes of your time.”

  He stepped out onto the stoop. He was wearing dark jeans, no socks, and a T-shirt that once could have been white. It was now covered in soil. He cast a glance down the street before motioning for them to go inside.

  In his home, she caught the smell of a cigar, her head turned and she saw it smoldering in an ashtray. Banfield picked it up and led them out back into a small courtyard.

  “You do much yard work, agent?”

  “No, I live in an apartment. Though I do have a plant on the windowsill. As far as I know it’s dead now.”

  “Got to love getting out here. Something about getting my hands dirty. You know, feeling the soil between my fingers. It’s therapeutic. Cheap too and I don’t have to listen to someone repeat everything I say.”

  He placed the cigar in the corner of his mouth, an eye squinted as it spiraled up.

  Isabel glanced around at the small yard. A shed was off to one side; a patio had been created using different colored stones. It almost had the appearance of cobblestones. Banfield crouched down and continued working in a flower bed, cutting back and trimming overgrown shrubbery.

  “It’s amazing how out of control things become when left unattended, isn’t it, detective?”

  He squinted at her. “That it is. But I always make a point to get out here at least every couple of days. That way nothing slips by me.”

  She had a sense that there was more to what he was saying.

  “Now. I know you didn’t come by here for a lecture on gardening. So what can I do for you?”

  “I’ve been going through the reports on the Sicilian gangland murders and there are number of things that don’t seem to add up.”

  “Like?”

  “I keep seeing the name Jack Winchester coming up and after looking into his background, seems he has quite an extensive criminal record, time inside and if I’m not mistaken, you knew him, didn’t you?”

  Banfield didn’t even look at her. “I don’t recall that last part being in the reports?”

  “It wasn’t. But unlike others I tend to look outside the lines. It’s amazing what you can find when you take off the blinders.”

  “So, we knew each other. Your point?”

  “The report said he ran from the security guard out of fear? It also said that he was a hostage. Now I have to ask myself, how does a man who worked as a hit man for Gafino wind up being held as a hostage by the Sicilian Mafia? Better still, why would he be fearful of a simple security guard? Also I don’t recall reading any mention of how they ended up at the house.” Isabel pulled out the report and began flipping through it.

  “Read it again. It’s all in there.”

  “I expect it is. At least your version of the events. It’s a pity the dead can’t talk.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something,” he said rising to his feet and tossing a few weeds into a bucket.

  “Mob ties. Killings. The guy has it all.”

  “Assumed killings, agent. They have never been proven.”

  Agent Cooper let out a chuckle as if finding something amusing.

  “I think we know these guys aren’t paid to wait on tables in restaurants. I pulled the file on what landed him inside Rikers. Seems he shot several people
that day.”

  “One. The guy lived.”

  “And that makes it better because he missed?”

  “Oh he didn’t miss, Agent Baker. If he wanted that man dead, he would be in the ground by now.”

  “You seem to know a lot about someone who was in the biggest crime syndicate.”

  He blew out a puff of white smoke. “It was my job to know them all.”

  “Right. You were obsessed with catching him. At least that’s what the guys down at the station told me.”

  “Not with him. With those who subvert the minds of good people and turn them into monsters.”

  Banfield placed a flower in a hole he’d dug and buried the roots in dirt. Isabel studied him. Everything about what he was doing was precise. She had seen a lot of people working in yards. Dropping soil all over the place was usual, but not him. She looked around at the small space and observed how tidy and orderly every single item was. Nothing out of place. Nothing angled wrong. He didn’t strike her as a man that was sloppy in his work. He covered his bases.

  “Is he a monster, detective?”

  Banfield chuckled to himself. “We all have a dark side.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Was he involved in the slaughter of the Sicilian Mafia?”

  “Read the report.”

  She slammed the report down on a small glass mosaic table.

  “I did. I know when someone is covering up the truth. I spent over seven years as a detective in San Francisco. I saw my fair share of reports that were skewed.”

  Banfield looked at her as he rose up and walked across the yard to a wheelbarrow full of potted flowers.

  “Have you ever made a mistake, Agent Baker?”

  Banfield wheeled the flowers over and began taking them out of their pots ready for planting.

  “Of course, everyone does.”

  “Jack Winchester has done his time inside for his past mistakes. However, there are those who would have you believe that he should receive nothing less than death for his crimes. Those men who died, deserved what they got.”

  She leaned in. “This is not about what they deserved. It’s about ensuring we don’t have a vigilante on our streets. It’s about getting justice. It’s about —”

  “Let it go.” Banfield’s voice rose. “You don’t know the first goddamn thing about what these streets need.” He rose to his feet. “You might have been a detective in San Francisco, but this place is a completely different beast. And Jack Winchester. Don’t even begin to think you know him. I have spent my entire career on the tail of crime families and there is a fine line between that which is right and that which is wrong. You don’t understand that. You will never understand that, as you are too busy navel gazing or you’ve got your head stuck so far up your boss’s ass, you can’t see the forest for the trees. So I’m telling you now, drop it.”

  Both Isabel and Cooper remained poised. She chuckled inwardly. It hadn’t been the first time she had dealt with angry men; it wouldn’t be the last.

  “I will drop it when I am good and ready.” She didn’t take her eyes off him for even a few seconds. “We’ll see ourselves out. Thank you for your time.”

  Isabel turned still feeling his eyes on her. She may not have known what had taken place in the city of New York but she knew that Banfield was entangled in whatever mess Jack Winchester had started — if he had started it at all, that was to be determined.

  Chapter Nine

  John Dalton abhorred violence but this was different. For the past year he’d been plagued by the Triads showing up, waving around guns and causing untold chaos. It was one of the reasons they had to employ security, that and of course drug dealers were trying to deal inside and outside the doors of the mission. He understood why Jamal had quit. They weren’t able to pay him much and the risk was too high. Even though Jamal was trained to use a gun, he knew it from the moment he got into his first confrontation with an addict that he wasn’t cut out for security. The fact that he’d lasted two months was a miracle in itself.

  As police cruisers pulled up on scene he had to think fast. He still wasn’t entirely sure that this was the right thing to do. However, he felt indebted to Eddie.

  Neither man was dead, only injured. There had only been three other people inside the lobby at the time of the shooting besides the Lo family, the rest had bolted like usual. The Los couldn’t speak a word of English and even if they could they probably would have been grateful for the help. Then there was Tanya, she had mental health issues. No one would listen to her. Most days she was rambling on about the second coming, and Jesus flying in on a UFO. However, Parker might be a problem. He frequented the place most days and he certainly didn’t have mental issues. He was a recovering alcoholic. Finally there was Maurice, that old coot wouldn’t have heard a bomb going off, let alone a gun. He was partially blind and had been living on Skid Row for the better part of forty years.

  Regardless, this was still going to be a tough one to spin. John went up to Jack and asked if his guns were unregistered. He nodded. He could see the police pushing out of the cruisers. He took Jack’s guns, wiped the handles, and placed them down. He then grabbed up the two weapons from the men that had been shot and carried them out back. When he returned, the place was swarming with eight officers. Officer Deon Smith was the last one through the door. A strapping man, he came over adjusting his utility belt. His radio crackled.

  “John, you want to tell me what happened here?”

  “They just burst in and tried grabbing up one of the kids, and the Lo family over there.”

  Deon glanced at Jack. “Who are you? Haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “This is our new security guard,” John blurted out. “If it wasn’t for him. Well.”

  “What happened to Jamal?”

  John screwed up his face. He didn’t need to explain. Deon had already had words with him about the way Jamal backed down from some of the aggressive addicts who came in. He didn’t think Jamal was cut out for it but he would have never said that. Deon had become a staple part of the day-to-day running of the mission. Before he showed up, the dealers would pitch themselves outside pretending to be homeless and then sell to the addicts coming in to get help. John respected him but at the same time he couldn’t be around twenty-four seven. The job of handling those who got out of line still rested square on their shoulders.

  “Where’s his uniform?”

  “Just started today, we have to get him fitted.”

  “Fitted? You got Jamal from Knights on Guard Security.”

  “After Jamal, I have kind of lost my faith in their ability to deliver. So I posted an ad.” Deon’s eyes darted between them while the other officers cuffed the two Chinese thugs and led them out.

  “I’m still going to need you to come down to the station and give a statement.”

  Jack nodded, glancing at John.

  “So you want to tell me what kicked this off?” Deon said looking around at the blood on the ground. It wasn’t uncommon for him to show up, and in the past they had encountered a few unruly addicts. Guns had been drawn but there had never been an instance of anyone pulling a trigger.

  “Last night we had a young Chinese guy show up here by the name of Zhang Cho. He said he and his sister had been smuggled into the States on a cargo ship. They’re from Fujian, China.”

  “Did he say when? INS just impounded a cargo ship.”

  John ran a hand through his hair. “A few days ago. Anyway, these guys showed up and started trying to drag him off. Then, they turned their attention to the Lo family.”

  Deon looked at Jack again who didn’t look in the least bit worried. “So you disarmed two men with guns without a weapon?”

  John swallowed hard. It wasn’t the most believable tale he could come up with but if he hadn’t removed their weapons, the police would have asked a hell of a lot more questions.

  “That’s right.”

  “Lucky. You want to run me through how you di
d that?”

  Jack sniffed and proceeded to explain how he approached the first thug from behind. Grabbed his weapon. Sometime in the scuffle the other Chinese guy fired and it hit his partner. He then returned fire with the assailant’s gun. John watched Jack stroll around and act it out as if he had told lies his entire life. Everything he said was precise from how he grabbed the man, to the way he shot him. He could see that Deon was skeptical but was starting to come around to seeing this as nothing more than an unfortunate event.

  Police would match the bullets to the guns, assume they belonged to the Chinese and John would dispose of the other ones later.

  As much as he wished this hadn’t happened, it was about time someone stood up to these Triads. They were ruling with an iron fist and he was just glad to have Jack around when this went down.

  Out the corner of his eye he spotted movement. Crouched down, hiding behind a stack of chairs was Zhang.

  Chapter Ten

  For the first time since getting out of Rikers, he hadn’t wanted to run at the sound of sirens. He wasn’t sure why he froze or chose to stick around. He had plenty of time to exit out the back but something told him that the two men bleeding on the ground were just the beginning of trouble. Whoever their boss was, and whatever reason they wanted that kid, it was serious enough to show up in broad daylight and pull a gun. It was beyond brazen, it was reckless.

  While the officer spoke to John, Jack wondered why he was covering for him? It wasn’t like John knew him. Except for their connection to Eddie they didn’t know each other. Jack saw the young boy cowering behind the chairs. While the police radioed in for an ambulance he went over to him and tried to lure him out, but he was too afraid. He hadn’t seen fear like that since he was a child. A flood of memories came back to him. Locking himself in a washroom while his father beat on the door. Looking into a mirror with tears streaming down his cheek. The look of fear in the boy’s eyes had matched his own.

  When the medics arrived they didn’t take long to place the men on gurneys and haul them away. Even though John had covered for him, he knew full well the police wouldn’t just let it slide. Security guard? Now that was fast thinking. It really hadn’t occurred to him what he was going to say to the officer if John hadn’t come up with a fabricated story. Though when he did, he just went with it. He stared at the black officer that went by the name Officer Deon Smith. He looked to be in his late thirties. Thick biceps stretched out his uniform; he was athletic in appearance, unlike most of the cops he knew, who were usually carrying a load around their midsection.