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

by Jon Mills

  She smirked, amused by his answer. Her chair screeched back as she got up to leave.

  “It’s been a pleasure.”

  “Likewise,” Frank said as she turned and exited the café. He observed her cross the street without waiting for the traffic. She was reckless, determined and sure of herself.

  He hoped that wherever Jack was, he was prepared to meet his match.

  Deon was on his way to the mission when the call came in. He’d been involved in a number of high-speed pursuits but it had been a while since they had any around here. He was only five minutes away when he flipped his lights and siren on and did a huey in the middle of the road. The engine roared and he felt a twinge of excitement in his gut as he hammered the accelerator home and headed towards Chinatown.

  The information that trickled in over the radio was general. Initially he got a call for an officer in need of assistance, then it was changed to a multiple collision. He couldn’t help wonder if Sheng Ping was behind this. He was still frustrated that they hadn’t managed to pin down where he was. He was a slippery individual who knew all too well when to vanish.

  Police resources were already pushed to the brink with endless gang fights, domestics and hate crimes. Everything else had taken a backseat. His captain told him to let INS deal with it, but their hands were as tied as the police department’s. There was only so much one could do.

  He had to be paying someone off.

  When he’d arrived on scene, four other cruisers were parked up, their lights flashing. Cones had been laid out to veer traffic around the crash. The actual owner of the cab had been picked up a few streets over after he’d called in to police to let them know he’d been carjacked. He was still ranting.

  “Who’s going to pay for this? Huh? This is my livelihood.”

  An officer was speaking to a few Chinese pedestrians but by the sound of it he wasn’t getting much out of them except complaints about the car clogging up the sidewalk.

  “Excuse me, sir, what did he look like?”

  “Like a crazy carjacker. All wild-eyed and strung out. I mean, he had to be strung out as who the hell in their right mind would do something like that?”

  “I need details.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get that much of a look. The guy turfed me out on my ass and shot off.”

  “Anything?”

  “Six foot, dark hair, maybe late thirties?”

  “Did anyone see where he went?” Deon yelled to another officer. He shrugged and continued gathering details.

  Deon pulled out his cellphone and brought up the number of John Dalton.

  Chapter 20

  Another shot of pain coursed through Jack’s side. The back of his neck was aching from the whiplash. He was sitting on a thick wooden table that the young woman had cleared. He could hear the muffled sounds of the kitchen staff above. The first thing she had done when she brought him in was lock the door to the basement. The walls were rough-hewn stone. It must have been the storage area as there were shelves full of canned goods and boxes that looked as if mice had nibbled away at the corners. The woman was filling a small plastic container with warm water. She took a rag and soaked it. Shuffling back over to him, she placed it on a counter and disappeared down an aisle. It was dark, damp and smelled musty. The only light came from a small, rectangular, cobwebbed window.

  “What’s your name?” Jack asked.

  There was silence. Either she hadn’t heard him or she was unsure of what to tell him.

  “Malese Wu,” she replied while continuing to root around. When she reappeared she was holding a small wooden box. Placing it on a counter, she popped the lid and took two scoops of green powder. When she added it to the water it began to fizz.

  “What is that?”

  “A mixture of plants.”

  She glanced up at him then continued to stir the water with a thin stick.

  “Take off your jacket and shirt.”

  Jack groaned as he eased his way out of the sleeves. The only blood on his shirt came from his head. While he unbuttoned his shirt she dabbed the warm water against his forehead. He winced at the touch. Her eyes flitted to his every so often as she wiped away the blood and then held the cloth against his skin. Her black hair came down to her shoulders. She had matching dark eyes, and smoky brows.

  “What does it do?”

  “Prevents blood stasis, infection and heals the skin.”

  She wrung the cloth over a secondary bowl before soaking up more of the plant-based medicine. It smelled pungent, like the root of a tree.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  She ambled back over to the sink and washed away the crimson water before refilling it. Everything about her movements was precise and purposeful. That was something he noticed about the Chinese. They didn’t come across as sloppy. There was a pride in all they did. It was an attractive quality that intrigued him.

  A few seconds passed before she muttered something in Chinese.

  “What does that mean?”

  She returned and began tending to his side which was beginning to show bruising.

  “It’s a Chinese proverb.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  She met his gaze. “A dog can’t help eat shit; a leopard can’t change its spots.”

  He shot back a confused look and she smirked.

  “I’m joking.”

  “Oh,” he chuckled a little until he felt an intense heat against his side.

  “Whoa, that’s hot.”

  “It will help with the bruising.”

  “Anything broken?”

  She looked at him and studied his face. “Bones, no. Spirit, perhaps.”

  Jack tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

  “A bit of fragrance clings to the hand that gives flowers.” She paused. “That’s what it meant.”

  She motioned for him to turn a little. He found her intriguing. Then again, he found the Chinese culture something to be admired. While they certainly had some strange ways, there was something spiritual to their culture. A depth to all they did. The way they conducted themselves in business, in families, and with strangers. Of course, not all of them were liable to help a stranger.

  Malese continued tending to his cuts, scrapes, and bruises.

  “They’ll be looking for you,” she muttered.

  “The police?”

  “No, Sheng Ping’s men.”

  His brow knit together. “You know him?”

  She nodded. “Everyone knows him. Or I should say… fears him.”

  “Does your family own this place?”

  “My father.”

  “Where’s your mother?”

  Her chin dropped.

  “Why were you after them?” she said changing the topic.

  He exhaled hard. “They took a boy.”

  “You shouldn’t get involved. It is very dangerous for you.”

  As she finished up and motioned for him to place his shirt back on, he slipped down off the table. Jack watched her clean out the bowls and return the powder to where she’d found it.

  “Your mother. Where is she?”

  She stopped cleaning and stared down into the dirty washbasin.

  “Sheng’s men killed her.” He heard her sniff.

  “What happened?”

  “You can stay here for now, but you must leave tomorrow,” she said, about to exit the room. Jack took a hold of her arm.

  “Your mother?”

  She eyed him with sadness in her eyes. “My father refused to take in his illegal immigrants. He said he would tell the police. Sheng made an example out of him by taking away his wife…” She swallowed hard. “And his tongue.”

  Jack released her thin arm. “No one has attempted to stop them?”

  “You can’t. Police work for him, lawyers, city officials. It just goes on.”

  “Why not move away?”

  “This is our home. My father’s father had this business before him. He would never be
forced out.”

  Jack took a few steps back and chewed over what she’d told him.

  “You don’t truly believe that though, do you? I mean, that he can’t be stopped, otherwise you wouldn’t have helped me.”

  “My mother taught us that for every bad thing that happens in this world, something good will bring back the balance.”

  “And you think by helping me, something good will come.”

  She didn’t reply to that but he understood. What she was doing went far deeper than lending a hand to a stranger. It was like the yin and yang of life. For every bad thing that happens in the world, something good will occur even if it’s not seen. It was the belief that contrary forces were complementary and interconnected. That when one rises its head, the other will be there. Like shadows and light.

  The question was, which was he?

  Perhaps it wasn’t a question of either or, maybe he was both.

  Chapter 21

  Sheng switched off the recording that he had of an INS worker having sex with one of his underage illegal prostitutes. Controlling those around him was a full-time job. Occasionally he would have to remind them what he would do if they decided to come forward with information on his operations. For some it was as simple as sending Yu Cheng to persuade them, for others brutality didn’t serve his purpose.

  Someone had squealed, that he was sure of. It wouldn’t take him long to find out. Thankfully, he’d got word of SWAT’s impending arrival twelve hours before it went down. It didn’t bother him. It came with the territory. Everything they had against him was circumstantial. He paid people a lot of money, and made people wealthy. Business owners in Chinatown had too much at stake, and after making an example of several that refused to work with him, the others wouldn’t dare cross him.

  He’d be hiding in one of the many homes he owned, all of them were designed for a quick escape in the event that the house was raided. A tunnel that had been built underneath the unused bathtub was only one of several exit routes. Unless it was examined carefully no one would be the wiser. It was made of a lightweight fiberglass that made it easy to lift at one end. A ladder went down twenty feet and joined a vast network of tunnels that workers had built.

  A knock at the door made him raise his eyebrows. “Yes?”

  Three of his men came into the room with a young boy. He looked scared and so he should.

  “Ah, Zhang.”

  He tucked the tablet back into a desk drawer and came around the table. The sight of the boy pleased him. He took a moment to observe him before he spoke. Nothing gave him more pleasure than to watch a person squirm at the thought of what he might do to them.

  Zhang spoke in Chinese. “Please let me and my sister go.”

  He slapped the boy across the face in frustration.

  “You owe me money and have caused a lot of trouble.”

  Not only had he cost him money with all the time he’d been away, he had drawn unwanted attention to his operations.

  “Did you find the family?”

  “Not so far.”

  “Keep looking. Any problems?”

  “We were followed but we lost him.”

  The same man as before? he thought to himself as he looked over the boy.

  Families were a lot harder to get back. They wouldn’t hesitate to leave Los Angeles. To some degree he had already come to terms that they were long gone by now but the boy, he knew he wouldn’t have left without his sister.

  “We found these on him.” One of his men handed over a key card to the Madison, and forty dollars. Sheng held them in his hand before waving them off.

  “Leave me with the boy.”

  They turned and closed the doors behind them.

  “Come, take a seat.”

  The boy stood, frozen in place.

  “Sit!” Sheng yelled. He hated kids, and yet they were so easy to control. He couldn’t keep track of the sheer number that had passed through his doors. Most worked right up until they were eighteen before he let them loose. By that time, he had usually gained far more than his asking price for smuggling them into the country.

  Zhang hurried over to the seat while Sheng went back behind his desk. He looked over the card, the room number engraved in the plastic, while his eyes darted to the boy every few seconds.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “I found them.”

  “Don’t lie to me, boy,” he snapped back before breaking into a smile. “Your sister, Evie, I think she would please many of the men in Chinatown.”

  He didn’t have to wait even a few seconds before the boy responded.

  “I was given them by a man down at the mission.”

  “His name?”

  “He didn’t give it.”

  Sheng tapped the rectangular key card against the table as he contemplated what to say. He cleared his throat before picking up the phone and making a call to the operator. He asked to be connected to the Madison. A few seconds later the clerk picked up.

  “The Madison, how can I help?”

  Sheng twirled the card in his hand as he leaned back in his plush leather seat.

  “Yes, I am calling to confirm the delivery of Chinese food to a guest you have in room forty-three. Can you confirm the name please?”

  “One second.”

  He heard him punching the keys. Sheng smiled at Zhang.

  “Right. We have a… Jack Winchester.”

  Without even replying, Sheng placed the phone down.

  “Jack Winchester.”

  He got up and went over to a fridge; a yellow light illuminated his face as he pulled out a Coca-Cola and a candy bar. He came back over to the table. He wasn’t in the habit of giving out gifts to those who had cost him money but in this particular case, he was making headway.

  “Here, drink and eat up,” he said, placing the Coke and candy in front of him.

  The boy tore the wrapper and greedily began stuffing his cheeks with the chocolate. The can hissed as he popped it open and started chugging it down. Meanwhile, Sheng paced around the room slowly with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “Was this man the same one that you saw a few days ago?”

  Zhang nodded.

  The boy had given him enough to put a name to the trouble. Now all he needed was a face. He would do more than make an example out of this one. He had cost him a fortune and for that he would suffer immensely before death took him.

  He hit the buzzer on his desk. “Send in Yu,” he said to his secretary. Not even a minute later, the doors opened and in came Yu.

  “Take a few of the men to the Madison.”

  He handed him the key card with the number on it.

  “Bring him to me.”

  Chapter 22

  John Dalton crumpled up the piece of paper in his hand, squeezing it like a stress ball. An hour ago, after getting off the phone with Officer Smith, he had sat staring at the wall thinking about Jack and his own life. Not only had both Jack and Zhang gone missing but now he had Deon on his case.

  He’d never lied to anyone about anything. Well, there were a few white lies he’d told people in his teens but for the most part he tried to keep a clean conscience. His involvement in the mission had allowed him to do that. Like most who helped out, he had come into it through a program.

  Five years ago he had struggled with alcohol, and attempted numerous times to give it up. Time after time he would fall off the wagon and wake up in some low-budget motel surrounded by bottles and a stranger draped naked across the bed

  It was only when he hit rock bottom, when he knew he was dying both physically and emotionally that he decided to get help. He’d resisted it for so long. You don’t have a problem with drink, he told himself.

  Stepping through the doors of the mission was the best thing he had done. They had worked with him, placed him in a position of greeting others as they came in. The mission gave him something to throw his life into instead of throwing it away. Over the years he had slowly worked
his way up into a management position, met his wife, Karen, and managed to stay sober.

  Now he looked at the empty flask that he kept inside his desk as a reminder of who he was before. Everyone deserved a second chance. No two people walked the same path, suffered the same troubles. He knew what it was like to be tempted back into old behaviors and self-destructive habits. Still, he’d had help and while he didn’t know Jack beyond what Eddie had told him, he saw the same look in his eyes. There was a lack of hope; a desperation to know what direction to head in. It was unmistakable and because of that, he wanted to help him but not if it meant he was going to be arrested.

  “John, Deon is here.”

  “Send him in.”

  He closed the drawer, straightened up the paperwork on the table, and gave the room one final check. Police always made him feel uneasy. While Deon was different to the others, the uniform was still intimidating.

  The sound of his radio crackled as he entered the room. He closed the door behind him.

  “Deon.”

  Agent Daniel Cooper was beginning to make himself useful beyond coffee runs. Back in New York Isabel was still poring over the case files and had spoken at great lengths with the chief about Frank. She didn’t want to rush to judgment and open a can of worms without fully understanding both him and Jack Winchester.

  The reports stated that Winchester and Grant were just innocent victims. People caught in the crosshairs of their past. A husband with ties to the mob and Jack, someone who had tried to help. It was easy to see how people would have just notched it up to an act of vengeance by the Sicilian Mafia.

  But then why hadn’t that satisfied her superiors down at the bureau? She had to wonder if she was being kept out of the loop over the surveillance that they had been doing on the Gafino family and Sicilian Mafia. It wouldn’t have been the first time she was given information on a need-to-know basis. It wasn’t uncommon for them to give you just enough to hang yourself but enough to draw out those they’d lost.

  “Seems we might have a lead on Winchester.”