Trail of the Zodiac - Debt Collector 10 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  * * *

  Vinny’s face lit up as he caught sight of Winchester entering the motel. His eyes drifted to his truck. He knew patience would eventually pay off. He pulled out his phone and made a quick phone call to Angelo.

  “Found him. You want us to bring him in?”

  “No. I’ve wasted enough time on this fool. Deal with him.”

  With a flick of his hand the four men inside his darkened vehicle hopped out into the pouring rain and double-timed it across the street with their weapons out of sight. Vinny jumped out and went down to the next vehicle and banged on the side. The window came down.

  “He’s to die. Don’t let him escape.”

  Another three men hopped out, bringing the total to seven. While they went in, Vinny approached Jack’s vehicle, pulled out a knife and stuck it into one of the tires. This asshole was going nowhere.

  * * *

  “Oh shit!” Officer Sanchez got in contact with Hudson immediately to give her the heads-up on what was about to go down. He’d seen a couple of these figures before; they were key members of Angelo Marabelle’s entourage. He had a bad feeling about this.

  “You know you wanted me to follow Ms. Grant. Well, she never left her home but there was some guy who came out.”

  “Who?”

  “I ran the plates. The name came up as Jack Winchester. You heard of him?”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Well that’s why I’m contacting you. He entered a motel in the Sunset District. You know Beach Motel? The one that is about 10 minutes from Ocean Beach and two blocks from Golden Gate Park? It’s gray. On the corner of Judah and 47th Avenue?”

  “Yes, Sanchez, I know it,” she said in her usual uppity manner.

  “Well, seven of Marabelle’s men have just followed him in. You want me to head in?”

  She was quiet on the other end of the line.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Sanchez. Wait for backup.”

  He got off the phone and sat in an unmarked vehicle watching several of Marabelle’s men circle around back. “Shit!”

  Sanchez had been with the department for close to eight years, in that time he’d witnessed his fair share of hair-raising moments. He’d lost his first partner in a shootout with the mob and lost his second partner after they were ambushed while dealing with a noise complaint. The fact that he’d survived any of it was a miracle in itself. He figured by now he’d be dead. He pulled out a silver chain from around his neck and kissed the St. Christopher. His mother had given it to him before she passed away. She told him it would keep him safe and up until now it had. Sanchez glanced at his watch. He’d had his eye on getting a promotion for a while. He certainly didn’t want to be stuck on the streets for the next ten years. The only way up was to impress the powers that be, and he thought the latest string of murders was his ticket — until Hudson was assigned to the case. She was a royal pain in his ass, always yapping on about what he hadn’t done. Through the rain-blurred window he watched the silhouette of figures spreading out, four of them had gone into the motel, one stayed out front while the other two circled around back.

  The run-down, three-story motel only offered a few avenues for exit. There were fire escapes on every side, one of which went up to the roof. To the west there was a huge gap between the end of the building and the next. To the south it connected with uniform homes.

  Sanchez sat there for a moment contemplating what to do. He heard over the speaker dispatch calling for cars to attend the scene. Within a matter of five minutes the place would be swarming and any chance of making his mark would be gone. It was rare that an opportunity like this presented itself. He grimaced, pushed out of his vehicle and dashed across the road heading towards the first guy standing out front.

  * * *

  A hard wind beat against the window mercilessly as Jack stuffed his duffel bag with what little possessions he had brought with him. He figured he could head to a local coffee shop and pull up the addresses of the four people. It would take him an hour or so, but eventually he’d locate an address. Back in the day it all occurred by word of mouth. One store owner would tell him where a guy had last been seen, he would follow that lead and so forth until he found them. Today he only had to load up the Internet and there were services that could provide real police records in a matter of minutes. Court records of driving citations, social media profiles, speeding tickets, felonies, misdemeanors, sexual offenses, mugshots, background reports, photos, court documents, address information, phone number and a lot more. All that was required was first and last name, along with the city they lived in and the media had already provided that.

  He moved back and forth quickly, not wishing to linger any longer than necessary. There was no telling whether Angelo had already checked this motel, but he didn’t plan on being there when his henchmen showed up.

  His mind was deep in thought, that’s why he was startled when he heard the gunshot. Had it not been for that, there was a strong possibility he would have been riddled with bullets. Jack hurried over to the window and lifted it up. He stuck his head outside facing the main street that’s when he caught sight of the cop looming over a guy. At first he figured it was just some random incident, a possible call to deal with an unruly man. Except when he saw the gun nearby, and then witnessed two more hulking men charge around the corner and take potshots at the officer, he clued in.

  His hand swept away his jacket as he reached for his Beretta 92FS. He was within spitting distance of grabbing up his Glock when the door to his motel room was peppered with a rapid burst of gunfire. He dived for the floor as wood and dust spat all over the place. Crawling his way to the end, he waited until he heard the door burst open and another hail of gunfire tore up the room. At one point he looked up and all he could see was the curtains flailing as part of the wall and ceiling exploded. The second he heard them reloading, he shuffled into view bringing his handguns around and unloaded hell upon them. The guy had one foot in the door and was in the process of slapping in a magazine when his body jerked backward into one of the other men, causing both of them to hit the ground. Keeping the Beretta aimed at the doorway, he used the Glock to squeeze off two shots at the window, shattering it. He ducked back as he came under fire again. As he shuffled backward, all that stood between him and certain death was a wall, a thin wall that went around to the bathroom. Jack dived over the bed and slammed his back into the wall, keeping both handguns on the ready. He eyed the window, and thought of making a run for it but he needed that bag.

  He heard the crunch of glass, and whispers, then the sound of sirens.

  Instantly he heard boots pounding the ground, gradually growing distant.

  Jack peeked out from behind the wall to find one man dead, and a trail of blood leading away.

  “Hold up!”

  He heard a voice calling out as he cautiously approached the doorway. He ducked out, then stepped back in as more gunfire erupted. Two of the men were in an elevator at the far end of the hallway, another one was crawling on his belly. He must have been the second guy he’d shot. At the sound of the elevator dinging, he burst out of the door and hurried down towards the man. He placed his foot on his back so he couldn’t walk away.

  The guy groaned in agony.

  “Did Angelo send you?”

  “Yeah, he…”

  Before he could finish, Jack fired a round into his skull and hurried back to his room. The sound of sirens was even closer now. He scooped up his bag and snuck out of the window only to find four cop cars swerving into view.

  “Police, don’t move!” The same officer he’d seen earlier was holding up a gun towards him. Jack dived back inside the hotel room and rolled. He sprinted out of the doorway and made his way to the stairwell.

  He wasn’t going in. Not today. Not ever.

  The stairwell door banged shut behind him as he scaled the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. His heart was hammering in his chest, several pieces of glass had embedded in his ha
nd causing it to bleed. Droplets of blood trailed behind him as he made his way to the third floor. From there he hurried along the corridor heading for the window at the far end of the hall that led out to a fire escape. On the day of his arrival he’d already scoped out the place and determined multiple ways to escape if push came to shove. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been pinned into a corner. As he came out the side he heard yelling. Officers had spotted him. His boots clanged against the fire escape that snaked up the side to the roof. He tossed his bag over and launched himself over the lip. He could already hear cops following after him. He would have preferred the mob. He fired off a few rounds behind him. He made sure not to hit them, only deter them from following.

  Jack scrambled across the gravel roof, weaving his way around TV aerials and aluminum ventilation ducts. As he turned around, he saw a woman chasing him. He squinted then realized who she was. It was the detective, the same one he’d seen seven months earlier after disposing of that hit man.

  He sprinted towards the edge knowing he had to jump a gap to a building adjacent to it. There was no way he was going to be able to reach the roof, so he focused in on the fire escape. One deep breath as he launched himself off, and he landed hard, slamming into the wall. He turned back to see the detective staring at him. She held out her gun, but he continued up the fire escape onto the next building. It was pitch-dark out and the place was crawling with cops. He wouldn’t be able to hit the ground running until he’d put some distance between them. Jack slipped his arms into the duffle bag’s handles until it was on his back. From there he vaulted up onto the next roof. All the while he could hear cops yelling.

  “He’s heading south. Cut him off.”

  The next sound he heard was the clatter of steel. That crazy woman had jumped from the roof onto the stairwell. He hadn’t seen someone as persistent as her since FBI Agent Isabel Baker. Jack’s legs pounded the roof like pistons. After numerous run-ins with the law he’d made damn sure to keep his cardio at a peak level. He wasn’t out of breath yet but if he didn’t shake this woman soon, he was going to have to shoot her and that would just unleash a shitload of trouble he didn’t need.

  Jack veered right across the rooftop until he reached the lip. He crawled over the edge and swung his legs back until his boots smashed the window below. He swung his body inside an apartment, landing hard in the middle of a living room. The TV was blaring away some game show, and there was a young Asian couple on the couch, partially naked. They clung to each other, a look of shock and fear on their faces as he smiled.

  He burst out of the room, down the staircase until he saw the silhouette of a police officer behind the opaque door. Jack spun and rushed back up, shouldered into the bedroom and over to the next window, firing two shots and shattering the glass. He launched himself out the window onto the fire escape and smashed his shoulder. A shot of pain went through him. He could hear the damn detective shouting for him to stop or she would shoot. She was going to have to shoot if she wanted to catch him. He knew how it worked. They couldn’t just shoot randomly. There was too much chance of a bullet hitting a civilian, so he just kept his legs moving. Like an Olympian, he hurled himself over the side of the fire escape and dropped to the ground. A round was fired, and he jerked his head around. Crazy bitch. What the hell? Did that woman skip the part in the academy on civilian safety?

  He barreled forward until he saw a cop car up ahead. It skidded in and two cops jumped out. He looked back towards the mouth of the street he was in. They had him cornered. For a brief second, he thought about dropping the bag and tossing his hands in the air. Now call it stubbornness, a death wish or a refusal to believe that it was over, but he darted sideways and jumped up to the next fire escape. Behind him he heard them shouting. A vehicle reversed out, and he saw Detective Hudson gaining on him.

  That woman didn’t know the meaning of giving up.

  He scaled up the staircase, taking two steps at a time as one more round was fired just ahead of him.

  “The next one goes in you.”

  “Well, let’s hope you’re a lousy shot,” Jack shouted, ignoring her scrambling over the roof.

  Over the next five minutes he just kept barreling forward, jumping from one building to the next making his way south parallel to 47th Avenue. It was just one series of buildings close together. His foot caught on a wire and he stumbled slamming his knee into something hard. He got up and pulled his gun, he knew that the only way he was getting off that roof was to shoot her. As he rounded one of the large vents and disappeared out of sight, he waited, his back pressed against it. He could hear her getting closer. Five, four, three, two… she burst around the corner and he struck her across the top of the head causing her to collapse and drop her gun. He landed hard on top of her and pressed his knee against her chest so she couldn’t get up. She couldn’t have weighed more than a buck forty.

  His eyes darted to his left to see if there were any more cops.

  There were none. He heard her radio crackle, and her colleagues asking for an update.

  “You see him?”

  “Tell them I got away.”

  “Fuck you.”

  She squinted and then as if some distant revelation hit her, she spoke out.

  “I know you. I remember you. You were the guy I saw coming out of that building.”

  “I haven’t a clue what you’re on about. Now get on the radio.”

  “Seven months ago. One of Marabelle’s men was killed. You fit the description to a T.”

  Jack stared at her.

  “Contrary to what you might be thinking, I’m not the bad guy here, detective.”

  “Oh no, so those bodies back there?”

  “Collateral damage. They attacked me. Not the other way around.”

  “What’s your connection to Dana?”

  He chuckled. “I think you’ve got this all backward. I’m the one holding a gun to your head,” he said cocking the gun. “Now get on the fucking radio and tell them that you lost me. Tell them to head north. Then, I’ll answer you.”

  His eyes shifted to see if there was anyone else coming. A momentary distraction and she bucked and coiled her leg around Jack’s head knocking him backward. She was fast but not fast enough. Jack bit into her leg like a vicious pit bull and she let out a wail. He twisted and one second she thought she had him, the next she was back underneath. This time he pressed down even harder. He took her radio and held it up to her lips and pressed the button.

  There was a moment of hesitation and then she told them that she’d lost him.

  “Go north, I saw him heading that way.”

  He released the button, then dropped the radio and used one of her zip ties to tie off her hands. He hauled her up and pushed her back against an aluminum vent. After, he looked around and checked the skies, just in case they had a helicopter out looking for him.

  There was no one.

  Chapter 14

  He lit a cigarette and then offered her one. She nodded, and he pushed it between her lips. Her eyes never once left him. Jack took a second to check his injured knee.

  “You know you’re not going to get out of here. You might as well turn yourself in.”

  “Been there, done that, it’s not happening.”

  “So? What’s your connection then?”

  “She’s a friend of mine,” Jack said. “I came here to help.”

  “Help? You mean start a mob war?”

  Jack sat across from her puffing on his cigarette and catching his breath. Far below he could hear the distant sound of sirens. The streets would be crawling with cops. There was no point going anywhere until he knew it was safe to move. He decided to use the time to his advantage and find out what she knew about the case.

  “What happened tonight wasn’t of my doing.”

  “No, then how come you have Angelo Marabelle’s men after you?”

  He studied her face. In the moonlight, light made shadows dance off her features.


  “It’s a long story.”

  “It always is with you assholes.”

  He lifted his head and glanced at her. “You don’t know shit.”

  “Okay, then what are you? Some vigilante? Hired hand?”

  He smiled.

  “Tell me, detective,” Jack quickly changed the subject. He wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions. Time was ticking and the body count was increasing. “When did you piss off this guy?”

  “What?”

  “A killer only focuses on a person for a reason. What reason did you give him?”

  She chuckled and moved around the cigarette in her mouth with her lips as she couldn’t use her hands. She squinted and continued to speak out the corner of her mouth. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself. Who knows? Maybe he has a fetish for detectives.”

  “What do you know about him?” Jack asked.

  “Why the interest?” she shot back. “Unless of course, it’s you?”

  He chuckled. “Masks have never been my thing.”

  “But killing has?”

  “We all need to earn a living, detective. You put people behind bars, I put them under soil. Does it matter how we go about it if we are after the same people?”

  She studied him for a second. “So you’re some kind of vigilante?”

  “Ah, I was never too keen on that term. I prefer — specialist.”

  She shook her head, and he reached over and took the remaining butt and stubbed it out.

  “So did you kill him?”

  “Who, the guys back there? Damn right I did.”

  “No, Nicholas Lombardo. Seven months ago.”

  Jack smiled. “Do you spend a lot of time thinking about the past, detective?”

  “Look it’s no skin off my nose to have another mob member off the streets. Hell, if I had my way I would shoot the damn lot of them, but I can’t have you going around shooting up the place.”

  “I’ll be out of your hair real soon.”