Angel of Death - Debt Collector 5 (A Jack Winchester Thriller)

by Jon Mills

  But right now her mind was confused. A part of her was telling her to listen to him, and another to flee.

  Castillo, as he as preferred to be called, kept turning her words on her. For every excuse she gave, he would come back with a reason that would make her feel guilty as if she was betraying the very people that had helped her.

  “You will stay, drink the medicine and seek the counsel of the Sage. Once I have heard, we will talk again, until then you will take a vow of silence.”

  “You can’t make me do this.”

  “It’s already done. You will learn to speak when told to speak.”

  She shook her head unable to believe that he could do this. He nodded to the two men that were waiting in the doorway, and they dragged her kicking and screaming out of the hut.

  “Danielle, we are here,” she said in a low tone so the men at the front couldn’t hear.

  Danielle looked towards the woman beside her. Her name was Alice. She had been one of the few women that had understood where Danielle was coming from but had not spoken out because of fear of reprisal from her husband. Her husband was driving the truck.

  The truck drove along the cobblestone streets until it entered a parking lot outside of the main grocery stores. The last time she had been there a month ago she had considered running. The streets were always full of tourists. She could have run up to any of them, perhaps even found a police officer but she knew it would have been pointless. She didn’t know the language and who would have believed her? Once, only once had she tried to tell a lady in a bathroom why she was crying. At that time, she only managed to summon the nerve to give her name but that was all. The men entered the washroom and took her away before she could say any more. They were instructed by Castillo to keep an eye on her at all times. To never let her out of their sight and in the event that she was to use the bathroom, one of the other women had to go in with her. It was beyond controlling. She had argued with Castillo about it. What was to be gained in holding her captive, or preventing any of them from leaving? It didn’t matter. He always had an answer and the others listened. In their eyes he was a god, a flawless human helping them towards some hidden light. It didn’t matter how many times she had tried to reason with Alice, Alice would take her husband’s side. It was the eternal way. Danielle was seen as someone who was thinking in the now and allowing the darkness to push out all that was good.

  As they stepped out of the blue van and were guided into the grocery store, Danielle scanned the street for Mia. Only fourteen years of age, she lived on the streets and made her money panhandling and selling necklaces made from stones. That was how Danielle came to know that she understood English. When she tried to sell Danielle a piece and the men waved her off, that’s when she got the idea. If Mia could understand English, perhaps she could pass on a message. That was how she managed to get the first message out to her father two months ago.

  They spent the next thirty minutes going through the aisles and gathering what they needed while one of the men visited the post office to collect several packages. They always stocked up on supplies so that they didn’t have to leave the camp. Castillo was even considering shifting the monthly trips into the city to a two-month window and having the group fast more. It was meant to help them attain greater enlightenment, he said. Danielle knew that it was just another means of controlling them.

  After they exited the grocery store, Danielle scanned the street trying to spot Mia but she was nowhere to be seen. Her stomach sank at the thought of having to spend another month under his control.

  “What are you doing? Help Alice load the bags into the back.”

  Marko, Alice’s husband, had got into a habit of berating her any chance he got about her lack of faith. Danielle began loading bag after bag when she heard Mia’s voice. She was speaking in broken English but it was the same thing every time.

  “Two necklaces one dollar. Good deal.”

  Danielle glanced across the street as colorful trucks passed by with fruit in the back. Many of the Peruvian women wore colorful Quechua clothing and would approach tourists to get them to take a photo in exchange for a few dollars. Sometimes they would have llamas or goats with them.

  She knew that once all the groceries were packed in the back they would pull away and wouldn’t be stopping again. She couldn’t call out to Mia so she did the next best thing. When Danielle picked up one of the brown paper bags full of grapefruit, she stumbled and allowed the bag to slip out of her hand. Grapefruit went everywhere. They rolled out into the road and immediately Marko was on her.

  “You stupid woman, pick ’em up.”

  “I’m sorry.” Carefully she entered the road. A few taxis beeped their horns as she made her way across. One of the grapefruit was halfway out in the middle of the street. For a few seconds she even thought about letting a vehicle hit her. At least then, maybe she would get taken to a local hospital. But knowing them, they would have just taken her back and forced her to take the holy medicine. It didn’t heal ailments. It was more psychological and spiritual than anything else. Danielle reached down to grasp the grapefruit and she kicked it slightly and it rolled across towards Mia. The small girl looked up. Her dark eyes widened with wonder. Danielle stared at her and mouthed the word. Help. The girl already knew what it meant. The first time around, her meeting with Mia hadn’t been under the watchful eye of Marko. Alice had been put in charge of watching over her as they went about shopping. Back then, Mia had entered a store and attempted to steal some food. Danielle caught her before she did it. She had promised to give her food and a small amount of money if she would deliver a note for her. She had instructed her to meet her in the local bathrooms, where she would slip the note under the stall wall. The first time it worked.

  The second time, she barely managed to scribble down a few words before Marko burst into the bathroom and dragged her out accusing her of stealing money. She had taken it to give to Mia in exchange for helping but she never told him that.

  Chapter Five

  Jack returned that evening to Vein of Chicago. It was a shabby motel on the west side about four miles from Wrigley Field. He’d been staying there for the better part of two weeks. At seventy bucks a night it was a little better than some of the roach-filled joints that he’d checked into since his arrival in the city a month ago.

  “Any messages, Larry?”

  A man in his late thirties had his feet up on a painted desk. The TV was on; it was playing some old black-and-white film. He swiveled around and grinned. In the corner of his mouth was a cigarette and he was wearing a dirty white muscle vest, which revealed his man boobs.

  Larry Westfield was the owner of what he called a humble roadside motel. From the moment Jack had walked in and enquired what kind of rooms they had, he had a look of desperation in his eyes. Apparently his father had owned the place for thirty years and they hadn’t renovated since the early eighties. So instead of closing it down for renovations they just changed their website description. Modest and old-school were the words Jack recalled. There was nothing modest about it, but it was certainly old. The bedspread was pink and covered in yellow flowers; the showers were barely hanging on by a thread and forget air conditioning. Larry said that most folks just left their window open.

  Jack took a room simply because he felt sorry for the guy. Besides him, the only other guest was some wino that had booked in two nights ago. It probably didn’t help that the place was in a terrible state of decay. The carpets were stained and the décor had seen better days. Having said that, Larry had some of the best Mary Jane around.

  “No messages, but we do have a nice selection of buds that just came in today. Care to partake?”

  Jack smirked. “Thanks but I think I’ll take a rain check.”

  He went over to the main door, pulled it open and went down the corridor. Fluorescent lights above flickered; the covers were slightly yellow and filled with a black mass that Larry said was three years’ worth of flies. They were
going to get it cleaned out a month ago, but never got around to it. He said it in a way as though he was almost proud that his motel was the worst place in Chicago.

  When he found room fourteen, he unlocked it and let himself in. It had the typical lock. Swipe cards were too costly to install and most people who stayed there usually only stayed the night, so what was the point? Jack tried to remind him that perhaps people would stay longer if he actually took the time to clean up the place. Larry offered him a job but his days of doing that kind of work were long behind him. At least as long as the ad on Craigslist continued to pull in well-paid jobs from desperate people.

  He flicked the light on and glanced at the wallpaper that was peeling near the light switch. A bug shuffled beneath it and he felt his skin crawl. It wasn’t like he couldn’t have got a better place but he figured that some dingy motel would be the last place the FBI would come looking for him. They would be banging on doors of known associates. He tossed his room key on the counter and slumped down on the edge of the bed. The springs barely registered. It was like landing on a plank of wood. Despite the motel’s flaws, the sheets were clean and he hadn’t been bitten by any of the bugs crawling around. As long as they stayed on their side of the room all was well. He stared up at the discolored ceiling that Larry said was caused by leaky pipes. The smell of mold hung heavy in the air. Fortunately he wouldn’t be staying long. He wasn’t sure where he would head next. He hadn’t seen Arizona before and the thought of getting some sun on his skin and hiking in the desert sounded appealing.

  He hopped off the bed and went over to the small fridge that had been wheeled into his room a day after he arrived. He’d requested another as the first one had cat hair inside of it and it made this horrible churning noise that kept him awake.

  He cracked it open and reached for a cold beer. After twisting the cap off, he gulped down half and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Outside the sound of rain pummeled the windowpane.

  Jack snatched up his phone and placed a phone call to John Dalton in Los Angeles. After putting some distance between him and his past there, he still liked to check in with him from time to time and since he had sent Anyah his way, he wanted to make sure she arrived safely.

  “Jack, why do you always call when I am busy?”

  “Come on now, you aren’t working. Wasn’t it you who said it isn’t work if you love what you do?”

  “I do, if I’m left to get on with it. How are you?”

  “Good.” He sipped at his beer and took a seat on the bed. The headboard creaked as he leaned against it. He could hear a low noise in the room beside him. Maybe Larry had finally managed to convince someone else to stay.

  “Tell me, have you had someone by the name of Anyah come through your doors?”

  “No. Should I be expecting someone?”

  He groaned. “She should have been there by now.” It had been well over three days since he had placed her on the bus. It only took two days by Greyhound.

  “Who is it?”

  “A young girl trying to turn her life around. At least that’s what I think. She is using drugs.”

  “And you sent her to Skid Row?”

  “Word has it you do wonders with fuckups.”

  “Not sure about that. It didn’t work for you.”

  Jack snorted. “How’s Karen?”

  “She’s good. Still wants me to work less but you know how it is.”

  “And Deon?”

  “Still patrolling the streets and keeping an eye out for you. Which reminds me, I should give you my cell.”

  “Paranoid the feds are tapping your line?”

  “Jack, you helped a lot of people when you were here but you also left quite a mess to clean up.”

  “Sorry about that. She’s a persistent one, isn’t she?”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “Not for a while but I nearly had a close call with her in Florida. Still not sure how she found out but anyway, I’m trying to keep my head down for now.”

  There was a pause in the conversation. “I really shouldn’t be talking to you, Jack.”

  “Just think of it as another notch on your belt. You’re earning brownie points with the big fella up above.”

  John chuckled. “So any new jobs come your way?”

  Jack rolled around his head to work out the ache in his neck. “Ah nothing that…” he paused for a second and then thought he would run it by him.

  “You’re a religious man, right?”

  John laughed. “If you want to refer to me that way, I guess I am.”

  “What do you make of cults? You know, groups who are controlling others?”

  He heard him take a deep breath on the other end. “Here’s my take on it. I think people start off with a good heart but somewhere along the way they lose their head.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you really want to have this discussion?”

  “I’m not looking to pull your chain, I just want to understand.”

  “Is this about a job?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Some people might think that they start off with the goal of controlling people. I don’t think that’s the case. Sure, there are some manipulating people out there but nowadays it’s more subtle. Small things that are said and done that unless you have a well-tuned bullshit meter, you would be inclined to pass things off as a misunderstanding or a particular person’s set of views or morals.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Some are driven by money, others by sex, but mostly it’s just power. Leading anyone. Providing advice. It doesn’t have to be religious for it to go to someone’s head. It’s a tough job trying to balance between making suggestions to people and telling them that’s what they must do. Very few can make it from one side of the rope to the other without falling off.”

  “Surely people see it for what it is?”

  There was a hesitation before he replied. “Jack, all manner of people come through our doors every day needing help. They have real needs but most are just lost. They don’t think they have the strength to cope with the world around them. And at that moment in time, maybe they don’t. Sometimes we need someone to come along and help us up. Cults, or people who have a need to control others, prey upon that vulnerability. It’s when a person is most susceptible. And if it means they don’t have to think for themselves, that goes a long way to why they are influenced so easily. Does that make any sense?”

  “Yeah.” Jack took another drink.

  “You still drinking?”

  He felt a wave of guilt wash over him but he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was a drunk or that he drank on a daily basis. But in the short time he was in L.A., Dalton had got to know him. He had seen him at his best and worst.

  “It’s just a beer.”

  “Just.”

  Jack snorted. “Do you ever take off that work cap of yours?”

  “You sound like Karen,” John replied before they both laughed.

  Before the call ended, John left Jack with a few things to think about. “They aren’t all bad, Jack. People are people at the end of the day. Flawed and liable to make mistakes. I guess if you are going to take on a job that is related to a cult, all I would recommend is this. Be careful they don’t drag you in.”

  Jack laughed. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because the allure of peace in a storm can be overwhelming. There’s a storm in you, Jack.”

  The line went quiet for a few seconds. “Good to hear your voice again,” John said. “I’ll keep an eye out for this Anyah girl.”

  When Jack hung up he sat there for a while. He stared down into the bottle before taking another drink. He chewed over John’s words and thought about his past. His sleep was still plagued by nightmares. When he did drink, it was late at night — just something to ease the noise inside his head— a way to blot out the memories of those he had murdered for Gafino. For years he had known nothing but killing. It had
become second nature, like drinking a cup of coffee. He often wondered what people would have thought about him if they knew how many he had killed over the years. It wasn’t like they were innocent victims. Their hands were covered in blood like his, and yet they had families, people who were close to them. It was hard to live with the guilt.

  Right then there was a knock at the door. Jack placed his bottle on the counter and went over. He looked through the peephole. Outside drenched by the rain was Patrick Lefkofsky.

  Chapter Six

  Jack hesitated before answering. Once the door was open, he waved him in. Patrick shook water from his coat before entering. Inside he glanced around and Jack could tell he wasn’t used to visiting such a dismal abode. It must have been like stepping down into the sewers.

  “Quite a place.”

  “That it is,” Jack replied. “That was your men in the black car?”

  Patrick’s lip curled up at the corner. “Not much gets past you, does it, Mr. Winchester?”

  Jack had seen the sedan tailing him ever since he’d left Patrick’s home. It was to be expected. He wasn’t worried by it. If they had wanted to harm him, they would have entered the motel hours ago.

  Patrick remained standing even though Jack offered him a seat.

  “I’ll keep this short. I forgot to give you this.” He handed Jack an envelope. Jack didn’t open it, he simply placed it on the counter. “Also I will double the amount of money.”

  “It’s not about money, Mr. Lefkofsky.”

  “Then what do you want? Everyone has something they need.”

  Jack walked the full length of the room to the window and glanced outside. Two black cars were parked out front.

  “I think you’ve misunderstood what I do.”

  “No, I thought you offered a service.”