The Debt Collector (Book 1 of a Jack Winchester Organized Crime Action Thriller) (Jack Winchester Vigilante Justice Thriller Series) (20 page)

W
hen Jack entered
The Pigs Ear late that evening, he knew there was a good chance he wouldn’t walk out again. Only four of Gafino’s men were in the gym. Two fighters in the ring stopped sparring momentarily to gawk, as if witnessing a skid row inmate making the final journey to be executed.

By all accounts, he should have been dead.

The fact that he had survived was surprising, but that he had the nerve to return must have looked like pure madness. With his face steadfast and the leather duffel bag full of money in hand, he climbed the steel steps that led to Gafino’s office. His boots beat out a steady rhythm.

Behind the glass door, Gafino was waiting for him seated behind a desk. Drinking a glass of brandy, he studied Jack. His eyes dropped to the bag.

“Always on time.”

Jack dropped the bag in front of him with a thud.

“That’s it. It’s over.”

Gafino unzipped it and glanced briefly inside.

“It’s all there.”

“And Vincent?”

Gafino’s eyes flicked up to his. Jack’s lack of response said it all. He chuckled to himself.

“Can’t trust anyone these days.” Unflinching, Jack stood firm. Gafino downed another gulp of the amber-colored liquor. “But you. I could always rely on you to tell me the truth. You weren’t complicated like the others. You and me, we have an understanding. For better or worse, we know what needs to happen to get things done. That’s rare, Jack. There are those who live by rules, and those who make them. We make them.”

“I only have one.”

“That’s right. And you’ve never broken it, have you, Jack?”

Jack studied him. “So we’re good?”

“If you’ve tied up all loose ends, yeah.”

Their eyes locked. “Yeah.”

Gafino smiled, a glint in his eyes. He inhaled deeply and downed the remained of his brandy.

Jack nodded and turned to leave.

“You sure you want to do this?” Gafino asked.

When he reached the door, Jack cast a glance back.

“By the way, Jack, I was thinking of stopping by and visiting your sister. You know, for old time’s sake.”

Jack didn’t pause, since he knew what that meant.

“You sure you don’t want to rethink your decision?”

“See ya’, Roy.”

As the door closed behind him, he didn’t look back. Any other man would have expected a bullet in the back of the head. Jack didn’t. He knew Gafino too well. That wasn’t his way. It was too fast, too easy, and not painful enough. He got off on seeing the agony in the eyes of his victims. It was never about the money. In many ways, Gafino was right about how alike they were; in others, not so.

Outside the air was like a cool balm against his skin. Jack strolled toward his Impala. Then, from behind him, an enormous explosion erupted. The Pig’s Ear disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke and an inferno of flames. Fireballs of debris fell like rain. Unflinching, Jack didn’t look back or give a second thought to whether the blocks of C4 placed beneath the top layer of money inside the bag had killed Gafino.

No one was walking away from that alive.

A moment later, he slipped behind the wheel of his car, threw the remote detonator onto the passenger seat, and turned over the ignition. The reflection of flames dancing on his rear window faded as the Impala peeled away into the distance.

D
OWN AT ROCKLAND COVE MARINA
, Jack’s boat was moored alongside a vast line of schooners that bobbed in pristine waters. It was a classic, natural, wooden lobster boat that now doubled as his home and livelihood. A deep New England red with a white interior made it blend in. Nothing flashy. Nothing that would attract unwanted attention. It had become his new way of life. Unlike the magnificently rigged fifty-five foot schooners that towered over his and provided tourists with two hour sailing trips around the bay, his paled in comparison. But it belonged to him and was simple, much like the life he’d longed to lead. Whether it was beneath the stars at night or the glaring heat of the sun, he’d never felt as unshackled and free than he had in those days. For four days a week he offered local tourists scenic coastal excursions, and on occasion he would show them how lobster was caught, just as the previous owner had taught him.

Almost two months had passed since that fateful night at The Pig’s Ear. It was the final nail in a coffin for a life that was now dead to him. One final act of violence that marred his soul but gave him a second chance. Ridding himself of Gafino was the only way he could save his sister, clean his slate, and walk away. Few escaped life in the mob; even fewer on their own terms. Most either died or fled into hiding behind a new identity in an unknown location to live the life of a snitch. Forever glancing over their shoulder, forever living on borrowed time. One thing they all knew was that eventually everyone wound up dead, either from the hands of another or by suicide. Life inside organized crime didn’t make sense to anyone who’d never been in it. But to those who grew up in it, it was all they had ever known.

The familiar held a strange comfort, even if it was destructive. It was a brotherhood, a culture, and lifestyle that would continue to attract the ignorant. In hindsight it all seemed clear; it was nothing more than a young man’s game of ego, greed, and stupidity. No, unlike those who hid and spent each night in fear of retribution, Jack slept like a baby in those months, whether he’d made peace with his demons or simply let go of the need to be in control. The past was just that: the past. Its only reach on him was in nightmares, and even those had become less. He never gave another thought to it.

Then there was Dana. He didn’t regret his life before her. It had led him to her. Whether that was for the right or wrong reasons, whether she would give him a second chance…

It didn’t matter now.

In the early afternoon, Jack returned from The Shack on the Marina. Part restaurant and part store, it offered some of the best lobster in the area along with steep discounts to those who made their living on the water. Maine’s yearly lobster festival had put it on the map. Its fame had spread throughout the town and well beyond. Residents from three counties over would travel just to taste its unique selection on the menu. If they could stick lobster in it, it was for sale. Fried, boiled, grilled, baked—they offered the works. Since returning, he rarely ventured beyond the Marina. All the basics he needed were there. Fishing tackle, amenities, and, most importantly, obscurity.

Jack strolled around the winding dock. The planks creaked beneath his boots. The water sloshed and lapped up against the boats. The sky was a quilt of colors as a gentle breeze blew in. It wouldn’t be long before the summer would be over and boats would be hauled into storage.

Jack cupped a hand over his eyes to shield them, trying to make out the person standing close to his boat. When it became clear, his pace slowed.

“Dana?”

She turned. “Hi, Jack.”

“I hardly recognized you.”

She motioned to her hair, which had changed.

“You look well.”

“You too.” She paused, pushing a hand into her back pocket and shifting from one foot to the other.

“So when were you going to tell me you were back in town?”

Dropping the remainder of his coffee into a bin, he stepped a little closer. “Besides the obvious? I didn’t exactly think I was someone you would want to see again.”

Her eyes fixed on his; she nodded, as if weighing his answer.

“Jason asks about you.”

“How’s he doing?”

“You know.” She cocked her head to one side. “The usual teenage angst. He has girlfriend now, so I see him even less. A nice girl, though.”

Jack nodded, taking a moment to take her in. She wore tight jeans, the knees worn. Flip flops, and a thin white summer top. She’d changed her hair. Gone was the long flowing locks; in its place was a short bob that suited her. A rush of memory from their time together came back in a series of images. Her body tangled up in his; her hot mouth over his.

“Nice boat. I hear you’re doing tours?”

He nodded. “Yeah…Doesn’t exactly pay well, but I don’t need much.”

They stood for a moment studying each other before he looked away.

“I sold the motel.”

“How about that. That’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s nice to not have that on my plate. I’m at the lighthouse, and helping Sophie out at her store part-time.”

“Ah, yeah, she was quite the character.”

“Still is. Yeah, I used the money that…” She trailed off before continuing. “About that, eh…”

He rested his hand against the boat. “No need to say anything.”

She pursed her lips. “Right, well, I just wanted to thank you.”

He wasn’t too sure how to reply to that. It wasn’t as if it was his money. Instead he simply nodded.

It was a strange feeling that came over him; he wondered if it was mutual. Seeing her again wasn’t like visiting an old friend; it was different. Not quite strangers, and yet as if they were meeting for the first time. Under different circumstances, the way it should have been.

Even though only two months had passed, he wasn’t quite sure why he felt uncomfortable, whether it was his role in the whole event that had transpired or the fact that a day hadn’t gone by without him thinking about her.

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around?” she said.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“It’s good to see you, Jack.”

“You too.”

She looked as if she had more to say, but chose to hold it in. She gave a slight smile, then put out her hand.

Awkwardly he went to shake it, and it went from a shake to a hug. Both of them appeared to recognize the awkward nature of the situation, and neither of them knew quite how to respond.

Parting, Dana flashed one last smile and then turned.

Jack watched her make her way up the dock. He wrestled with his thoughts. A part of him wanted to turn and leave it all behind, but somewhere deep inside he just couldn’t.

“Do you want get a beer?” he shouted.

She glanced back, and bit down on the side of her lip. “Sure.” Making her way back to him, she continued. “You know we can’t pick up where we left off, right?”

“Yeah, I realize that.”

“Things have changed.”

“I get it.”

She stopped in front of him. “But we can start afresh.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

She cocked her head to one side and extended her hand to him.

“Dana Grant.”

He smiled, shaking her hand.

“Jack Winchester.”

* * *

T
hank
you for reading The Debt Collector. If you enjoyed the book, I would really appreciate it if you would consider leaving a review. I can’t stress how helpful this is in helping other readers decide if they should give it a shot. Reviews from readers like you are the best recommendation a book can have. Without reviews, an author’s books are virtually invisible on the retail sites. It also let’s me know what you liked. You can leave a review by visiting the book’s page. I would greatly appreciate it. It only takes a couple of seconds.

Thank you —
Jon Mills

T
hank
you for buying The Debt Collector.

Building a relationship with readers is one of the best things about writing. I occasionally send out a newsletter with details on new releases and subscriber only special offers. For instance, with each new release of a book, you will be alerted to it at a subscriber only discounted rate. No one else will be alerted to that price. Which means you can get your hands on it for around 80% off. But it’s only available for 24hrs at that price and it’s only offered to subscribers. Not even those following on social media will know about that deal. Also you will be privy to FREE books as I make them available.

C
lick
here to receive special offers, bonus content, and news about Jon’s new books, sign up for the newsletter.

T
he private jet’s
engine spun out a deafening roar as three of the Sicilian Mafia, also known as Cosa Nostra, stepped onto the glistening tarmac at Teterboro Airport, New Jersey. The ground was covered in a thin layer of snow. While it had been a warm winter, each of them was dressed expecting the worst. A short distance away, a luxurious black Lincoln Navigator idled.

One of the tinted windows slipped down. Upon seeing their guests approach, two of Leo Carlone’s men, wearing leather jackets, stepped out and huddled together. Their breath rose like spirits leaving their bodies.

They spoke quietly with each other going over what Leo had instructed. Both were sure of themselves but nervous. A lot was riding on this. There had already been one screw up. They couldn’t afford another.

In traditional Italian fashion, they greeted the men warmly with a kiss on the cheeks. One of them opened the rear door and the three slipped inside. It wasn’t long before they were whisked away to a small Italian restaurant and lounge located on 17
^th
Avenue in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn.

* * *

L
eo’s Restaurant
and Lounge looked modest on the outside. It resembled any one of the small restaurants found in Brooklyn. Inside however it oozed with style, sophistication, and glamour. Dark-colored hardwood floors, exposed stone walls, and a warm fireplace at the center. It wasn’t busy that day. A closed sign had been placed on the door. All of the round tables covered in pristine white covers had chairs turned upside down on them – except two in the far corner. Leo Carlone glanced up from where he was at the shrill of a bell. He sat in a booth, alone, off to the left-hand side. Beyond him was a table with four men. He wiped the corner of his mouth and cleansed his palate with a mouthful of pinot wine before rising. Leo had been running the restaurant and lounge for over twenty years. It had been in the family. Most thought it was a cover for criminal activity but it wasn’t. Leo genuinely enjoyed running a restaurant. It was upscale. A mix between a restaurant and a coffeehouse. It had been passed down through the family, and he would have passed it down to his son, Freddy, had he still been alive.

The largest, and oldest of the three Sicilian men greeted him with a kiss on both cheeks. He gripped Leo’s shoulder tightly before he spoke, “Please accept my condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you.” Leo nodded before motioning to the table. “Please. Take a seat.”

Leo snapped his fingers in the air. “Arthur, get these two gentleman what they want. And for you, Vito?”

“Just coffee. Black.”

Vito Nicchi was the boss of the Sicilian Mafia. His right-hand men were Dominick Morello and Anthony Lombardo. Both of them had been with Vito since his rise to power, eight years ago.

Leo continued eating.

“Nice place you have here. Did you sweep it?” Anthony asked.

Leo paused between bites.

“Do I look like a fucking moron?”

“Anthony.” Vito turned to him before looking back at Leo. “He didn’t mean no disrespect.”

Leo continued finishing off his plate of pasta. Truth be told it had become routine to check for bugs. The FBI were never that far behind them. Until Roy Gafino had been murdered, they only had to sweep once a week. That had now turned into a daily activity. Too many of the old-timers had been taken down and incriminated by recordings. After the death of Gafino the New York Mafia were on edge. Business after business had been raided by the FBI. They assumed that another crime family had been responsible for the hit on Gafino. Little did they realize it was the work of one man.

The death of Gafino had caused a domino effect. The New York Mafia was knee-deep in the advanced stages of a billion-dollar cocaine deal with the Sicilian Mafia. It would have been some of the purest smack ever to hit the streets. Stashed in shipments of canned fruit. The cargo was to be shipped from South America to Italy and then a large portion would find its way back to America via different ports, one of which was Maine. Roy Gafino had been at the heartbeat of the whole operation. He controlled what came into which city. He determined what hit the streets. Along with when and how it was distributed. Without him, business had suffered. Shipments were lost and with that large sums of money were owed.

It wasn’t long before word got back to Leo with a name on who was last seen leaving the Pig’s Ear before the explosion. Jack Winchester.

“Am I to believe your men couldn’t stop one man?”

Leo snorted. “My men? Roy and I were friends, but this is on him.”

“We are owed a lot of money.”

“And you will be paid,” Leo replied.

“When?” Vito asked impatiently.

“Once we have established who will be taking the reins.”

“You expect us to wait while you squabble among yourselves for power and position?”

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand very clearly. None of you have the balls to step up.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

Vito leaned in closer. “Do you know how much money we lost?”

“We both lost.” Leo stared intently at Vito. “Do you forget? He took my son’s life.”

“And? What have you done about it?”

Leo cast his eyes to the floor. A look of dismay, or despondency crept across his face.

“We can’t find him,” Leo said.

“And so you want our help?”

Leo lifted his eyes and took a deep breath. He neither nodded nor confirmed. He wasn’t one for seeking help from others. But the arguments among the crime families in New York had created so much division. No one trusted the other. Some believed Gafino was still alive. That it was all a ploy to determine loyalty. The old-timers wanted to see his charred remains. Get confirmation from his dental records. They had heard of other crime bosses disappearing off the radar only to reappear and reclaim their throne. Stepping into another’s shoes wasn’t something that was done lightly. It was risky business.

“Tell me more about this man,” Vito continued.

* * *

J
ack Winchester had been waiting
for close to an hour for someone to show. He sat in his truck outside a rundown house three miles outside of Rockland Cove, Maine. He was doing a favor for a friend, well, sort of. With the winter season in full swing he hadn’t expected to experience such a slow slump.

The past few months had been tough. He didn’t need much to live. He’d sold his car to cover the cost of his boat and used a portion to buy a banged-up old truck. Nothing fancy. Just four wheels to get him from A to B. The rest of the money he used to cover a few months of docking, electricity, gas, and sanitation fees. Then of course there was winter storage. Not everyone took his or her boat out of the water but his was too small to leave in. And with Rockland Cove being a tourist area, the high cost of living had eaten into what money he did have in the first year. He sighed just thinking about it. It was costing him more to live on the water than it would if he had rented a room. A lack of funds meant he had to consider alternative ways to make money. All of this meant he needed a place to stay over the winter months.

At first Dana Grant had been accommodating, but that soon changed the closer they became. She had so many questions about his life, and there was very little he was willing to answer. The urge to return to the line of work he once knew was overwhelming. When he took on a regular job doing boat tours, he didn’t imagine it was going to be easy. Collecting debts had been his life. He was good at it. Even if it had driven him to commit heinous acts.

He flicked the remains of a half-burnt cigarette into the snow and gazed at the hole it made. He’d been in Rockland Cove for over a year. A lot had happened in that time. For the first few months he’d always kept a bag on hand, ready to leave. Jack wasn’t scared, but he knew returning to the town where he had killed five members of the mob meant keeping his eyes peeled. It would have been the first place they would look. In that time, Eddie had told him that rumors were circulating about his involvement in the murder of Gafino. Only once did he feel as if they were getting close to locating him. A few of Leo’s men had shown up seven months ago. Keith Welling, the owner of the marina, who had become a good friend of his, had covered for him. He told them he hadn’t seen Jack. His very being here wasn’t smart. If it hadn’t been for Dana, he would have never returned.

Now things were different. He had struggled to rekindle what they had before. Dana was more cautious, and rightfully so. She wouldn’t admit it, but he knew she lived in the fear of others coming. That’s why Jack hadn’t told her about the one visit they’d had. In his mind, it was routine. They would have been informed about where Freddy and the others were killed. It was the first place to check. Thankfully, very little information had been leaked out through the media on what had brought Vincent, Freddy, and the others to Rockland Cove. There was no mention of Dana Grant so they never checked in on her. And folks in this town had become wary of outsiders asking questions. After the death of the sheriff, everyone had become tight-lipped. They just wanted to forget and move on with their lives. This meant no discussing what had taken place, especially with strangers.

Jack sank back into his seat and closed his eyes. Maybe ten minutes passed before he heard the sound of gravel. He glanced out to see an old red Pontiac muscle car tear into the driveway. Three guys jumped out along with a girl. They had to have been in their twenties. Tweakers.

Keith had casually mentioned over a beer that one of them owed him several months’ worth of rent money for a condo he rented out in the town. He’d also got wind that they were using it as a crack house.

Keith Welling was your typical businessman. He ran the marina, was married but had no kids. He invested his money into properties in and around Rockland Cove. By all accounts, he hadn’t run into trouble. Only once did he have to get the cops involved to get a squatter booted out. But these guys were different. He knew that someone in the department was allowing it. Every call he’d placed to them had just fallen on deaf ears.

Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth. The fact was the cops had been around but they could never find any sign. They were always one step ahead. And no one who knew them was saying anything.

That’s when Jack offered to help.

At first Keith laughed and turned down the offer until Pat, one of the local fishermen, had told him about Jack’s run-in with the bikers. That had made the local papers. It wasn’t something that was forgotten. In many ways it had earned Jack some respect in the town. Besides tourists, it was tough for newcomers to fit in. Local folk were tight. But that one event had given him a little leverage.

Stepping out of his truck as if he was about to go for an afternoon stroll, Jack crossed the road and walked up their short driveway. He wasn’t packing any heat. He just didn’t expect he would need it. That was one thing he had made a point to leave at the boat just in case police stopped him on his way out to the house where he had tracked the kid who rented the condo. To him this was a simple miscommunication. Keith didn’t want them out. He just wanted to get paid, and make sure the place wasn’t being used for crack.

Jack knocked twice on the dilapidated door. He heard movement inside.

“Get the door,” a gruff voice yelled out from inside.

“Why don’t you? You lazy bastard.”

Jack stepped back as the door opened, and a small girl stepped out. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen. She had long blonde hair, thick eyeliner, and wore tight blue jeans torn at the knees and a white sweater.

“If you are selling, we are not buying.”

“Not here to sell.”

“Then what do you want?” she asked.

“A word with Danny,” Jack replied.

She looked him up and down as if trying to gauge whether he worked for the cops. She cast a glance over her shoulder and yelled back into the darkness.

“Danny. Get your ass out here.”

“Who is it?”

She turned back.

“Who are you?” she asked.