OBLIVIONThe Debt Collector 13 Jon Mills Copyright © 2019 by Jon Mills All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to an online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. The Debt Collector 13: Oblivion is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Contents Also by Jon Mills Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Epilogue A Plea Readers Team About the Author Also by Jon Mills Click here to receive special offers, bonus content, and news about Jon’s new books, sign up for the newsletter. Undisclosed Retribution Clandestine The Debt Collector Debt Collector 2: Vengeance Debt Collector 3: Reborn Debt Collector 4: Hard to Kill Debt Collector 5: Angel of Death Debt Collector 6: Prey Debt Collector 7: Narc Debt Collector 8: Hard Time Debt Collector 9: Here Last Breath Debt Collector 10: Trail of the Zodiac Debt Collector 11: Fight Game Debt Collector 12: Cry Wolf Debt Collector 13: Oblivion Lost Girls I’m Still Here The Promise True Connection Prologue The Butcher of New York crouched at the corner of the auto store, scanning the darkened crossroads that separated him from the boarded-up red tavern. All around, a thick green forest swallowed the rural town of Apalachin in Tioga County; a tiny community that the world wouldn’t have known had it not been for the huge mob bust back in 1957. “You sure this is it?” Jack asked the gangly kid with holes in his jeans. He didn’t expect him to be certain but one thing he knew, small-town kids rarely lied, especially when money was at stake. Upon arrival he’d taken the old-school approach of seeking out information. He didn’t have the luxury of lingering, and he sure as hell didn’t want whoever was behind Dana’s disappearance to know he’d arrived, and yet he couldn’t ignore the gut feeling they already knew. The boy nodded. “Positive. It’s been empty for months. My old man asked the realtor. It’s had no interest. Yet, I’ve seen men coming and going from there for over two weeks, mostly late at night.” It was a shot in the dark but in a town of this size, small details were hard to overlook. Jack nodded, fished out of his pocket a fifty dollar bill and handed it to him. The teenager’s eyes lit up as he stretched it out. “And I’ll get another if I’m right?” he asked, not taking his eyes off the green. “Sure, kid.” But first he needed to find out. Three days. Three days since he’d arrived in upstate New York. Teased by the words of a dying man, his drive to find answers had taken him on a long journey northeast across multiple state lines. Over a thousand miles from Arkansas, cutting through sleepy towns, he had thought of nothing else but Carl Bianco, the head of a notorious syndicate that ran out of New England. None of it made sense. Bianco was dead. Jack had personally watched the life fade from his eyes as he squeezed his neck with his bare hands, then decapitated him and dumped his remains in brown paper bags at locations in Providence. It was a savage attack; one that had earned him the nickname — the Butcher — but that was when he was twenty-one and the mob was his life. Twenty-three years later it was just a vague distant memory. An hour of waiting and no sign of anyone. All he could do was hope that this was it. In all his years of tracking and dealing with the worst of society, nothing had rattled him more than tracking Dana. It was personal, and one way or another, whoever was behind it would pay. “I’ll meet you back at the café tomorrow.” “Tomorrow? I thought I was getting it tonight.” “I’m good for my word, kid. Now you should get going.” The kid looked pissed but he took off while Jack crossed the street heading for the tavern, nothing more than a silhouette in the night. He removed a Glock from his jacket and held it low. All the windows were boarded up. The two-story, weathered structure looked as if it needed to be demolished, not sold. He circled the faded wooden building searching for a way in while at the same time keeping an eye on Pennsylvania Avenue. Making his way around to a side door, he turned the handle expecting it to be locked only to find it open. Huh. Inside it was pitch dark. Jack stood there for a second listening, anticipating an attack, but it was silent. Jack pressed in, making his way down a corridor that was in shambles. The wooden floor had suffered from rainwater getting in. It was as if the owners had left the place to rot. A rat darted across the creaky floor, startling him. It scurried beneath the dusty furniture. Thin rays of moonlight seeped through cracks in the warped wood paneling, providing just enough light to see his way into a larger room. At the center was a small stage with a long bar that was off to the right. There were multiple long tables, each one covered in upturned chairs on either side of foundational posts. A musty smell, a mix of dust, spilled alcohol and rotten oak, attacked his senses. Jack listened for movement, his eyes
