Debt Crusher

By Michael Pool

Cam Reynolds has a problem...

When Cam’s longtime boss Tom Colcetti dies and leaves control of his criminal organization to his predatory son Tommy, Cam may finally get the chance to run a crew of his own. But Tommy has his eyes on new business horizons, and Cam just made a mistake that could destroy Tommy’s heavy-hitting new partnership.

Now Cam must struggle against violent forces of betrayal, lust, and greed as he attempts to either salvage his career, or get out of the game with his life still intact.

• Language: English
• Publisher: All Due Respect Books
• Release date: Feb 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370348770

Book preview

DEBT CRUSHER

Michael Pool

Copyright © 2015 by Michael Pool

Down & Out Books Edition February 2018

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

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an imprint of Down & Out Books

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Edited by Rob Pierce and Chris Rhatigan

Cover design by Eric Better

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Debt Crusher

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by the Author

The Down & Out Books Publishing Family Library of Titles

Preview from Accidental Outlaws by Matt Phillips

Preview from Dillo by Max Sheridan

Preview from Dangerous Boys by Greg F. Gifune

For the Master Assassins, you know who you are.

CAM REYNOLDS SLID the .380 Beretta between the Plymouth’s console and ragged maroon seat. Nothing in the rearview. Not much life on the streets this early. He cranked the engine to life, scattering birds from a nearby tree, then forced it into gear and eased out onto Broad Street, golden sunshine seeping through the smoke-stained windows. He hung a left after a mile and cut through the alley just off Denny Way, wove the Plymouth between dumpsters and trash bins, backed in below the iron fire escape on the back of the building. He took out his burner, punched in the number, and hit send. It rang four times.

Yeah? a man’s voice barked.

Mr. Gomez?

What the fuck you calling me for if you don’t know who this is? It’s six a.m., motherfucker.

Mr. Gomez, I don’t have time for bullshit, so allow me to cut to the chase. Let’s just say I’m a friend of a friend currently parked in front of your building. In a couple minutes, I’ll be parked in front of your door. Number three-eleven, right? When I get up there, one of two things is gonna happen. He paused, lit a cigarette and inhaled deep, then exhaled it into the phone. Option one—the better option for everyone—is for you to have a bag or a box or some other such thing waiting for me when I get up there. With ten grand in it. You know what I’m sayin’, Gomez?

I…yeah. Sure I do. Gomez took a deep breath, some of the bravado gone from his voice.

Good. Because option two is I come up there and spend the next four to six hours finding bones you never knew you had and breaking them with a combination of various kitchen utensils and my bare hands. You see what I’m sayin’ now, right? Option one, pretty good option.

Gomez exhaled into the receiver. Yeah, okay then. Come on up. Lemme pull together what I got.

Cam ended the call and pulled hard on his smoke again. To say these low-level gambler types were predictable gave them too much credit. They always panicked. It almost didn’t feel fair doing it this way.

A door burst open three floors above his car. Cam pulled on the smoke and listened to the pattern of frantic feet clanging against iron stairs. Two steps at a time. Typical rookie panic. A slim figure bounded down the last flight of steps and doubled back straight toward the parked Plymouth. Cam timed it perfect. He opened the door and felt the impact of the figure’s unrestrained weight barrel into the outside. The body recoiled off the door and crumbled to the garbage-stained concrete. Cam stepped out of the Plymouth and took one last drag from the cigarette, then flicked it right in Gomez’s face.

Come on up, huh? he said, grinding Gomez’s dropped cell phone into dust with his heel, rather than grinding out the discarded cigarette butt.

Gomez didn’t respond.

Let’s both be glad I know you’re full of shit.

Gomez stopped banging on the inside of the trunk after six blocks. Cam wasn’t sure if he’d passed out, or just decided to bide his time. The first guy he’d ever put in the trunk had crapped himself so bad after three hours that it stained the carpet. Now, anyone he put back there came out lamenting the smell, which had never quite washed out. People who didn’t pay their debts were turds anyhow. It ought to be a familiar smell as far as he was concerned.

He pulled the Plymouth into one of the bays at Freddie’s Garage, one of several shell businesses around the city that old Tom Colcetti had used for various criminal activities over the years. So far, Tommy Jr. had been smart enough to continue their use in the months since his father’s demise, even if Cam didn’t agree with some of the other changes Junior had made. He slid the Plymouth into park and straightened his tie in the rearview, then ran a pocket comb through his slicked salt-and-pepper hair. The ever-expanding grey patches made him frown. He still felt great for the most part. A little paunch in the belly, but not so bad for a forty-two-year-old man. But time was catching up with him, his body and face bore the marks to prove it, though his position in Tom’s organization hadn’t kept the same pace of advancement. Where other people might have accrued friends and family and material wealth, all Cam had accrued was a little stacked cash and a reputation for violence that had become so strong he hardly ever had to follow through on his threats anymore.

He climbed out of the Plymouth and shut the door. Gomez started up with the banging on the interior of the trunk again. Cam whistled a tune he’d never known the name of as he made his way around the rear of the car. He slammed his hand down so hard on the trunk’s lid that it left a dent. Gomez stopped banging then.

Gomez, listen up. Cam gave two more sharp slaps for effect. I’m gonna step away for a couple minutes to take care of some things. It won’t be good for either of us if you keep making all that noise in there. So here’s the thing; I’ll be back sooner than you think. If I come back and hear you making so much as a fucking peep in there, then we’re gonna have a real problem. Right now I’m keeping it friendly. You don’t want to know what I’m like when I have problems. Got it?

Gomez said something in return, but the trunk muffled his voice.

Cam leaned in. What was that?

Fuck you, it smells like shit in here. Tell Tommy I can get his money to him by the end of the week.

I’ll let him know, Cam said. In the meantime you stay put. This car ain’t much, but it ain’t yours. Approach it with the golden rule.

Across the street, Cam snubbed out his cigarette in a sand pot and stepped into Martinelli’s Diner.

He located Rocco and Stevens in the usual back corner booth, the only one whose pleather benches weren’t ripped and faded. Their crew were all rough guys, but they knew how to show respect where it was shown to them. Their reserved booth reflected that respect. On the clock was different, but that’s why Cam had never bothered to replace his worn out, piece of shit Plymouth. A willingness to smash his own things had a desirable effect on his clients.

Crusher has arrived, Rocco said. A segment of his slicked grey hair fell down to his face as he reached out to take Cam’s hand.

Rock, Stevie. How you boys doing?

Good, good, Stevens said.

Not bad, Rocco said. Grab a seat. Rocco had been inviting him to sit down like he’d shown up by coincidence every day for fifteen years. In spite of being the crew’s captain, Rock always did what he could to be accommodating and respectful. Though he’d never admit it, Rocco was as close to a father as Cam had ever had. His loyalty to the man, as much as anything else, is what had kept him from questioning his lack of advancement in the organization for so long.

Their usual waitress, Tammy, set out a mug for Cam and filled it with coffee. She’d been working at Martinelli’s so long that Cam could measure the years in corresponding wrinkles on her face. Her primped, curly hair had been grey for as long as he could remember.

Thanks, Tammy, Cam said.

So, boys. What’s shakin’? Rocco looked around the table at Cam and Stevens.

Nothing much doing. Stevens had a way of always speaking up first. Went by to see our friend, Mr. Moreno, but he was out of the office.

Think he went on vacation? Rocco asked.

Nah. I’d imagine he’s just layin’ low. Resting, as they say. I hear Florida’s nice, but he ain’t got the gall for that kind of vacation.

All right, Rocco said, setting down his coffee mug. Keep an eye out. See if you can’t give him a few things to think about, like what his mother would think about him leaving so much debt unpaid for her to work off herself. Rocco took another drink of his coffee. Tammy brought out a pitcher of water.

The usual, fellas? she asked. Everyone nodded. Tammy shuffled off to the kitchen. The day cook, Teddy, was probably already working on their orders. Not one of them had changed their lunch order in all the time they’d been eating there.

Crusher, how you making out? Any new collections today?

Cherub Charlie almost bought the whole farm last night, Cam began, but he decided to put up a down payment instead. Clumsy bastard injured a knee trying to figure it all out.

How much of a down payment we talkin’? Rocco asked.

Just shy of four.

Four? Rocco raised his eyebrows.

Like I said, he hurt his knee pretty good hopping around trying to scramble that much up. I told him it’s a long way to China in a rowboat. We’ll see how he looks by Friday.

Rocco sipped his coffee. Did you catch up with our newest friend yet?

Cam nodded yes, took a drink of his own coffee. I did. Slow going so far. But he’s keeping an eye on the Plymouth to make up for it. Caught him just as he was heading out for a jog.

Rocco smirked. Stevens crinkled up his nose like he could almost smell the shit stink of Cam’s trunk.

Rocco’s face got serious. So listen, about that. Change of plans. Tommy wants you to lay off the guy now. Turns out his uncle is somebody important.

Who’s his uncle? Cam asked.

"I can’t really say. For your purposes all that matters is he’s somebody. There’s some serious shit coming down the pipe. Big