The Nephew

by Claude Bouchard

  “We keep on digging,” said Chris. “Dave’s looking for anything he can find on current Mara members in the area,” said Chris. “Leslie’s working on call records with Donna’s and Carlos’ phones. I want to unlock to the one she picked up from the schmuck at Donna’s last night, which might give us more numbers to work with. Then there’s Fernando. I want to find him too.”

  “I’ll start tracking him down,” said Jonathan.

  “What about me?” asked Carlos.

  “As much as I’d like to get you somewhere safe and away from these assholes,” Chris replied, “You’re Danilo’s point of contact so you’re stuck with us.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere,” said Carlos. “I want to help find my mother and make these bastards pay.”

  “Then you can help me find Fernando,” said Jonathan, handing Carlos the file from Donna’s apartment. “Start going through this while I make a few calls.”

  * * * *

  Maynooth, Ontario, 1:13 p.m.

  In the back room, Donna stopped what she was doing and listened as she heard a now familiar squeak of hinges followed by a door slamming shut. Someone was leaving or, at least had gone outside. She waited a moment and heard muffled voices then the dual thunk of car doors closing. An engine fired up, the car drove away and silence returned. Presumably, two of her captors had left – surely they had not left her totally unguarded.

  She waited a few more minutes but heard nothing, no sign of anyone else in the house though that didn’t mean she was alone. Even when the two guards, Ed and Joe, were present, there were often long periods of silence and they rarely checked in on her unless she called to use the toilet or they brought her food.

  Spurred by the likelihood of only one guard to deal with, she returned her attention to the task at hand, attempting to unlock the cheap handcuffs which bound one wrist to the iron bedframe. The previous day, she had stuck herself on a broken spring poking out of a hole on the old mattress. By pulling, twisting and bending it, she had managed to snap off the offensive bit of coiled wire and had almost tossed it away but instead, had begun to toy with it, a mindless activity to pass the time.

  An hour or two had passed during which she had managed to uncoil a couple of inches of the stiff wire into a relatively straight length. Thoughts of using it as a weapon had more than crossed her mind as she imagined jabbing it into the eye of an unsuspecting guard, but no occasions to make an attempt had presented themselves – and then, as she cursed the damned cuffs which prevented her from turning on her side to sleep, picking the lock had come to mind.

  She had not succeeded in freeing herself that morning and had been otherwise occupied once Danilo and Edwin had shown up. When the rope had tightened around her neck, she had believed her time was up and, as she gasped for breath, had chastised herself for failing at lock picking – but destiny had given her another chance.

  She inserted the tip of the wire into the tiny keyhole once more, slowly feeling around for resistance, for something which might release with the proper pressure at the appropriate spot. The wire caught then slipped and she tried again, gently prodding, poking, pushing, twisting… Click. The lock released and the cuff fell open, dangling loosely from her wrist.

  She gazed at the unlocked cuff blankly as she slipped it off her wrist, shocked and elated by her success, but quickly realized she was far from free. She had examined the room’s sole window, prior to having been condemned to the cuffs, and had found it securely nailed shut and covered with heavy shutters outside. Using it as an exit would require time and effort, not to mention a considerable amount of demolition-related noise.

  Her only other option was the door, which was locked – or was it? She didn’t remember hearing the bolt slide in place after the bastard had closed the door though she had been busy rasping air into her lungs. However, she had noticed that her captors sometimes didn’t bother locking the door since they had started cuffing her to the bed. Was an additional bit of luck on her side? She could certainly use it.

  She crept slowly to the door and leaned her ear against it but heard nothing. Taking a deep breath to still her nerves, she grasped the knob with one hand, the other still clutching her lock pick, the only weapon available. She turned the knob, took another breath and gently pulled. The door yielded without resistance. She continued to slowly pull, hoping for the quiet hinges she seemed to remember.

  The opening increased without a sound and was soon wide enough for her to slip through. Craning her neck, she peered into the empty kitchen to her immediate left then turned toward the hallway leading to the front of the house. At the end was the main entrance, flanked by the living room to the left and another bedroom to the right. Though the hallway was also unoccupied, she could faintly hear a radio or television on low volume. She waited a moment, listening for any sign of someone else in the house, and was soon rewarded with the barely discernable sound of snoring.

  Well aware her time could run out any second, she moved into the kitchen, hoping against hope for the absence of creaky floorboards. After a minute, which seemed like ten, she reached the back door – only to realize a key was required to unlock it, even from the inside. Dismayed but determined, she turned to retrace her steps, stopping only to pull an eight inch chef’s knife from a wooden block on the counter along the way.

  She continued into the hallway, pausing at each step, listening intently. The soft snoring became more audible as she moved forward though she couldn’t quite determine where it was coming from. She reached the end of the wall where the hallway opened into the living room to her left. To her right was the bedroom, the half-closed door obstructing her view within though it was now clear the sounds she heard emanated from the living room.

  Inch by inch, she leaned forward. A battered television in the far corner came into view, snowy images of some old action movie flickering on the screen. She took another step and saw scuffed Nikes protruding above the armrest of an old couch on the opposite side of the wall, so close she could reach out and touch them. The slow, rhythmic snoring continued and she dared poke her head in.

  Edwin, her strangler, lay there sleeping – defenseless, vulnerable. She considered creeping up and plunging the knife in his chest but decided against it though not because killing him would cause her remorse. He was a violent animal and she would gladly spend the rest of her days in prison for taking his life. Rather, her concern was with potentially failing her attempt and ruining her chance of escape.

  She began to step back and froze as she spotted a familiar object on the coffee table – her phone, easily recognizable by its scuffed, lime-green rubber case. If she did get out of there, she had no idea where she was and the phone would be invaluable to help get her to safety. Three steps in and three back out were all she needed to get her precious phone.

  Tucking the lock pick she still held in one hand into a back pocket of her jeans, she tightened her grip on the knife and stepped into the living room, her eyes glued to Edwin. He laid on his back motionless, his snoring slow and regular, his head nestled on a cushion and slightly turned away from her. She took another step and the floor creaked lightly beneath her but the sound drew no reaction from Edwin.

  Holding her breath, she took one last step and the phone was in reach. Bending down, she grasped the phone and quickly stuffed it in her other back pocket before turning and taking a step forward. The floor remained mercifully silent and she took another step, her gaze still fixed on Edwin who continued his journey in the land of slumber. As she raised her foot for the final step into the hallway, a loud caw and flapping of wings shattered the near silence, sending her heart into her throat. Edwin snorted and grunted something unintelligible but remained asleep.

  Donna slipped past the wall into the hallway, out of sight, her heart beating triple-time. Whatever bird had sounded the alarm had been close by and Donna prayed for the damned thing to shut the hell up. A thought occurred and she poked her head through the doorway to the bedroom. A windo
w to her left giving on the front of the house was closed but a second, across the room from where she stood, was half-raised, the opening protected by a screen.

  She pulled back and leaned toward the living room. Edwin’s mild snoring had resumed. Slipping into the bedroom, she hurried across the room to the window. The nylon screen was no match for the chef’s knife and, within seconds, she had slit it down both sides and across the bottom.

  Wasting no time, she stuck one leg through the opening, straddling the bottom sill. As she ducked her head below the raised window, the bird, a large crow perched on the edge of the roof above, began cawing again while flapping its wings, clearly annoyed by this sudden intrusion. Donna hurriedly swung her other leg through and dropped to the dirt and gravel driveway mere feet below. Without looking back, she raced across the small clearing and into the woods beyond.

  * * * *

  Sheraton Centre, Toronto, Ontario, 1:28 p.m.

  “We’ll have both apartments covered within an hour,” Jonathan announced as he returned from the adjoining room.

  “Who’d you get?” asked Chris.

  “Hayden, Benham, Perriello and Barton,” Jonathan replied.

  “Who are they?” asked Carlos.

  “The nastiest bastards I know in Toronto,” said Jonathan. “I pity anyone who visits your apartments once these guys are there.”

  “Uh, okay,” said Carlos. “Do they need the keys?”

  Jonathan laughed. “They’re more into crowbars and sledgehammers.”

  “They’re going to break in?” Carlos exclaimed.

  “They have to get in somehow,” Jonathan replied. “You’re insured for damage, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yeah, but I don’t think my mother is,” said Carlos, clearly uneasy. “I don’t really like this. I just got this place and I don’t want to lose it.”

  “Who’s going to hear anything?” Jonathan taunted. “You told me you’re on the seventh floor.”

  “Well, yeah,” Carlos admitted, “But they’ve been renovating the apartment across from mine. There are workers there every day.”

  “I doubt it on a Sunday,” Jonathan countered.

  “Okay, what about our neighbours?” Carlos shot back.

  Jonathan shrugged. “I’d suggest they mind their own business and steer clear of these guys.”

  “Maybe you should call them back,” said Carlos. “I’ll bring them the keys.”

  “You aren’t going anywhere,” Jonathan retorted.

  “But –” Carlos argued.

  “He’s messing with you,” Chris interrupted.

  “Really?” asked Carlos as Jonathan broke into a smile.

  “Yeah, sometimes I’m a smartass,” Jonathan admitted.

  “Huh, sometimes,” said Leslie.

  “So, you learned it from him?” Carlos asked her with a grin.

  “Nah, she had it before we met her,” said Chris.

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” Leslie countered.

  “They’re all smartasses,” Dave stepped in. “Good thing I’m around to keep them in line.”

  “Yeah, right,” said Jonathan before turning back to Carlos. “Seriously, you have nothing to worry about. We work regularly with these guys. They’re security professionals with extensive police or military experience and can handle anything we throw at them. Picking a lock is just one of their many talents.”

  “You had me going,” said Carlos, relieved. “I was imagining goons kicking in doors and stuff.”

  “Nah, they’re nice goons most of the time,” Jonathan reassured him.

  Leslie laughed as she turned back to her laptop then grew serious. “Tracking is coming in on the video call. I’m seeing a relay in Bancroft.”

  “Where’s that?” asked Carlos as they moved to look at her screen.

  “That’s up near Algonquin Park, right?” said Chris as Leslie pulled up a map.

  “Yep,” Leslie confirmed.

  “Is that where the call originated?” asked Carlos, growing excited.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Leslie replied. “My system is still –”

  Once again, their discussion was interrupted by an incoming call on Carlos’ phone.

  “It’s a call from mom’s phone again,” he announced.

  “Video?” asked Chris.

  “No,” said Carlos.

  “Tell him you left Kelly a message but she didn’t call back yet,” said Chris.

  Carlos nodded and answered the call. “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” said Donna, sounded winded. “I got away.”

  “Are you serious?” Carlos exclaimed.

  “Yes, I’m serious,” Donna replied. “Dani went somewhere with one of his schmucks and left me alone with Edwin, the bastard who tried to choke me. He fell asleep and I managed to get out.”

  “Where are you?” asked Carlos.

  “I’m in the woods but I have no idea where,” said Donna. “I just got the hell away from the house. Where are you? Are you somewhere safe?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Carlos replied. “Listen, do you know how to turn the GPS on your phone?”

  “I can figure it out pretty quick,” said Donna. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “It’s in your settings under ‘Location Services’,” said Carlos. “We’ll end this call, you figure out where you are with the GPS and get back to me with a video call.”

  “Okay, I can do that. It won’t be long.” said Donna before disconnecting.

  Carlos looked at the others and said, “If she really escaped, that’s great. I just want to try to make sure it’s not some trick by Danilo to find out where I am.”

  “You’re thinking on your feet,” Chris commended. “Good stuff.”

  Carlos shrugged. “I doubt it’s the case though. Mom wouldn’t play along even with a gun to her head.”

  “Her GPS is on,” Leslie announced, zooming in on the map on her screen. “She’s in Maynooth, about twenty-five kilometres north of Bancroft.”

  “Good going, Mom,” said Carlos as he stared at his phone. “Now, call us so we can get you back to safety.”

  * * * *

  Maynooth, Ontario, 1:37 p.m.

  The incessant cawing of the crow had woken Edwin. Muttering, he had headed to the bedroom to shut the window where he had discovered the sliced screen. Peering outside, he had caught a glimpse of their prisoner as she disappeared into the woods.

  Vaulting himself out the window, he had given chase, being as quiet as possible in hopes of closing the gap between them before she became aware of his presence. He had managed to regain sight of her and followed her path deeper into the forest. After a couple of minutes, she had stopped in a small clearing and, after scanning the area behind her, had pulled out her phone and made a call.

  Chastising himself for letting her escape on his watch but determined the game wasn’t over, he continued his approach slowly to avoid alerting her until it was too late. She seemed to end her call and was now working on the screen, possibly texting. Intent on limiting her communication, he moved in on her more quickly, approaching from behind.

  “Stop whatever you’re doing,” he ordered from a half-dozen feet away.

  Gasping in surprise, Donna spun to face him and pulled out the kitchen knife wedged in her belt.

  “Stay away from me,” she warned, her tone a mix of determination and fear.

  “You don’t want to fight me,” said Edwin, flipping open the butterfly knife he held. “You’ll just get hurt and it’ll be your fault, not mine. Drop the knife.”

  “You might win but I’ll hurt you too,” Donna promised.

  “Oh, I’ll win,” Edwin replied, “And I’ll hurt you more, a lot more. Drop it.”

  Donna stared at him for a moment then sighed and tossed the knife to one side.

  “Good girl,” said Edwin, taking a step closer. “Now, reach out and give me the phone.”

  Sighing again, Donna leaned forward and held out the phone toward him. As
he reached out to grasp it, she suddenly lunged forward, swinging her other hand at his face. The lock pick caught just at the outside corner of his right eye and ripped an ugly gash down his cheek to his upper lip.

  “Bitch!” he screamed, dropping the phone as he reached for her. Grabbing a handful of hair, he yanked her downward as his knife hand swung in from under, jabbing again and again. Donna struggled, arms flailing and managed to break free, stumbling back as she grasped at the handle of the knife sticking out of her neck. Edwin’s foot swung out, catching her behind one knee and sending her tumbling to the ground.

  “I told you I’d win, you stupid bitch,” Edwin snarled in rage as he began kicking her over and over.

  After a minute or two, she had gone limp and he ceased his attack and stepped back, breathing heavily. He touched his own face and his hand came away wet with blood. He doubted his injury was life threatening but he’d likely end up with a nasty scar. The bitch had come real close to his eye but he could still see with it fine so he didn’t think it was affected.

  He stared down at her again and he was pretty sure she was dead. She wasn’t moving and didn’t seem to be breathing. He couldn’t take any chances though and risk her surviving and talking. He also couldn’t leave his knife stuck in her neck like that.

  Getting down on one knee beside her, he grabbed the handle and pulled the knife out then slashed at her throat a couple of times, making sure she was good and gone. Satisfied, he wiped the blade on her jeans then, as an added precaution, he checked to see if she was breathing. She wasn’t. She didn’t seem to have a pulse either and blood wasn’t pumping out of the gash in her neck anymore.

  Still fuming, he looked around to find a spot where he could hide the body. Though few people wandered in the woods in the area, leaving her out in the open in the small clearing increased the chance of someone stumbling upon her. His gaze fell upon her phone laying in the dirt and he picked it up as he searched for her potential final resting place.