Getting Even: A Vigilante Series crime thriller

by Claude Bouchard

  “The usual, I guess,” William replied offhandedly. “Still-lifes and landscapes.”

  “How about mediums?” Sandy persisted. “Watercolour? Acrylic? Oil?”

  William laughed and said, “Am I being interrogated? Oil.”

  “I work with different mediums but I think I prefer oil,” said Sandy. “What kind of supports do you work on?”

  “Uh, supports,” William repeated, puzzled. “I, uh, have several easels and –”

  Sandy’s mobile buzzed, interrupting their conversation.

  “Excuse me,” she said after glancing at the display. “I have to take this. It’s Dennis.”

  She moved away as she answered the call, leaving William behind with Cathy and Josée.

  “So, do you ladies paint as well?” William asked, looking to make conversation.

  “Sandy got me going with watercolour,” Cathy replied. “I’m getting better with time and find it’s a great escape.”

  “That it is,” William agreed. “How about you, Josée? You seem to have an eye for it.”

  “I’ve messed around a bit in Sandy and Chris’ studio at their house here,” said Josée, “But it doesn’t really do much for me. I’m more into physical activity, working out, hiking, biking and flying, of course.”

  “Flying?” William exclaimed. “You fly airplanes?”

  “Yes, but not commercially,” Josée replied. “For pleasure only.”

  “How wonderful,” said William before turning to Cathy. “And how about you? Do you have any exciting hobbies?”

  Cathy grinned and said, “Guns. As you know, Dave was a cop and I became interested early on when he’d go to the shooting range. I was hooked from the first pull of the trigger and never lost the kick.”

  “And she’s damned good at it,” Josée added, “With a load of trophies to prove it.”

  “I’ll remember to remain on her good side,” said William with a wink.

  “You’re turn, Allan,” said Josée. “We know you paint. What else do you do?”

  “Like you, I enjoy physical activity,” William replied. “Remaining fit has always been a priority so I work out regularly. I never liked jogging but I do powerwalk at least five kilometres daily. I also love hiking and with the abundance of wonderful places to do so back home, I get out into nature every chance I get. All work and no play makes Allan an even duller boy.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” Cathy scolded. “You’ve been anything but dull since we’ve met you.”

  “That’s very kind of you to say,” said William, “But I fear I pale in comparison to you all. Sandy, an accomplished artist with this impressive gallery, you two ladies, a pilot and a sharpshooter, your husbands who fight crime and Chris, of course, quite the prominent businessman, not to mention a charming gent.”

  “What are we talking about?” asked Sandy as she returned from her call, “And who’s a charming gent?”

  “Your husband,” Cathy replied. “Allan was just explaining how we are much more awesome than his boring self.”

  Sandy smiled and said, “I can understand why Allan would think that since all he does is top secret research.”

  “Really?” said Josée. “Do tell.”

  “I wouldn’t say top secret,” William said with a chuckle. “Confidential is a better term. Confidential yet boring research on a joint university programme.”

  “So, you’re a scholar?” Josée persisted. “Can you tell us what field you’re involved in?”

  “Uh, health,” William replied with some hesitation, “But I’m afraid that’s all I can say.”

  “What school are you with?” asked Cathy.

  “Simon Fraser,” said William with a look of concern. “I’m afraid I have already told you too much, ladies. I realize it seems silly but the confidentiality related to research is taken very seriously and strictly enforced. I would tell you more about my work if I could.”

  “We certainly don’t want to get you in any trouble, Allan,” said Sandy, patting him on the arm. “We understand and question period is over.”

  “Once again, I apologize,” said William, looking sheepish.

  “There’s no need,” said Sandy before turning to the business at hand. “Anyhow, Dennis is on his way over with a corporate buyer who can’t make the opening tonight. I have a few things to look after before they get here so I’m going to kick you all out.”

  “I’ve imposed on you enough as it is,” said William. “I’m flattered you invited me for a private showing and I can’t thank you enough.”

  “It was my pleasure, Allan,” Sandy replied. “I’m happy you enjoyed your visit.”

  “I most certainly did,” said William before turning to Cathy and Josée. “Do you ladies need a ride somewhere or perhaps I can buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “Aw, sweet of you,” said Josée, “But I have my car and Cathy and I have a few errands to run. Perhaps some other time?”

  “But of course,” said William, bowing slightly. “Then I shall be on my way. It was a pleasure and I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”

  Josée flashed a smile and said, “Likewise, of course. Have a safe drive back.”

  They walked him to the door and watched him as he strolled across the street, turning to wave to them before climbing into his car and driving off.

  “Seems like a nice guy,” said Josée. “Quite the charmer.”

  “He’s been that way every time we’ve seen him to date,” said Cathy. “Always the gentleman.”

  Sandy grinned and said, “For lack of a better term, however, I think our new friend may bullshit a little bit.”

  “What makes you say that?” asked Josée.

  “He’s told us he paints,” Sandy explained, “But when I questioned him about it earlier, just before Dennis called, he had no clue what supports were.”

  “Neither do I,” said Josée. “What are they?”

  “Supports are what you paint on,” Sandy replied. “He says he works with oil so his supports generally would be canvas, wood, fibreboard and so on. He looked confused for a second when I asked then started saying he had different easels. That’s when my phone rang and saved him, so to speak.”

  “It could be he just isn’t familiar with the term,” Cathy suggested. “I didn’t know painting surfaces were called supports until you told me.”

  Sandy shrugged. “I guess. He just struck me as the kind of person who would know everything about anything he’s involved with. Now I have the feeling he may be faking it somewhat, trying to come off as someone he isn’t. I could be wrong.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Josée. “After all, look who he’s dealing with. There’s no way he could fool us. We’re too damned smart. If there’s anything off with the man, we’ll pick up on it. Now, we’re going to get out of here and let you do your stuff. We’re going to do a bit of shopping and then head to your place to make something for dinner so we can eat before the opening.”

  “Get what we need for a salad and some potatoes,” said Sandy. “Chris made a ton of duck confit a few weeks ago and suggested we have that for dinner.”

  “Ooh, his duck is to die for,” said Josée. “You see? Allan was right. Chris is a charming gent. I guess our new friend doesn’t bullshit after all.”

  Chapter 14 – Tuesday, October 13, 2015

  Le 1000, 48th Floor, 12:23 p.m.

  “… so I can’t see anyone who would be connected to one of our past operations,” said Leslie. “I thought there might be a link with the Devil’s Delight but those who survived in Vietnam never had a clue who we were and I can’t see them having the reach to contract hits on any of us over here. As for anyone worth mentioning in North America, again, they don’t know we exist and we had nothing to do with their arrests.”

  “Anyhow, Frank had nothing to do with any of the operations you mentioned,” said Dave.

  “You’re right,” Leslie agreed, “But both you and Frank have been involved with some of these gan
gs from the police side of things over the years so it was worth checking if you both had pissed somebody off who Jonathan had annoyed as well. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

  “So, we’ve got nothing?” asked Chris.

  “Not yet but there’s still hope,” Leslie replied. “Starting about ten years ago, I found records in our files indicating our group occasionally assisted Dave’s homicide team.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Jonathan with a smile. “Back when Captain McCall started to realize we weren’t such bad guys after all.”

  “You’ve obviously convinced him since,” said Leslie. “Anyhow, I’ve got sixteen cases which Dave and Frank handled to look into where you, Jon, and Chris, by the way, were involved.”

  “He could never get anything done without my help,” Chris commented.

  “I was showing you how it’s done, smartass,” said Jonathan before turning to Leslie. “Great work, as usual, Les. No sense you having all the fun. Assign us four cases each and we’ll have them reviewed that much sooner.”

  “Will do,” Leslie acknowledged. “By the way, we have nothing so far with that sketch your friend Allan provided but I’ll keep you posted. How’s he doing?”

  “He was in good enough shape to go to the gallery yesterday,” Chris replied. “Sandy had the impression he might not be as artfully inclined as he had suggested.”

  “Josée mentioned something about that,” said Jonathan.

  “What was her take on him?” asked Chris.

  Jonathan laughed. “To quote my lovely wife, ‘He’s like a high society Brit without the accent.’ Very refined, clearly smart, fun to chat with. She could see he might be the type to exaggerate some to impress though he seemed quite sure of himself and didn’t come off as a braggart. He certainly didn’t go on talking about himself. In fact, he avoided doing so and shied away from discussing his work again though he did let on he’s with Simon Fraser. What he did instead was ask questions about the others. To Josée, he didn’t come across as nosy though. It was more like he was really interested in getting to know more about the people he was chatting with.”

  “That pretty much describes what I’ve seen so far,” said Dave.

  “Same here,” Jonathan agreed. “Anyhow, he apparently holds us all in high esteem, from Josée’s flying skills to Chris’ prominence in the business world.”

  “Well, we do agree he’s a smart man,” said Chris, “Although I hadn’t realized I’d had such an impact on him.”

  Leslie grinned and said, “I feel sort of left out here. I’m going to have to meet this guy and impress the hell out of him too.”

  * * * *

  Point-Claire and Senneville, Montreal, Quebec, 3:47 p.m.

  Satisfied her husband was well on the mend, Cathy had agreed to go spend some time in Knowlton with Sandy once Chris had assured her he would take Dave in for a scheduled follow up at Lakeshore General. Following the visit, which had confirmed he was speeding to full recovery, Dave had proposed they drive to his home in Hudson to assure all remained in order.

  They left the hospital and headed west on André-Brunet toward AutoRoute 40. As they approached Hymus Boulevard, a school bus coming from the opposite direction came to a halt, it's flashing stop sign flipping out in preparation of disembarking students. Chris slowed to a stop, as did the three vehicles behind him. However, the fifth automobile, a Jaguar F-Type S, accelerated as the driver swerved to the left, blasting his horn as he sped by.

  "What an asshole," Dave fumed. "If I was still a cop, that son of a bitch wouldn't drive for the next five years."

  Chris smiled and said, "I guess old habits are hard to break, buddy. Pay attention now."

  The bus' stop sign folded in and the Cayenne leaped forward, catching up to the Jaguar as it turned right from Hymus onto St-Charles.

  "Are you going after him?" Dave asked, somewhat rhetorically.

  "The idiot needs to learn," Chris replied.

  The Jag went left onto L'Anse-à-l'Orme Road, heading into the secluded, wooded area of Senneville, exactly where Chris had hoped it would go as he followed. Stepping on the accelerator, he leaned on the horn as he swerved into the opposite lane, quickly overtaking the sports car before cutting in front of it and hitting the brakes.

  The Jaguar's horn blasted as well as the vehicle skidded to a halt onto the gravel shoulder behind the SUV.

  "I'll just be a minute," said Chris, "But you can step out and stretch your legs if you like."

  He pushed open the door and climbed out as the driver of the Jag, a burly, though somewhat overweight man in a suit, did likewise.

  "What's your fucking problem?" the man bellowed, his fists clenched in rage as he took a step forward.

  Standing his ground, Chris smiled and replied, "My fucking problem is, I don't like how you drive."

  The man stared at Chris, incredulous. "Are you fucking serious? You nearly drove me off the road because you don't like how I drive?"

  Chris nodded. "Maybe you're not as stupid as you look. Now, if you apologize, I'll give you a break, but, you have to be sincere or it won't cut it."

  "Is this guy for real?" The man asked of Dave, who stood by the open passenger door of the Cayenne.

  "Big time for real," Dave confirmed. "I'd suggest you apologize."

  "You guys are crazy," the man replied as he pulled out his mobile. "I'm calling the cops."

  A blast sounded, the Jaguar's windshield cracked in a web-like design and Chris said, "Drop your phone, asshole."

  The man looked up in shock to find himself staring at the handgun aimed at his face from a dozen feet away. A growing wet spot appeared at the front of his pants as the phone fell to the pavement.

  "Back away five steps," Chris ordered as Dave looked on.

  "L-look, I-I have money," the man stammered, his hands in the air. "Just don't hurt me."

  "Back away five steps," Chris repeated, "Now."

  The man stumbled backward, tripping on his feet in his panic and falling hard on his butt.

  "Good," said Chris as he approached. "Now, don't move."

  He lowered the gun and fired another shot, putting an end to the mobile’s usefulness then looked up at the man.

  "Listen carefully. From now on, whenever you see a school bus with its stop sign flashing, you will stop and wait for as long as it takes to make sure those kids are safe. Do you understand?"

  The man stared at him wide-eyed and motionless, without a word. Chris sighed and shot out the front left tire then put one into the grill for good measure.

  "Do you understand?" he repeated.

  The man nodded once, twice then repeatedly as tears began to stream down his chubby cheeks.

  "Good," said Chris. "Now, get up and pop the trunk."

  “Look, I’m sorry,” the man sobbed as he scrambled to his feet.

  Chris sighed anew. “You’re starting to annoy me. Will you just pop the trunk already?”

  With an air of despaired resignation, the man reached into his pants pocket and the trunk sprung open.

  “Now we’re talking,” Chris approved. “Drop the fob and get in.”

  “Please just leave me alone,” the man begged.

  Chris gazed at him then raised the gun. The fob hit the pavement and the man climbed into the small trunk, whimpering as he went.

  Chris walked over and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll call for help as soon as we leave,” before slamming the trunk shut and cutting out the man’s sniffling.

  He picked up the fob and tossed onto the driver’s seat, leaving the door ajar then smiled at Dave as he returned to the Cayenne.

  “You certainly showed him,” said Dave as they drove off.

  “He did seem impressed,” Chris agreed.

  “Are you really going to call for help?” asked Dave.

  “Yeah,” Chris replied with a grin, “But considering my slightly unorthodox manner of dealing with the man, I figure it’s best if I contact Jonathan and he can call the cops.”
>
  Chapter 15 – Thursday, October 15, 2015

  Montreal, Quebec, 10:12 a.m.

  Since his return to Montreal, William’s training regimen included a daily five kilometre powerwalk from Place des Arts along St-Catherine Street to the Forum and back again on De Maisonneuve Boulevard. He enjoyed the varied landscape of his selected route, with the seedier, not yet completely gentrified western strip of St-Catherine to the posh, high-rise business and residential towers of the downtown core. The people surrounding him varied as well, ranging from executives in suits to messengers on bikes to folks who called the street their home because life had dealt them a lousy hand.

  Though he had never really liked the homeless – after all, he had gone to jail for killing some – his exposure and involvement with them all his life had made exchanging with them, even helping them, second nature. As a result, he had soon identified their hangouts along his route and always had a ready wad of bills to appease their demands along the way.

  Christ Church Cathedral, possibly due to its central location, was a popular gathering spot for street people and it was not uncommon to have a half dozen or more perched on the low stone wall along the sidewalk, asking for spare change, often by wordlessly shaking their fast food drink cups at passersby, jingling the coins within. William had grown accustomed to being accosted there on his daily walk, likely because he had proved to be a regular, not to mention, generous donor since his first appearance.

  He smiled faintly as he stepped onto the curb on the west side of Union Street, noting from a distance he had been pegged as a target. A wiry, fiftyish woman of the homeless variety left the church wall and headed on a clear trajectory to intercept him.

  “Morning,” she said brightly, stepping in his path and forcing him to stop.

  “Do I know you?” William demanded, annoyed by her bold approach.

  “Name’s Roberta,” she replied with a wink, “But you can call me Bobbie if you like.”