Getting Even: A Vigilante Series crime thriller

by Claude Bouchard

  “I could also call you rude,” William snapped. “Among other things.”

  Roberta laughed and said, “Oh, you are a smart one. I seen you chatting with others and they told me you had a quick mind.”

  “They did, did they?” William replied, relaxing his attitude. “What else did they tell you?”

  “Hmm, let me see,” said Roberta, making a show of thinking. “That you’re a bit gruff but really not a nasty dude and that you been good at helping out with a coupla bucks here and there.”

  “So, you just expect me to give you some money?” William retorted in mock horror. “Have you ever heard of working, you lazy leech?”

  Roberta grinned and replied, “I’m working right now, mister, and dealing with snotty folks like you is a damned tough job.”

  William laughed and said, “I can see why you might have trouble finding a real job. So, tell me, Roberta. Why should I give you a coupla bucks?”

  Roberta’s expression turned sad as she glanced over her shoulder at a younger woman she had been sitting with when William arrived.

  “That little lady there is April,” she said, lowering her tone a bit. “She’s had it rough, a lot tougher than me and I kinda look after her. Trying to build up her confidence and making sure nobody abuses her no more.”

  William gazed at the young woman for a moment and said, “That’s a shame. She a lovely looking lady.”

  “Yeah, but looks don’t count for much when you’re a scared kid,” Roberta replied. “She’s shy as hell and wouldn’t last a week by herself. Anyhow, any cash you could spare would help put another meal in her stomach, and mine. Also, it’s getting colder with damned winter coming so I been saving some to get her a warmer coat.”

  William looked at April once again before turning back to Roberta. “Is this true or are you just making up a sob story to pull at my heartstrings?”

  Roberta’s expression turned hard as she replied, “If that’s what you think, keep your fucking money, you heartless bastard,” before turning and stomping off.

  “Roberta, wait,” William called.

  She stopped and turned, glaring at him. “What?”

  “Don’t be so uptight,” said William, holding out two twenties. “I was simply making sure.”

  “And pissing me off while you were at it,” Roberta countered as she took the cash. “But thank you. This will go a long way.”

  “You’re welcome,” said William with a smile, “You lazy leech.”

  Roberta smiled back and said, “See you later, you heartless bastard.”

  Chapter 16 – Tuesday, October 20, 2015

  Sainte-Anne-de-Bellevue, Quebec, 1:34 p.m.

  “Good afternoon, Sean,” said William as he slid into the booth at the Riverside Pub. “I see you started without me.”

  “We had said one o’clock,” Wollam retorted.

  “Well, you had said one,” William replied, “But then you selected this place, as far as possible from prying eyes, so I figured getting here late would allow the lunch crowd to leave and further reduce the chances of someone seeing you with me.”

  “I, uh, I’m not trying to avoid you, William,” his lawyer stammered as his face reddened.

  “Ah, ah, Allan,” William corrected.

  “Sorry, Allan,” said Wollam. “Old habits die hard, even with that new face of yours.”

  “You’ll have to be more careful,” William warned, “Especially since we visit so rarely.”

  They paused their conversation as a waiter approached but the interruption was brief with William requesting a Caesar salad and a glass of Chablis before sending the man on his way.

  “So, Sean, how have you been?” asked William, apparently done with his taunting.

  “Fine, uh, Allan,” Wollam replied. “I’m keeping busy, though I’ve cut back quite a bit with my usual cases because managing the Foundation has been taking more of my time.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed your billing has jumped considerably,” William commented. “I trust you’re not milking a charitable organization for the benefit of your firm.”

  Wollam’s tone darkened. “Let me remind you, Allan, that the chairman who used to run the place is no longer available due to health issues. I’ve had to cover for him in his absence.”

  “Yes, of course,” William agreed, feigning sorrow. “Poor fellow turned into a vegetable, so I understand. Still, I’m certain you realize it remains in your best interest to keep the Foundation’s administrative costs at a reasonable level.”

  “I fully realize that,” Wollam replied, his smile cold, “But what exactly is your point, Allan? Otherwise, you’ll relieve me of my duties?”

  “The Foundation is your client,” said William. “It could decide to seek representation elsewhere at any time if unhappy with your firm’s services.”

  The lawyer gazed at William for a moment while cutting into his steak. Spearing the bite with his fork, he pointed it at his client and replied, “Should Enright pull out of his comatose state in that asylum in BC long enough to fire my ass, I’ll accept his decision and go.”

  “Now, Sean, you’re smarter than that,” William murmured. “Never think you’re in charge because of my supposed incapacity. If my conscience suddenly got the better of me and I turned myself in, we would soon find ourselves both living in government run accommodations which leave much to be desired. As you know, I speak from nine years of experience.”

  Wollam sighed and said, “Allan, haven’t we already agreed enough times that we have each other by the balls? You wonder and whine about my reluctance to see you? It’s because you’ve become a pain in the ass. I don’t appreciate your threats or condescension and have done nothing to merit either. You’ve become paranoid about the agreements we made which were necessary for your escape plan to work. If you’re supposed to be a goddamned turnip in a prison psych ward, you can’t be personally calling the shots. That’s what you mandated me to do and I’ve been doing the job according to your demands. I’ve taken huge risks to help get you out and I have no intention of doing anything to jeopardize my freedom, nor yours. I certainly have no interest in trying to control you or the Foundation.”

  “I appreciate your candor,” William replied, his smugness gone, “And I apologize for being a pain. I’ve been working at adjusting to my new life and it’s more difficult than I imagined it would be. For one, I ignored the fact that I would never again be who I used to be.”

  “I understand that and I’ll do what I can to help,” said Wollam. “I just don’t see how this antagonism can serve any purpose in our relationship. It can’t lead to any good and will only make our working together that much harder. Let me do what you’re paying me for, keep an eye on the books to make sure I’m not ripping you off and learn to enjoy your new life.”

  William nodded and said, “You’re right, of course and, once again, my apologies. I simply need to get the hang of not being in charge.”

  “You’re still in charge,” Wollam reassured him. “You’re just having me do the dirty work for you.”

  “Ah, how little you know,” William replied with a wink.

  “Stay out of trouble,” his lawyer warned.

  “Nothing to worry about,” said William. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve made new friends and have even been helping support some of the city’s homeless since returning to Montreal.”

  Chapter 17 – Friday, October 30, 2015

  Montreal, Quebec, 10:27 a.m.

  Though William’s mind never stopped churning, he had long determined he did his best thinking while physically active. There was just something about working his body which stimulated his thought process, allowing him to reach further and reason more profoundly than he could in a relaxed state. The benefits of this practice were twofold; sustained maintenance of his physical being and much more finely tuned thoughts, decisions and plans.

  On this particular morning, as he weaved through and dodged around the slower pedestrian traffic which litter
ed his powerwalk route, his thoughts were on poison. The idea had dawned on him the previous evening and he still wondered why it hadn’t come to him sooner.

  When invited to dinner at the Barrys’ home three weeks earlier, he had suggested hosting a payback dinner to which all had readily agreed. He had mentioned the subject again the following evening and Chris had confirmed he planned to collect on the offer. Since, he had managed to run into the man a few times and repeated his intent to cook for the group which Chris had confirmed he looked forward to. On each occasion, William’s minding had been on further solidifying his relationship with his new ‘friends’ but had not once thought of using the meal as a weapon.

  It had been clear that Dave was invited from the start and Jonathan had been added to the guest list a week earlier while chatting at the gym. This left Frank Bakes to work into the equation which William was confident could be accomplished without too much difficulty. Treating his four targets to a gastronomical feast of poisonous proportions simply rang of brilliance.

  It saddened William slightly as he considered the men’s spouses might also pay for their husbands’ actions with their lives. However, collateral damage could not always be avoided and, if this turned out to be the case, he could certainly live with it. He had learned that Sandy, Cathy and Josée were spending most of their time in the Eastern Townships in recent weeks so perhaps they would be spared. In fact, this might provide him with the opportunity to organize an impromptu ‘boys’ night’ to settle his score.

  The first obstacle to his plan, however, was the required poison itself, a subject he knew nothing about. He would have to research extensively because, when the time came, the only acceptable result would be certain death for all. However, since all he currently had to do was continue building the friendship and trust with his targets, finding adequate research time would not be a problem. After all, as he had told them, the reason he was here was to conduct research.

  His thoughts and powerwalk were suddenly interrupted as he reached Christ Church Cathedral and Roberta stepped before him, effectively blocking his path. A sly grin enhanced her dirty but otherwise attractive features as she shook her worn Dunkin’ Donuts paper cup in William’s face, rattling the few coins it contained.

  “Gimme some money,” she demanded, the opening line of what had become their routine during multiple encounters over the last few weeks.

  William let out an exaggerated sigh. “Damn it, Roberta. Get a job, you drunken beggar.”

  “I’m not drunk,” Roberta replied, failing in her attempt at looking indignant.

  “That’s right,” William scoffed. “You’re just lazy.”

  “And you’re a cold bastard,” Roberta rebutted, beaming.

  “Yes, you’ve expressed your opinion in the past,” said William as he looked around. “On your own today? Where’s your girlfriend, April?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend, you pervert,” Roberta replied, rolling her eyes. “Why you asking? You got the hots for her?”

  “Well, she’s certainly a pretty young lady,” said William with a wink.

  Roberta laughed and said, “I’ll tell her when I see her but I don’t think she wants an old fart like you. Now, how about you gimme some money?”

  William gazed at her with a smile before pulling a ten dollar bill from his hip pack and dropping it into the cup.

  “There, you damned leech,” he said with another wink. “Now, get out of my face.”

  Roberta chuckled then moved aside and said. “See ya later, ya lousy bastard. Have a great weekend.”

  * * * *

  Montreal, Quebec, 6:42 p.m.

  “Why is finding the right poison so difficult?” William muttered as he stared at the monitor.

  Following his morning trek, he had returned to the apartment he still kept downtown, intent on taking the time required to research potential poisons he might use to eliminate his targets with what he hoped would be the highlight of his many culinary creations over the years.

  Sticking to his plan, he had spent almost eight hours surfing the web, digging to find one or more elements which would satisfy his requirements. Initially confident he would quickly identify a suitable product, he had soon realized the rarity of items matching his search criteria: easy to find and deadly. As logic would have it, one could not simply walk into a corner store and purchase a bag of arsenic, a bottle of strychnine or a package of cyanide tablets.

  Though he considered himself an intelligent man and quite knowledgeable in many areas, science had never been his forte and his frustration had grown as he’d tried to understand the toxicity of various household products, chemical compounds and poisonous plants. At issue was also the seeming lack of adequate sources of reliable information about poisons. Though he had never visited them himself, he had often heard of websites which offered all one needed to know to build bombs or manufacture meth. Why was there such discrimination against poisons?

  With a sigh, he closed the web browser and powered down his computer. His brain had absorbed as much as it could for the day and it was time to return to the Nuns’ Island condo. He would continue his research over the weekend which would include reading two books he had downloaded, both reference guides for fiction writers. He simply hoped the poisons described within would not only lead to fictional death.

  Chapter 18 – Sunday, November 1, 2015

  Nuns’ Island, Montreal, Quebec, 10:57 p.m.

  William’s weekend had been a productive, albeit rather boring one. Though he had hoped for yet another ‘chance’ encounter with Chris, it was not to be. Both of the Barrys’ parking slots had been vacant upon his arrival Friday evening and had remained so for the weekend, suggesting they were away, likely at their Knowlton home. With little else to distract him, he had pursued his poison research, determined to learn enough to move ahead with his plan.

  Through painstaking perseverance, he had forged ahead and slowly compiled a list of potential killers which he would hopefully manage to find the following day. If successful, his next step would be to learn how to work with these poisons without killing himself followed by preparing a menu worthy of a last supper for the four men who had ruined the last nine years of his life.

  A lingering concern nagged at him however as he prepared to turn in for the night. What if, for all his efforts, the toxicity of the poisons he planned to serve proved to be insufficient? Of course, he had no intention of remaining in the area following the dinner and would cease to go by the name of Allan Ryerson. Other identities had already been prepared for the future so, if any of his victims survived, they would never find him. However, for his own satisfaction, the possibility of their survival could not be an option. He would have to find a way to make sure his concoctions were worthy of his ultimate objective.

  Chapter 19 – Monday, November 2, 2015

  Montreal, Quebec, 3:36 p.m.

  Contrary to the previous days, when frustration had plagued him throughout his research of poisons, the actual acquisition of his selections had been a walk in the park, quite literally, in fact, for some of them.

  His first stop had been at a soap making supply shop where he had purchased a kilogram of sodium hydroxide, more commonly known as lye, as easily as if he had been buying a bag of apples. In fact, while the clerk had suggested he’d get more bang for his buck with the four kilogram format, she hadn’t offered the slightest warning about the product’s highly caustic nature.

  Visits to a few other stores in the neighbourhood had soon allowed him to add isopropanol (rubbing alcohol), ethylene glycol (antifreeze) and naphthalene (moth flakes) to his needed inventory. His final stop had been at a local bulk shop for a bagful of uncooked red kidney beans.

  His errands complete, he had headed to Montreal’s famed Botanical Garden where, under the guise of a tourist, he had hoped to find several other items on his wish list. There, he had spent a few hours, touring the outside gardens, yet unencumbered with snow, and vast greenhouses of the one hundr
ed and ninety acre complex. His time and efforts and not been wasted as he had come away with clippings of rhododendron, oleander, yew, death camas and fool’s parsley among others.

  Upon his returned to the downtown apartment, he had turned his attention to finding appropriate menu items to create with his newly acquired ingredients. Perhaps a welcoming tropical fruit punch would be in order, with isopropanol and ethylene glycol to give it its kick. A lye-based sweet and sour soup might do well as a first course. A tainted chicken dish could follow, served with an undercooked red kidney bean salad. He had read how cooking the beans at an insufficient temperature actually increased the toxin concentration up to fivefold versus that at their raw state. The poisonous plant inventory he had gathered could be ground and used as herbs and seasonings while naphthalene-laced chocolate mint brownies or fudge would surely please those with a sweet tooth.

  He read over his notes a final time, typing in a minor detail here or there while ensuring he had saved the links to the recipes he was considering. Satisfied with his preliminary menu, he shut down the computer, his work done for the day. Ironically, the three week old chicken breasts he’d neglected to throw out would be put to good use. In the morning, he would go pick up whatever additional ingredients he needed and start experimenting in the kitchen.

  For now, however, it was time to go. Though he hadn’t played in the last nine years, he had once been rather adept on the tennis court. He had mentioned this to Chris the previous week who had promptly suggested they get together for a few friendly sets to see if William still had it in him. Though initially reticent, following a few minutes of friendly insistence on Chris’ part, William had agreed. A court awaited them at five o’clock that afternoon, providing William with yet another opportunity to further their friendship.