Femme Fatale

by Claude Bouchard

  “Come on, kids,” said Jonathan as he gestured to the twins. “Time to go play on the computers.”

  “But what do you want from us?” Blaise asked. “We haven’t done anything.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” said Chris. “Let’s go see and if you haven’t done anything, we’ll apologize. Both of you clasp your hands behind your heads and go.”

  They headed down the hallway with Leslie in the lead and Jonathan and Chris each escorting one of the twins at gunpoint.

  “Have a seat, gentlemen,” Jonathan ordered once into the computer room. “Arms on the armrests of your chairs, feet on the base.”

  Both complied and Leslie proceeded to secure Leo’s arms and legs to the leather swivel chair with duct tape then turned her attention to his brother.

  “We really liked you, bitch,” Blaise muttered as she worked on him,

  “Watch how you talk to the lady,” Chris growled, cuffing the man on the back of the head.

  Leslie finished binding him then leaned over, her lips inches from his. “Well, I never liked you, asshole. The only reason I came here to hook up with you and your bro was to bust you. It was the plan from the start and you idiots never saw a thing coming because you were too busy thinking of getting into my pants. We’ve been on you for a while and now you’re finished but, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get laid regularly in prison. Now, enough chitchat. Let’s get busy.”

  She moved to a filing cabinet in one corner and began going through folders while Jonathan started examining the contents of the first workstation’s drawers in the opposite corner, both looking for any information which could further incriminate the Perreaults or lead to their associates. Meanwhile, Chris positioned a twin on either side of the second workstation then pulled up a chair for himself, rolling in between their captives before the keyboard. A flick of the mouse and the screen came to life, displaying a password request box.

  “Okay, my friend,” said Chris, turning towards Blaise. “We need to get moving here and I’d appreciate your cooperation. What’s the password?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Blaise muttered, staring straight ahead, stone-faced.

  “Is that all in one word?” Chris asked. “Any underscores, caps?”

  “Idiot, ouch,” said Leo, wincing from a knuckle rap to the side of the head from Jon.

  Sighing as he shook his head, Chris quickly typed a series of characters then hit enter. A background image of a familiar looking, bikini-clad redhead relaxing by the condominium pool appeared on the screen.

  “H-how did you do that?” Blaise stammered. “How did you find the password?”

  “I’ve been spying on you,” Chris replied before glancing over at Leslie, “And it looks like you were being spied on as well, April.”

  Leslie stepped over and gazed at the screen for a moment, taking in the photo of herself.

  “Well, I am a hot babe,” she replied with a shrug, “But do find and delete that as well as any others you might see.”

  “We’ll get things cleaned up,” Chris reassured her then returned his attention to the twins. “Okay, I’ll start by showing you what I do know. Once I’m done, you’ll fill in the missing blanks. Here we go.”

  With the speed and self-assurance of someone who knew where he was going, Chris proceeded to navigate through layers upon layers of folders, describing what the various files of stolen debit and credit card information were as he went. Shocked and dumbfounded, the Perreaults simply stared at the monitor in silence as they listened to Chris’ accurate narrative.

  “So, as you can see,” he concluded after several minutes, “We know exactly what you boys have been up to. I’ve been monitoring your systems for a while and have copies of everything I just showed you and then some, right down to your IP address. You two are in deep shit.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Leo scoffed. “You guys come in here without a warrant, take us at gunpoint, tie us up and we’re in deep shit? How about you with assault with a deadly weapon and kidnapping? We’ll see who’s in deep shit when this is over.”

  Chris turned to Blaise and said, “You must be the brighter of the two because your brother’s a moron.”

  He stood and leaned over towards Leo, bringing his lips close to the young man’s ear. “Listen carefully, asshole. Anyway you look at it, you’re in trouble. If all goes well, the cops will be by here at some point to arrest you and you’ll eventually do some jail time. If all doesn’t go as well, you and your brother might get hurt. If all goes badly, you might even die.”

  Jonathan ceased his searching momentarily to lean over towards Leo’s other ear. “You’d be better off listening to my friend here because everything he said is the truth. If we have to, we will kill you.”

  “Okay, moving right along,” Chris resumed. “We have all this information you stole and we have you two but we don’t have who you’re selling the information to. We can keep on searching, and we will, but I’d like you to start giving me some names.”

  “Find them yourself,” Leo muttered, “Not that you assholes ever will.”

  Chris stared at Leo for a moment then glanced at Leslie who slammed a filing cabinet drawer shut and stormed out of the room muttering, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “Where’s she going?” asked Blaise, the unease evident in his tone.

  “I don’t know,” Jonathan replied, “But I can tell you your brother here pissed her off and someone is going to pay. That’s just how she is. Once you get her going, there’s no stopping her.”

  From afar came the sounds of clattering utensils, breaking glass and various bangs and thuds as Leslie seemingly went on a rampage in the kitchen.

  “What the hell is she doing?” Leo asked, losing some of his bravado.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” Chris shrugged and returned his attention to the keyboard and screen.

  “I’ve had enough of your attitude,” Leslie announced as she entered the room carrying a dishpan which she tossed on the table amidst laptops and other portable equipment. “You were warned about getting hurt if you didn’t cooperate but all you’re giving is your big tough guy act so, let’s see how tough you really are.”

  Picking up the roll of duct tape, she tore off an eight inch strip which she slapped none-too-gently over a surprised Blaise’s mouth.

  “Sorry, buddy,” she explained, “But since your bro is being the smart-ass, I think it’s only fair that he do the talking. The tape will also keep you from screaming too loudly though this all-concrete construction really is rather soundproof.”

  She pivoted his chair ninety degrees counter-clockwise while Chris moved his chair aside then turned Leo’s chair clockwise so the brothers faced each other.

  “No,” said Leslie, shaking her head. “Turn him around while I set up.”

  Chris nodded and spun Leo’s chair in the opposite direction then held it firmly in place as the young man struggled to turn back. Behind him, Leo could hear the raspy, tearing sounds from the roll of duct tape punctuated by the muffled, shrill shrieks emanating from his brother’s throat.

  “What the hell is she doing to my brother?” he demanded.

  “She’s prepping him, buddy,” Chris replied, roughly patting Leo on the cheek. “We’ll be ready for you in a minute.”

  “All set here,” Leslie announced and Chris turned Leo around to face his brother.

  Leslie had wedged a small cutting board between Blaise’s right wrist and the arm of the chair and taped it firmly in place, leaving his immobilized hand lying helplessly atop the protruding end of the board. Leslie stood next to him with her hands behind her back.

  “W-what are you doing?” Leo asked, his voice cracking as he saw terror in his brother’s tear filled eyes.

  “I’ve always felt the punishment should fit the crime,” Leslie replied. “In some places, serious crimes are punishable by death. Some countries still punish thieves by cutting off their hands. I, for one, feel rapists should have their genitals
cut off. Now, the question is, how should computer criminals, little chicken-shit hackers and phishers like you two, be punished?”

  In response to her own question, she brought her right hand forward to display a large, heavy meat cleaver she’d found in the kitchen.

  “Typing would be a bitch without those fingers,” she said, leaning the point of the cleaver on the cutting board by Blaise’s hand. “N’est-ce pas?”

  Blaise moaned while Leo blanched and uttered, “You’re fucking crazy.”

  “Do you really think I’d chop off your brother’s fingers with this?” Leslie asked then laughed as she laid the cleaver down on the surface of the work station. “Why would I do that when I found this in the living room?”

  She opened her left hand and showed them a guillotine-style cigar cutter which slid onto Blaise’s pinkie up passed the second knuckle.

  “They do say smoking is bad for your health,” said Leslie, her gaze steady on Leo. “We want you to tell us where your list of data buyers is. If you don’t, bro here loses his first finger in ten seconds. Count to eleven if you don’t believe me.”

  Blaise emitted a loud moan and a growing wet spot appeared on his faded jeans as fear won over bladder control.

  “Your brother believes me,” Leslie prodded, “And time is running out.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” Leo blurted. “Ventilation grill in my bedroom. It looks like it’s screwed in but if you pull on it, it slides right out. It’s a fake duct. Reach inside and down. There’s a notepad with all our files. Everything you’re looking for. Now get that fucking thing off my brother’s finger.”

  “Fair enough,” Leslie agreed, sliding off the cigar cutter as Jonathan left the room to retrieve the notepad. “But we’ll keep this setup in place for now, just in case you piss me off again.”

  Jonathan returned and handed the notepad to Chris who powered it up as he sat.

  “Password?” he asked.

  “showmethemoney,” Leo replied. “No caps, no spaces.”

  “That intelligence of yours is starting to shine through,” said Chris as he typed and started scanning through various files.

  Within a few minutes, he was satisfied with the information he had seen and copied the appropriate files on a thumb drive.

  “You can stop looking,” he announced to Leslie and Jon. “Our boys have been meticulous in their record keeping. Customer names, dates of delivery, IDs of delivered files, payments received, it’s all here. It will take a few people a few days to match everything up, simply due to volume, but we have all the evidence needed in a very tidy format to bring these guys down.”

  “Excellent,” said Jonathan, nodding in approval. “Are we good to go?”

  “I’ve got what I was missing for my files,” Chris replied, holding up the thumb drive, “And everything the cops need is here. We’re done.”

  “What about us?” asked Leo. “What are you going to do with us?”

  “We’re going to leave you here to wait for the police,” said Jonathan. “I’ll be calling them as soon as we leave so you shouldn’t have to wait too long.”

  “What good is that going to do?” Leo challenged. “They can’t come barging in here without a warrant.”

  “Here’s what you don’t understand,” said Chris, tapping Leo on the head with a knuckle. “The police have a warrant. We’ve been tracking your activity online and have a complete copy of your phishing activities. All the emails you boys sent, all the replies you received, everything.”

  He paused for a moment as he picked up the notepad. “What we didn’t have was this and we felt we could convince you to give it up better than the cops might have.”

  “But the way you got it is illegal,” Leo insisted. “This won’t stand up in court. Our lawyer will make sure of that. How are the cops going to explain how they got it? How are they going to explain why we were held at gunpoint, taped up and threatened?”

  Leslie burst out laughing. “You really are an idiot. Here’s the official story. The cops came here to serve the warrant. They knocked on the door, you answered, they came in, arrested you and gathered up your computer equipment, including the notepad with the customer lists. It was lying right where it is. You weren’t taped up because we were never here. You were never held at gunpoint or threatened in any fashion. There isn’t a scratch on either of you.”

  “This is crazy,” Leo argued. “We’ll be telling our lawyer about this. You won’t get away with it.”

  “Tell your lawyer whatever you want,” said Jonathan. “The cops will say different. Have a nice evening, boys.”

  Chapter 5 – Friday, May 25, 2012

  The Boeing 777-300 came to a halt at Gate B59 of Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport’s Terminal 2A at 8:14 a.m. and Air Canada flight AC870 had arrived, sixteen minutes ahead of schedule.

  Antsy to get off the plane after more than seven hours, Leslie was pleased to be amongst the first who would exit, thanks to Jonathan who had managed to secure her a second row Executive First Suite. Though the flight had been quite comfortable, Leslie had never mastered the art of sleeping on a plane and even the luxurious pod-like unit’s seat, which reclined into a fully flat bed, had not been sufficient to get her dozing. However, she was confident that the excitement of being in Paris in Dominique’s company would give her the energy to make it through her first day.

  Docking procedures completed, the Fasten Seatbelts lights went out, and deplaning began. Five minutes later, Leslie had cleared immigration and was heading to collect her suitcase. Her luck with time held and hers was the third bag out a mere ten minutes after arriving at the carousel. Customs control turned out to be a walkthrough and she was on her way, following the signs to the SNCF station to take the RER train to Paris. An early meeting had prevented Dominique from making it to the airport but they would be meeting at Paris’ Gare du Nord when the train got in.

  Leslie reached the station atrium and descended to the second level where she would find the ticket purchase office as well as ticket vending machines. At the bottom of the escalator, she paused for a moment to pull her credit card out of her money-belt and, as she resumed walking towards the vending machines, she caught a glimpse of a young man motioning towards her to another with a head gesture.

  She reached the closest of several machines and, as she started reading the instructions, the second young man came to her side.

  “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” he said with a smile. “Bienvenue à Paris.”

  “Merci,” she replied with barely a glance, continuing to study the instructions.

  “Your credit card may not work here,” the man continued in French. “It must have a chip.”

  “It does have a chip,” said Leslie, also in fluent French. “Thank you for your help and have a nice day.”

  “Most American cards do not have chips,” the man insisted. “Let me see your card.”

  “Non!” Leslie retorted before rather vulgarly suggesting he leave.

  She completed her transaction then quickly scanned the area for the two suspected pickpockets but could see neither amongst the growing crowd. With suitcase in tow, she made her way across the floor and joined the short queue for the escalator to the train platforms below.

  When came her turn to embark, she swung her suitcase in front of her and rolled it onto the escalator before stepping on. As she did so, she was suddenly jostled from the left and behind as two people scrambled onto the moving stairway, crowding her as they cut into the line.

  “Bande de sauvages,” Leslie snapped, turning to glare at them and realizing they were the same two young men, apparently intent on going for a second thieving attempt.

  “Pardon, madem-ugh,” is all the one to Leslie’s left, the man she’d met, managed to get out before she crashed her right knee into his groin.

  As he toppled forward, Leslie pivoted back and swung her right elbow sharply behind her, connecting solidly with her second assailant’s testicles. The crushing blow caused him to do
uble over, only to be met with an elbow to the forehead which sent him sprawling backwards. Screams and shouts erupted as people on the escalator were disturbed by the commotion, a few people stumbling and grappling to regain their balance.

  “Ce sont des voleurs,” yelled Leslie. “They’re thieves, pickpockets.”

  The disturbance had attracted the attention of security personnel with one guard rapidly approaching along the platform while three others clambered down the stairs alongside the escalator.

  “Quel est le problème?” demanded one guard, pulling Leslie’s first moaning victim to his feet.

  “These two are the problem,” Leslie replied. “This one tried to get his hands on my credit card at the vending machines and then they cornered me on the escalator.”

  “Did they hurt you or take anything?” asked another guard who now had a firm grip on the second assailant.

  “No,” said Leslie after checking her money belt. “When they came at me on the escalator, I defended myself.”

  “Quite well, it seems,” commented the first guard with a smile as he glanced at his prisoner who was still bent over, clutching his crotch.

  “Wait just a minute,” an onlooker called out in a Texan twang. “Mah wallet’s gone.”

  “Fouillez-les,” the lead guard ordered.

  Two guards proceeded to frisk the young men while a third went through the contents of the shoulder bag and packsack they had carried. Within moments, half a dozen wallets, four passports and a handful of loose credit and debit cards were found and the two young thieves were whisked away.

  Though invited to do so, Leslie decided against pressing charges, not wishing to hamper her vacation plans, particularly since she had suffered no losses. Enough stolen property had been found to ensure difficult times ahead for the two light-fingered men. The Texan had been pleased to note his wallet was amongst those found and had gladly agreed to accompany the guards to file a formal complaint.

  The pickpocket adventure over, Leslie was soon on the RER B train for the half hour trek from Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport to the Gare du Nord in Paris. The commute was timely and uneventful and Leslie was soon being greeted by a cheerful and excited Dominique who led the way to the underground parking. A BMW C650GT scooter being Dominique’s usual mode of transport, she had commandeered a Renault Fluence from the company fleet for the occasion. Management status had its perks.