Getting Even

by Claude Bouchard

  Getting Even

  A novel by

  Claude Bouchard

  GETTING EVEN

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 2016 by Claude Bouchard

  Cover design by Luke Romyn

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  Published by Claude Bouchard

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 – Wednesday, May 6, 2015

  Chapter 2 – Tuesday, August 4, 2015

  Chapter 3 – Friday, August 7, 2015

  Chapter 4 – Monday, September 14, 2015

  Chapter 5 – Wednesday, September 30, 2015

  Chapter 6 – Friday, October 2, 2015

  Chapter 7 – Monday, October 5, 2015

  Chapter 8 – Tuesday, October 6, 2015

  Chapter 9 – Wednesday, October 7, 2015

  Chapter 10 – Thursday, October 8, 2015

  Chapter 11 – Saturday, October 10, 2015

  Chapter 12 – Sunday, October 11, 2015

  Chapter 13 – Monday, October 12, 2015

  Chapter 14 – Tuesday, October 13, 2015

  Chapter 15 – Thursday, October 15, 2015

  Chapter 16 – Tuesday, October 20, 2015

  Chapter 17 – Friday, October 30, 2015

  Chapter 18 – Sunday, November 1, 2015

  Chapter 19 – Monday, November 2, 2015

  Chapter 20 – Tuesday, November 3, 2015

  Chapter 21 – Wednesday, November 4, 2015

  Chapter 22 – Friday, November 6, 2015

  Chapter 1 – Wednesday, May 6, 2015

  Stanley Park, Vancouver, BC, 5:47 a.m.

  “Are you sure he’ll even be there?” Dr. Jansen grumbled as they cruised along Stanley Park Drive. “It’s damned early.”

  “He should be,” Webster replied, veering into the parking lot. “The man doesn’t talk much but I do know he loves sunrises and boats. Anyhow, we’ll find out in a couple of minutes and, if he’s not here, we’ll come back tomorrow.”

  Jansen sighed. “Let’s hope he is here because it’s damned early.”

  Webster pulled to a stop and cut the engine before turning to the psychiatrist. “You’re the one who insisted on meeting him before we moved forward. I could have simply brought him in instead.”

  “I’m the one who’s going to be dealing with him for the next few months,” Jansen snapped. “Don’t you think that’s a good enough reason for me to decide if he’s suitable or not?”

  “Absolutely,” Webster agreed. He opened his door and climbed out of the minivan then leaned in and added, “That being the case, it’s also a great reason for you to stop whining about the damned time of day.”

  Jansen nodded and offered a faint smile. “Point taken. Sorry, I’m not much of a morning person.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Webster replied, sliding the side door open to retrieve a Tim Hortons bag from the back seat. “And if it makes you feel better, I’ve been down here most mornings for the last two weeks earning the man’s trust.”

  Jansen laughed and pushed his door open. “Will you stop whining? Let’s go find this Larry so you can sleep in tomorrow.”

  “He should be just a couple of minutes down that way,” said Webster, handing Jansen the bag of food before pointing east as they headed toward the seawall. “And I’ve got him going by the name of William now so don’t call him Larry.”

  “Good work,” Jansen approved. “Any problems convincing him to go along with that?”

  “Not really,” Webster replied. “From his few visits at the shelter, I already knew he was paranoid and when I suggested we change his name to protect his identity, he was all for it. In fact, he even told one of his buddies, some guy named Tripper who came by last week while I was here, to call him William.”

  “Does he have a lot of these buddies?” Jansen questioned with concern.

  “Tripper’s the only one I’ve seen,” said Webster, “And only that one time. Don’t worry, Doc, calling this guy an introvert is an understatement. He comes out to see his sunrise because there’s nobody around this early then he’s back in the woods hiding.”

  They fell silent as they reached the walkway along the seawall and headed eastward, squinting as the sun made its appearance above the cityscape across the water. A hundred yards ahead, a man sat on a park bench, his gazed fixed on the sunrise.

  “That’s him?” Jansen asked under his breath.

  “Yep,” Webster murmured. “Fall back a bit. We don’t want to spook him.”

  Jansen slowed his pace, allowing his colleague to take the lead as they approached their destination.

  “Good morning, William,” Webster called out, still some fifteen feet away from the bench.

  The homeless man turned with a start, relaxed as he recognized Webster then tensed and quickly stood as he spotted Jansen a bit farther back.

  “Who’s that?” he demanded fearfully, taking a couple of steps backward.

  “It’s okay, William,” Webster soothed, stopping in place as Jansen did likewise. “He’s my friend.”

  “I dunno,” William mumbled, rocking in place and hugging himself as he glanced at Jansen repeatedly while avoiding eye contact. “Don’t like it.”

  “You have nothing to worry about, my friend,” Webster reassured, keeping his tone calm and friendly. “I told him about our breakfasts out here and he wanted to meet you.”

  “Don’t like people, Web,” William muttered, still rocking nervously. “Don’t like ‘em.”

  “You like me, don’t you?” Webster prodded in jest.

  William gave him a quick glance and grin. “Yeah, Web. You’re good.”

  “Well then, I’m sure you’ll like Doc too,” Webster promised. “He brought us some Timmy’s, buddy.”

  At the mention of food, William dared a brief peek at Jansen and murmured, “Doughnuts?”

  Jansen took a step forward and held up the bag. “Yes, doughnuts, but that’s not all. Breakfast sandwiches, coffee and hash browns.”

  “Wow,” Webster exclaimed, “That’s a feast. You hungry, William?”

  The homeless man looked at the bag in Jansen’s hands and nodded.

  “Then I suggest we move to the dining room,” said Webster.

  Across the walking path behind the bench was a green metal utility box of the type used to house electrical components. Some six feet long by five feet wide and four feet high, the box’s flat surface had become their breakfast counter whenever Webster dropped by to visit William. With Webster leading the way, they walked the short distance to the box where Jansen proceeded to empty the bag of its contents.

  “Web told me you liked both the sausage and the bacon so I got you one of each,” he said, sliding two wrapped sandwiches over.

  William nodded wordlessly, pulling the sandwiches close and pushing one to the side, before unwrapping the first and biting into it. He accepted the two hash brown patties offered in silence, setting one aside with the waiting sandwich then looked gratefully at the large coffee which was placed before him.

  “Milk, not cream, and two sugars, right?” asked Jansen.

  “Yes, thank you,” William whispered shyly, allowing his gaze to stray up to Jansen for a second.

  “You’re welcome, my friend,” Jansen replied. “Web told me about you and I wan
ted to do my share to help you out. Now, eat up because this stuff is barely warm as it is.”

  They fell silent, which required no effort for William, and concentrated on eating their breakfast. Jansen watched as the homeless man alternated from his sandwich to his hash brown to his coffee, systematically working his way through his first course. Once done, he began to carefully fold the sandwich wrapper though the task seemed to become more demanding with each passing second. Clearly annoyed with the less than meticulous result, he then tried to slide the lopsided wad into the empty hash brown sleeve and failed miserably, missing the sleeve’s opening by several inches.

  “Are you okay, William?” asked Webster, gripping the homeless man’s arm as he suddenly swayed.

  “Sleepy,” William mumbled, dropping the wrappers as he tried to steady himself against the utility box.

  “I think you’d better sit or lie down, buddy,” Webster urged, helping the man down onto grass. “I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

  “M’all fuzzy,” William slurred as Webster laid him onto his back.

  “Just relax. We’ll take care of you,” Webster replied. He waited ten seconds or so and asked, “How are you doing now, William?”

  With no response forthcoming, he rose to his feet and turned to Jansen, who had already collected the remnants of their breakfast, and handed him his keys. “Go get the van. I’ll look after him.”

  Jansen nodded and hurried off while Webster scanned the area to ensure it remained deserted. Satisfied there were no witnesses, he pulled the unconscious William to his feet, flung him over his shoulder and quickly carried him up the short incline through the trees and foliage toward the road beyond. He completed the ascent and propped William into the wedge of a large, conveniently V-trunked tree then glanced in both directions for any signs of early morning traffic. None. Good.

  From the direction of the parking lot came the sound of an engine which he believed, and hoped, was the minivan. He gazed toward the lot’s exit and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the blue Town & Country appear. The vehicle slowed slightly upon reaching the road then turned and sped toward Webster. Returning to William, he lifted him onto his shoulder again and turned around just as the minivan pulled up. To avoid wasting precious time, Jansen had opened the sliding door, allowing Webster to climb in without delay. The door slid shut behind him and the van started moving as he lay William onto the full rear seat.

  “That went well,” said Jansen as Webster made his way over the centre console and into the front passenger seat.

  “Piece of cake,” Webster agreed then added with a grin, “The time of day helped.”

  “Can’t disagree,” Jansen conceded.

  “So, William meets your approval?” asked Webster.

  “I gave him the doped up java, didn’t I?” said Jansen. “Yeah, at first glance, he’s even better than I expected. Appearance-wise, he’s close to perfect and I doubt much will be required to further tone down his outgoing personality. We might be able to get things moving more quickly than expected. Excellent work, Webster.”

  “Glad it worked out,” Webster replied. “When can I expect to get paid?”

  Jansen reached into his jacket and produced a thick, sealed envelope. “It’s all there.”

  “Thanks,” said Webster. “Let me know if you need me for anything else.”

  “I could use a hand over the summer while I prep him,” said Jansen, “And you’ll definitely be involved once he’s ready to go.”

  Chapter 2 – Tuesday, August 4, 2015

  Kent Institution, Agassiz, BC, 1:42 p.m.

  “I hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass,” muttered Craig Holt, Kent’s warden, as they watched the two uniformed attendants wheeling the patient strapped onto a stretcher toward the waiting ambulance.

  “A bit late in the game for second thoughts, Craig,” murmured Dr. Oscar Jansen, head of psychiatry at the Pacific Institution in Abbotsford. “I didn’t hear you bitching about that million you got.”

  “Right, a million,” Holt snorted. “Let me remind you that only a hundred grand has been transferred so far.”

  Jansen pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s what we agreed to from the start, Craig. I don’t know what your problem is suddenly but I trust you won’t become a point of concern.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Jansen,” Holt hissed. “I just don’t want to end up on the other side of the bars in a place like this.”

  “Nobody’s threatening you and you have nothing to worry about,” Jansen replied. “It’s not the first time an inmate breaks down over time and transfers over to psychiatric. We have all the paperwork to back this up and he’s now simply one less prisoner for you to worry about.”

  “You damned well better be right,” said Holt.

  “Are you threatening me now, Craig?” Jansen demanded.

  “I don’t want this to blow up in our faces, Doctor,” Holt snapped.

  “It won’t,” Jansen affirmed. “Just calm the hell down because everything is covered.”

  “We’re ready to roll here, Doc,” Webster, one of the attendants, called.

  “Let’s keep in touch, Warden,” said Jansen before striding off, not waiting for a response.

  He reached the ambulance and climbed in the back with the patient. Webster closed the doors behind him as the vehicle’s diesel engine rumbled to life and, minutes later, they had gone through the security checkpoints and left the penitentiary grounds.

  “How are you doing, William?” Jansen asked.

  The patient, until then having seemed catatonic, even to the trained eye, turned his head toward Jansen and smiled. “I’ve had worse days. By the way, you should call me Allan going forward.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Jansen. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” said Allan. “Would you mind setting me loose?”

  “Absolutely,” Jansen replied, getting busy at unfastening the restraints. “Just wanted to get out of there first.”

  “Of course,” Allan agreed. “So, clearly, everything went according to plan?”

  “Yes, and that’s mainly thanks to you,” said Jansen. “How you managed to transform yourself from a walking, talking man to what appeared to be a quasi-vegetable in six months was quite a feat.”

  “Thank you,” Allan replied, sitting up and bowing his head. “It had to be done if I wanted to get out of there and there was nobody who could do it for me. It actually became quite amusing as time went by. I commend you for keeping a straight face during your consultations.”

  Jansen smiled and said, “To be honest, if it hadn’t been for the occasional moments when no one was around and you showed your lucidity, I would have believed you had really lost it.”

  “Well, I didn’t and now I’m out,” said Allan. “You’re confident with the rest of the plan?”

  “I am,” Jansen confirmed. “You’ll see for yourself in a couple of minutes. One thing I do want to mention though is Holt. He’s become pretty antsy with this and I think he might crack.”

  Allan looked pensive and replied, “I’ll have to think about that. It won’t do me any good if his conscience gets the better of him.”

  “I’ll keep tabs on him as best as I can,” Jansen promised, “But it’s not like I work side by side with the man.”

  “I understand,” said Allan. “Let’s take this one step at a time.”

  The small door leading to the vehicle’s front cabin opened and Webster announced, “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  Seconds later, the ambulance slowed and left the pavement of Route 9 in exchange for a dirt and gravel surface. They rolled slowly on for a minute or so then came to a halt for several seconds before moving a short distance and stopping again.

  “Prepare to be amazed,” said Jansen as the rumble of the diesel ceased.

  The doors of the front cabin opened and closed and, seconds later, the rear doors swung wide, revealing the inside of an old barn beyond.
Allan stepped out and peered around in the dim light offered by a couple of bare bulbs hanging from the rafters overhead. The barn was empty save for the ambulance, a tan Toyota Camry parked off to one side… and a man bound to the small camping cot on which he lay.

  Allan approached the man, who seemed to be asleep, and bent over to examine him, his facial features in particular. After a moment, he stood and turned to Jansen.

  “Please pardon my language when I say, Jesus fucking Christ.”

  “That’s what I thought too when I first saw him,” said Jansen. “The resemblance is so close that I decided any surgery was unwarranted.”

  Allan gazed back down at the man’s face and said, “It’s like looking in a mirror. I commend you for your efforts.”

  “The credit goes to Webster,” said Jansen. “He traced him from the records at the Enright shelter in Vancouver, ironically enough.”

  “Beautiful,” said Allan, giving Webster a thumbs up. “What’s he like when he’s awake?”

  “Like you’ve been recently except he’s not faking it,” Jansen replied. “He was almost there when we found him and a couple of months of chemical therapy finished the job.”

  “Any danger of blood test results raising questions?” Allan asked with concern.

  “No, he’s clean now,” said Jansen, “Except for the same stimulants we’ve been giving you.”

  “Any chance he’ll recover?” Allan questioned.

  Jansen shook his head. “None. To put it in layman’s terms, his brain’s fried. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Allan nodded in approval. “You’ve done excellent work, Doctor. Thank you.”

  “Well, we’re not done yet,” said Jansen, glancing at his watch. “We have to get the new William here to Abbotsford so we’d better get moving. There’s a suitcase with some clothes and stuff for you on the backseat of the Camry. There’s also a phone and a wallet with cash, credit cards and identification in there as well. The keys are in the ignition.”