Getting Even

by Claude Bouchard

  “Strange or suspicious in what way?” William questioned.

  “Let’s start with, did you see anyone?” Chris suggested.

  “Well, I did take a walk around the building upon my arrival,” said William, looking pensive. “I was considering renting a unit and wanted to see what the place looked like. There was a young man sitting on a bench among the trees near the parking lot but I didn’t pay him much attention.”

  “What did he look like?” asked Jonathan. “Whatever you can remember.”

  “Let me see,” said William, scratching his chin in thought. “He wasn’t a teenager, older than that so perhaps in his twenties. He was seated so I couldn’t say how tall he might have been but he wasn’t heavy-set. Blue jeans and a dark jacket, a windbreaker or possibly leather. It seems to me he wore a hat, like a baseball cap, dark as well. As I said, I didn’t really pay much attention to him. He was simply sitting there, smoking a cigarette. Nothing strange or suspicious as you suggested.”

  “Was he still there when you left?” Chris asked.

  William shrugged. “If he was, I didn’t notice. I actually only saw him once I had started my walk along the side of the building. I believe the trees shielded him from view from the parking lot. When I came around from the other side, I stepped in to have a look at the lobby and you came in shortly after, Jonathan.”

  “How long were you there after I arrived?” Jonathan enquired.

  “Less than a minute,” William replied. “I had seen what I could of the property and had another building I wished to have a look at in Laval. I decided this location better suited my needs so I made an appointment to see some available units and moved in Thursday.”

  “May I ask what kind of car you drive?” asked Chris.

  “Uh, a 2010 Sonata,” William replied. “I preferred buying a reliable vehicle at a reasonable price and selling it when I’m done over renting at exorbitant costs.”

  “Makes sense,” said Jonathan. “What colour is your car?”

  “Grey,” said William, becoming visibly uncomfortable. “Would you mind telling me what this is all about? I suddenly feel like I’m being interrogated and I do not appreciate it at all.”

  “We’re sorry, Allan,” said Jonathan, “And that’s a fair question. When I left Chris’ place on Wednesday, about half an hour after we saw each other, someone took some shots at me out in the parking lot.”

  “Oh my goodness,” William exclaimed. “Do you mean shots with a gun?”

  “Yes, shots with a gun,” Jonathan confirmed.

  “My lord,” William gasped. “That’s horrible. Were you hurt?”

  Jonathan touched the scab on his forehead. “Just barely. Obviously, it could have been much worse.”

  “Indeed, you could have been killed,” William agreed. “Frankly, I’m shocked. One of the reasons I selected this neighbourhood was safety. Are such shootings a common occurrence around here?”

  “Not at all,” Chris replied. “We’ve had our unit for years and this is the first time something like this has happened. You really have nothing to worry about, Allan.”

  “I beg to differ,” William argued. “Our friend here was shot at and could have been killed. I would say that’s cause for worry.”

  “What Chris means is,” Jonathan explained, “My being shot at is not reflective of the neighbourhood.”

  “If that’s the case, why did it happen?” William demanded. “Is someone trying to kill you?”

  “We don’t know why it happened and have no idea who the shooter was,” said Jonathan. “It’s being investigated and I intend to keep my eyes open going forward. I just don’t believe you should be concerned of any danger in or around your new home.”

  William eyed them and replied, “You seemed convinced of that which, if I may say, tells me you know more about all of this than you’re letting on.”

  “In what way?” Chris questioned.

  “Your insistence on the absence of danger in the area,” said William. “I sense you don’t believe this was a random act of violence which would mean you feel it was somehow planned. If so, why? Why would someone want to kill you? Who would want to kill you?”

  Jonathan offered a faint smile. “I wish I had the answers to those questions.”

  “You have no ideas?” William insisted. “There are no enemies you can think of who would actually try to cause you harm?”

  “Nobody comes to mind,” said Jonathan, “And, believe me, I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Perhaps someone you’ve dealt with professionally,” William suggested. “A business dealing gone sour. What line of work are you in?”

  Jonathan grinned and said, “As much as I’d like to bore you with details about my professional life, confidentiality forces me to spare you of such misery.”

  “Touché,” William replied with a grin of his own. “Anyhow, I certainly hope this is resolved soon, for your sake.” His expression turned to one of angry concern as he added, “I suppose I might be putting myself danger if I’m seen associating with you.”

  Jonathan gazed about the small snack bar, noting only the young clerk behind the counter and a familiar looking couple at a table off in the corner. “I’d say you’re safe for now although you might want to stay away from me when we leave.”

  “Nonsense,” William scoffed. “I’ve never been one to run and hide and I’m certainly too set in my ways to start now. In fact, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”

  “Thanks,” said Jonathan. “The only thing I can ask for now is that you keep us posted if you remember anything else about Wednesday morning.”

  William nodded. “I already plan to retrace my steps from my first visit to see if anything jars my memory and, if anything does, of course, I’ll let you know.”

  They continued their conversation as they finished their coffees before heading to the locker room for a quick shower. True to his word, William remained to accompany Chris and Jonathan on the stroll back to the condominium tower where they exchanged contact information before parting ways. Though William had yet to come up with his eventual plan to ensure his targets’ demise, he was confident being on the inside would have its advantages.

  * * * *

  Nuns’ Island, Montreal, Quebec, 4:57 p.m.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” said William as Chris ushered him.

  “No problem at all, Allan,” Chris replied.

  “I certainly don’t want to intrude on your dinner,” William insisted. “But, as I mentioned on the phone, I have something I want to show you and simply felt it shouldn’t wait.”

  “We rarely have dinner before seven,” Chris assured him. “We’re having a couple of drinks and chatting on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Happy to have you join us.”

  He led William to the living room where Sandy, Cathy and Dave lounged and following introductions and a drink offer, he invited their impromptu guest to share the purpose of his visit.

  “This morning, I told you and Jonathan I’d take a walk around here to try to jog my memory,” William began, “Which is exactly what I did after lunch.”

  “And, was the exercise successful?” Chris asked.

  “It certainly was,” William confirmed with pride. “I’m not one to boast, well not too much, but I’ve been blessed with perfect vision and a rather photographic memory. When I retraced my steps this afternoon, I spent some time standing approximately where I was when I saw that young man on Wednesday morning. I’m into meditation and, without going into detail or sounding strange, I was able to get a rather clear image of the man.”

  He paused as he picked up the iPad he had laid on the coffee table, flipped it open, turned it on and tapped on the Photos icon.

  “As best as I can remember, this is him,” he said, passing the tablet over to Chris which displayed a realistic and detailed black and white sketch of a bearded male Caucasian sporting a baseball cap.

  “Wow, this is good,” said Chris, impressed.
“Did you draw this?”

  “Not exactly. I created it using Identi-Mug,” William replied. “It’s an app with which one can build composite sketches by choosing required elements from a varied selection. I can show you how it works if you like.”

  “Please do,” Chris agreed, handing the tablet back as the others rose and crowded around William to watch.

  “It’s very simple to use,” said William, opening the application which showed a white screen with a column of icons down the right border. “I’ll throw together a quick face to demonstrate.”

  He tapped the first icon labeled Head and a series of head shapes appeared in a second column. He selected one which popped up on the main screen. He proceeded similarly with Jaw, Eyes, Nose and so on and, within seconds, a life-like face gazed back at them.

  “Each chosen feature can be modified on screen,” he explained. “For example, perhaps the eyes should be closer set. One need simply tap on Eyes then pull them closer together, like so.”

  “Impressive,” said Dave. “As an ex-cop, I’ve seen similar programmes in the past but never realized they were available to the public. Is this something you use in your line of work, Allan?”

  “Oh, no,” William replied. “A friend of mine is a plastic surgeon and uses a similar programme to show patients potential results. I found it interesting since I dabble with art and a quick search led me to this app. It’s proven to be a wonderful tool to create fictitious models to help me improve my skills in portrait painting.”

  “I’d love to see some of your work, Allan,” said Sandy. “I paint as well and own a gallery in Knowlton.”

  “That’s hers,” Cathy piped in, pointing to a nearby watercolour portrait of Chris.

  “Oh my,” William murmured with a sheepish grin. “I’m afraid I’m not at all in your league, my dear. You’re very talented.”

  “Thank you,” Sandy replied with a slight blush.

  “Do you paint for a living?” asked William. “You’re certainly good enough.”

  Sandy laughed and said, “I’ve sold the occasional painting but learned a long time ago I could make a lot more money selling the works of others much more talented than me.”

  “You mentioned your gallery is in Knowlton,” said William. “Would that be Taylor’s, by chance?”

  “Yes it is,” Sandy confirmed in surprise. “You’ve heard of it?”

  William nodded. “I have indeed. Taylor’s is a highly respected gallery. I’m doubly pleased to meet you and congratulate you on your success.”

  “Thank you again,” replied a beaming Sandy. “I’d be happy to have you visit during your stay in Montreal.”

  “I would be honoured and will take you up on that,” William promised before turning to Chris. “My apologies for somehow veering our discussion off topic.”

  Chris smiled and said, “Nonsense. Any discussion concerning my wife is of the utmost importance.”

  “You are a wise man, Mr. Barry,” William replied with a wink. “Anyhow, I did show you the sketch which was the purpose of my visit. I can send you the image if you like.”

  “I’d appreciate that and so will Jonathan,” said Chris before giving his email address.

  “There you go,” William announced seconds later. “I certainly hope it helps catch this ruffian. And now, I’ve intruded on your hospitality long enough. I’ll bid you all a lovely evening and be on my way.”

  “There’s no reason to rush off,” said Chris. “Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

  “I couldn’t do that,” William exclaimed, looking flustered.

  “Why not?” asked Sandy. “Do you have dinner plans?”

  “Uh, no I don’t,” William confessed.

  “Maybe he doesn’t like us,” Dave teased.

  “That’s my guess,” said Chris.

  William laughed. “How could I not like such wonderful people? I simply don’t want to impose. You people hardly know me.”

  “And we’re looking to change that,” Sandy replied. “I trust you realize Monday is Thanksgiving and we have a huge turkey roasting as we speak.”

  “I did notice the heavenly aroma,” William admitted.

  “Sandy cooks even better than she paints,” said Chris. “So, Allan, what do you say?”

  William smiled at them and replied, “I will accept your gracious invitation on two conditions, the first being you must allow me to return the favour in the near future for, I do know my way around a kitchen.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Chris as the others nodded their agreement. “What’s your second condition?”

  William raised his empty wineglass and said, “You offer me another glass of that marvelous Chardonnay.”

  Chapter 12 – Sunday, October 11, 2015

  Nuns’ Island, Montreal, Quebec, 7:13 p.m.

  William stepped into the parking garage from the elevators and, with a glance, confirmed the presence of the Barrys’ vehicles. Though it was possible they had gone off somewhere on foot, he doubted it, having seen Chris and Dave arrive less than an hour earlier toting a couple of grocery bags. In addition, as he had learned the previous evening, Dave was still recuperating from his injuries and not yet likely to walk the distance even to the closest eatery several blocks away.

  Stepping out into the chill evening by a side door, he proceeded to walk toward the back of the building, expecting the grounds to be deserted but not leaving anything to chance. As he went, he reflected on the events of the last few days, pleased with the progress he had made in so little time which had led to spending several rather pleasant hours solidifying his new friendship with Barry and McCall. He had yet to determine when and how he would bring his brilliant charade to an end but he knew it would be much more satisfying than anonymously pulling a trigger from a safe distance like a cowardly sniper.

  He walked at a brisk pace and was soon approaching the front of the building on the other side, content that his neighbours were all tucked in the warmth and comfort of their homes, enjoying their long weekend and minding their own business. He scanned the visitors’ parking lot as it came into view, noting a handful of vehicles, all of which had been there a couple of hours earlier when he had last checked. Satisfied with the absence of any witnesses, he strolled the short distance across the lawn to the copse of trees which had offered him the needed cover when he had attempted to eliminate Jonathan four days earlier.

  “Good, you’re here,” he said in way of greeting to the beefy young man who stood in the shadows of the evergreens. “I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “You said seven,” the man growled as he glanced at his phone before pocketing it. “I been freezing my ass for twenty minutes.”

  “Get yourself a better coat next time,” William replied, unimpressed.

  “If you’re trying to motivate me by pissing me off, it’s working,” the man warned. “So, are you serious? We’re doing this?”

  “I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” said William, gazing toward the street below the incline. “That’s your car?”

  “Yeah, ready to go as soon as I’m done,” the thug confirmed. “You owe me another two-fifty.”

  William pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket and held out a wad of bills. “Now you can buy that coat I suggested.”

  The young hood grinned this time as he stuffed the cash into his jeans.

  “You’re funny, I gotta admit,” he said before driving a meaty fist at William, clocking him solidly in the jaw.

  William’s eyes glazed and his knees buckled but he managed to stay on his feet. “Again.”

  “You’re da boss,” the man replied, lashing out and hitting William below the right eye.

  As William began to keel over backward, his paid assailant grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him upright. Holding him up with one hand, he backhanded William with the other then brought the now clenched fist back for another blow on the opposite cheek, this time drawing blood. He released his grip and William crumpled to
the ground.

  “Juss to make sure it looks real,” the thug muttered before kicking at William a few times, promising some decent bruises to the torso and thighs.

  “Those are on the house. Pleasure doing business with ya,” said the man before trotting down to his waiting car.

  * * * *

  Nuns’ Island, Montreal, Quebec, 7:32 p.m.

  “Are you expecting anyone?” asked Sandy as the buzzer for the private elevator sounded.

  “Nope,” Chris replied, gazing longingly at his yet untouched plate of General Tso Chicken before pushing back from the table. “Go ahead and eat, folks. I’ll be right back.”

  He made his way to the entrance foyer where he tapped the video-intercom screen.

  “Yes?” he said as the image of William’s battered face appeared. “Damn, Allan, what happened?”

  “I was attacked,” William rasped in response.

  Punching a button on the panel, Chris said, “I’m sending the elevator down for you.”

  He waited the twenty seconds or so for the elevator to reach the lobby, staring impatiently at the screen. The image switched to the inside of the elevator as the door opened below and Chris watched as Allan stepped in, clearly unsteady on his feet. Another twenty seconds went by and Chris was ushering the injured man into the penthouse.

  “Damn, you’re bleeding,” said Chris. “Where else are you hurt?”

  “I’ll have some bruises on my upper back and right thigh,” William replied, “But I don’t think anything’s broken.”

  “Let’s get you cleaned up,” said Chris. “Are you okay to walk?”

  “Yes, yes,” William insisted. “I’m just a bit shaken up.”

  Chris led William to a nearby bathroom, calling out to Sandy as they went.

  “Have a seat,” said Chris, pulling out the chair from the makeup vanity to one side and swinging close to the sink.

  “What’s up, sweetheart?” Sandy asked as she arrived before seeing William sitting there. “Oh my, Allan, you poor dear. What happened to you?”