Vigilante

by Claude Bouchard

  To add to his troubles, Dave was also painfully aware that Frank had a favourite pastime. He was a computer buff. They often called on Frank’s amateur services when a system bugged or a PC broke down.

  Last of all, of the twenty-two murders, Frank had been the first from their division on the scene on twelve occasions. Two of those times, he had been off duty but happened to ‘be in the neighbourhood’ and had heard the call on the radio which he, like most other cops, left on nearly constantly.

  But even after taking all of these factors into consideration, McCall had much difficulty even starting to accept that Frank might be their man. It just wasn’t like him, just didn’t fit. He did not have violent tendencies and always played by the book. Many a time, Frank had calmed down an angry cop where abuse of a perpetrator would have otherwise been the result.

  It didn’t make sense. This had to be the result of a series of coincidences or there had to be some other logical explanation.

  Anyhow, with what Dave had so far, he was not ready to point a finger at Frank. Not yet. And until he had more, he would keep this to himself.

  * * * *

  4:00 p.m. Chris was busy at his desk, reviewing the final draft of a contract for yet another new customer, when Sonia appeared in the doorway, tapping on the doorframe to get his attention.

  “Sorry to bother you, Chris. An Eileen Baker on the line for you. Says you’re expecting her call?”

  “Yep, I’ll take it,” Chris replied, smiling. “Thanks, Sonia.”

  She smiled back and closed the door on her way out.

  “Hi, Eileen,” he called into the speaker. “How are you doing?”

  “Fine, Chris. Thanks,” she answered, sounding a touch nervous. “How are you?”

  “Never better,” he responded brightly. “I’m surprised to hear from you so soon.”

  ‘Well, procrastination has never been one of my weaknesses,” she replied. “I’ve had enough time to think this over and I’ve made my decision.”

  Silence ensued.

  Chris waited several seconds then gently prodded, “Do you want to tell me what that decision is?”

  A few more soundless seconds went by before she hesitantly replied, “I-I’ll do it.”

  “You don’t seem sure, Eileen. I only want you to do this if you feel comfortable. That was the deal. If you aren’t able to help the cops, so be it. They’ll find other leads. They’ll get him eventually.”

  “No Chris, I’m sure. I can’t say that I’m quite comfortable with it yet, but I’m sure. I’ve gone over the file you gave me, several times. I’m convinced. I’ll do what I can to help you. But there are conditions.”

  “Okay,” said Chris. “What kind of conditions?”

  “I remain anonymous,” she answered. “I’ll give the description, as required. The cops can do what they want with it. If and when they grab him, I don’t have to identify him. If there’s a trial, I don’t have to be there, I don’t have to testify. I do not want, I refuse, to face him. I just could not handle that. If that’s not acceptable, then there’s nothing more I can do to help than what I’ve already done.”

  Chris nodded approvingly. “McCall is really anxious to get a handle on this case. I’m sure that I can convince him to accept those conditions. If not, I’ll tell him to forget about it. If he tries to get tough, I’ll deny ever having spoken to you and I’ll even withdraw this company’s services. Like I said, I’m sure that I can convince him.”

  “I like your style, Mr. Barry,” she smiled into the phone. “Oh, one more thing. This one’s not a condition but more of a request. When I do meet with the cops, I would appreciate your being there. You know, just to make sure things go right and don’t get out of hand. This whole thing is difficult for me and I’d like to know there’s someone there I can trust. Okay?”

  “You’ve got it,” Chris assured her. “I told you on Thursday that I would give you all the support and help you needed. I’m a man of my word.”

  “Great,” she answered with relief. “Where do we go from here?”

  “I’ll contact Dave and let him know what the deal is. I’ll even throw in another condition. The cops are not to contact you directly under any circumstances. They must go through me and if I’m not available, they wait. I’ll get back to you once I’ve spoken to him. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Eileen replied gratefully.

  “If he accepts your offer, how soon would you be ready to meet him?”

  “We might as well get this done while everything is fresh in my memory. Wednesday work for you?”

  “Wednesday’s fine,” answered Chris. “I’ll set it up for 10 o’clock.”

  “Thanks, Chris,” she said softly.

  “No, my dear,” he responded. “Thank-you.”

  * * * *

  Carl was still shaken by Saturday morning’s events and continued to wonder how he had managed to sit there with Chris and the cops, lying to them, without breaking down. He had felt dizzy with fear, physically nauseous, but nobody had seemed to notice. He had been relieved to leave the meeting only five minutes after he had joined them. He would not have lasted much longer.

  Since, he had checked the data banks several times, to make sure that nothing incriminating remained, but all was in order. He had heard nothing, directly or indirectly, from Eazy-Com either, and therefore presumed that no backups had been taken during the time that the transmission was on record. At the very least, if the message had been backed up, nobody seemed to have verified with the carrier.

  He still could not begin to understand the record of the transmission. Either, he had been the victim of a very bizarre, inexplicable coincidence or somebody was aware of what he was doing and was playing games with him. He believed the second option to be much more plausible which meant that the situation had become dangerous.

  He knew that he could not afford, could never accept getting caught. Maybe he would have to cease his activities and retire sooner than expected.

  * * * *

  5:42 p.m. Frank Bakes left work at the end of his shift, feeling uneasy. Although he couldn’t put his finger on it, he knew something was wrong.

  Throughout the day, he had gotten the impression that McCall was avoiding him. Sure, Dave had said his “Mornin, Frankie” when he had come in and bade him goodnight upon leaving but during the day, he had seemed distant. He had chatted as usual with some of the others, but had not once asked him, “How’s it going?”, or “Anything new on the streets?”, as he typically did. McCall had a habit of keeping up to speed with the various cases handled by his department and regularly asked for updates; but not today, not with Frank.

  Frank had gone to see McCall with a couple of questions after lunch and, although cordial, his boss had limited the conversation to the business at hand and no more.

  Something was wrong and Frank could sense it. Did McCall know something? Maybe someone had seen him and talked.

  Troubled, he climbed into the car, started the engine and suddenly felt weary, even a little ill. Tonight, he would stay home. Tonight, he would spend a quiet evening with his wife.

  * * * *

  McCall waited, parked on Stanley in a nondescript rental from Thrifty’s, from where he could see the main entrance of his division’s offices, half a block over. He had left work at five o’clock and switched his car with the rented Taurus he had parked a block away that afternoon. Now, he was about to start the unpleasant task of shadowing Frank Bakes.

  He saw Frank come out of the building and head into the small parking lot to one side. Moments later, Frank pulled out, driving his wife’s Corvette. Crouching low as his subordinate drove past, Dave then hurriedly veered in behind him to follow, drawing an angry horn blast from another approaching vehicle.

  “Screw yourself,” McCall muttered at the rear-view mirror. “Official police business.”

  Although traffic was still somewhat heavy, tailing the flashy black sports car was an easy task but after several minutes of drivin
g, it became obvious that Frank was heading home.

  11:47 p.m. With another massive yawn, McCall stretched his stiffened back and decided to call it a night. He had been keeping an eye on the Bakes residence for close to six hours and decided that Frank was not going anywhere tonight. The last lights in the house had gone out about forty-five minutes earlier and Frank was probably already comfortably in bed with his wife.

  ‘That’s where I should be too,’ thought Dave guiltily, as he started the engine and drove home to his ever-understanding Cathy.

  Chapter 18 - Tuesday, July 16, 1996

  Chris sat in one of the leather armchairs in his office, reflecting on the subject of Carl Denver. Carl had been acting very strangely lately, extremely nervous and jumpy.

  Chris had first noticed it on Saturday when Carl had joined him and the cops. The young analyst’s voice had been shaky and he had been sweating. Nobody else had seemed to notice but Chris knew Carl well enough to realize that something had been bothering him. Since, Carl had been moody and aggressive.

  ‘Whatever it is, I’ll find out,’ Chris thought with a smile.

  After all, he was EVP of a leading security and investigation firm.

  * * * *

  7:45 p.m. Dave was packing some reports into his briefcase, about to head for home, when the phone rang.

  “Homicide, McCall,” he answered.

  “Man, are you hard to get a hold of,” Chris exclaimed.

  “Hey, Chris. Sorry, I was out of the office most of the day, wasting my time in court.”

  “No problem,” Chris replied. “I called a few times but I was in and out myself so I didn’t leave a message.”

  “What can I do for you?” asked McCall.

  “Ah, my friend,” Chris brightly responded. “The question is more like, ‘what can I do for you.’ I got a call from Eileen Baker.”

  “And?”

  “She’ll try to help, with conditions.”

  “What kind of conditions?” McCall enquired, already feeling in higher spirits.

  “Anonymity, no involvement in identification when you catch him, no testimony when you take him to court. She’s willing to do her ‘good citizen’ bit and give you a lead. However, she feels, and rightly so, that she owes the guy. She doesn’t want to face him and doesn’t want him to know she betrayed him. Frankly, I agree with her.”

  “Well,” breathed McCall, elated. “It’s not all that I was hoping for but it’s much more than I was expecting. You’re really good, aren’t you?”

  “I try,” Chris modestly remarked. “By the way, she specifically asked that I be present whenever you guys meet her. She would also like all communication to go through me.”

  “I have no problem with that, Chris,” McCall heartily agreed. “She obviously trusts you so your involvement can only help get more info out of her. Wow, this is good news.”

  “Glad I could make your day,” said Chris. “When do you want to meet with her?”

  “It’s getting close to eight so I guess I’ll be reasonable. Tomorrow morning okay?”

  Chris laughed. “Eileen has already agreed to tomorrow at 10:00, your place. I’ll get in touch with her to let her know we’re on.”

  “Excellent. I love you, Chris,” McCall exclaimed.

  “Sorry, Dave. I’m married. See you in the morning.”

  McCall hung up the phone; a beautiful ending to a lousy day. He decided to make sure that his ‘Vigilante team’ would be present and available for Eileen’s visit the next morning.

  He punched the “Harris” speed-dial button on the phone and was speaking to him within half a minute. Yes, he would definitely be there. Moments later, Joanne Nelson was also confirmed.

  He then called Frank Bakes and got his wife. No, Frank was not home, he was out helping a friend set up a computer. Yes, she would let him know, be in by 10:00. She would leave him a note as he had said he might be home late.

  * * * *

  Paulo Morretto stepped out of his limousine and strutted around the corner to the rear entrance of the apartment block, followed by Gino and Rupert. As he unlocked the door, he addressed his two goons.

  “I may be a couple of hours tonight, boys. I ain’t seen Cindy in a few months and we got a lot of catchin up to do!”

  Grinning, he winked and disappeared inside. The two gorillas took their positions on either side of the door and settled in for a while.

  Paulo Morretto was the son of Giovanni Morretto, founder, owner and president of the Morretto Construction empire. In addition, Giovanni also headed one of the most powerful organized crime families in the eastern half of the country. But Giovanni was growing old. Consequently, he had started transferring power to his first child and only son, Paulo.

  Paulo was, and always had been, a tough, ruthless individual. Although Giovanni had always run the construction company on a fairly legal basis with respect to his competitors, his son had a different view of things. Paulo did not like to lose; he had to win.

  As he became more involved in the construction company, Paulo increased the use of strong-arm tactics and intimidation to discourage others from bidding on projects he desired. Though most of the time, he was successful, once in a while, he encountered somebody who was not easily impressed by threats. Such had been the case with Angus Construction, in relation to a bid for the building of a condominium complex.

  Since Angus had refused to back out, Paulo had decided to have a chat with Jeff Arnold, owner of Landmark Developments, the project’s developer. If anything, Arnold was even less impressed with Paulo’s aggressive attitude than Angus had been. As a result, the contract had been awarded to Angus even though Morretto Construction had submitted a lower bid. Paulo had been furious.

  On October 29 of the previous year, Paulo had personally placed a powerful explosive device in one of the finished six-unit buildings and the force of the blast had completely levelled the three storey structure. Nobody fucked with Paulo Morretto. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to Paulo, one of the six units was already occupied and the blast had also taken the lives of a mother and her two kids, aged two and four.

  An investigation had ensued and, by November 19, enough evidence had been gathered to place Paulo Morretto under arrest. The judge, who was quite familiar with the Morretto family’s affairs, had denied bail and Paulo had been incarcerated, pending the outcome of his trial.

  The prosecution’s case had depended largely on the testimony of three witnesses, construction workers, who had seen Paulo enter and subsequently leave the ill-fated building shortly before the explosion. Early on, all three had positively identified Paulo as the man they had seen and had recounted corroborating versions of his arrival with a package and his leaving, in a hurry, without it. However, once into the trial, none of the three could quite remember who or what they had seen.

  On July 15th, the previous day, the jury had declared Paulo Morretto not guilty, due to lack of evidence. Following eight months of prison life, Paulo Morretto was a free man.

  After spending his first night of freedom at home with his wife, Paulo felt that it was time to get back into action. He had spent the morning at the offices of Morretto Construction, catching up with the business and the afternoon visiting a number of restaurants and bars which also belonged to the family.

  Now, evening had finally arrived and it was time for his rendezvous with Cindy. Cindy was his current mistress and she supplied him with whatever he sexually desired. He, in turn, paid the rent for her lavish apartment, bought her whatever she desired and gave her $1,000 per week in spending money.

  He reached the door of her apartment and knocked. When the door swung open, she stood there, wearing nothing but high heels.

  “Oh BABY! Let’s PARTY!” he exclaimed as he entered, kicking the door shut behind him.

  * * * *

  The phone began to ring in the limousine parked around the corner of the building.

  “Ah, Jesus Christ,” muttered Gino, pushing off the wall and he
ading for the car. “Why can’t Paulo get us fucking portables.”

  Yanking the door open, he slid behind the wheel as he reached for the car phone.

  “Yeah, hello,” he growled into the phone.

  Nothing.

  “Hello, you stupid fuck!” he fumed.

  Still nothing.

  “Jesus goddamn fucking Christ!” he snarled as he slammed down the receiver.

  From behind, an arm suddenly wrapped itself around his neck, pinning him to the seat while a wet rag was shoved into his face, covering his nose and mouth. He tried to struggle for a few seconds but quickly succumbed to the effects of the chloroform.

  “One down, one to go,” whispered the man in the rear seat.

  He hadn’t killed Gino, nor did he intend to kill the other, Rupert, if he could avoid it. After all, by the time he was done tonight, old man Morretto would probably have them executed.

  He peered up and down the small side street from inside the limo as he slipped his portable cellular back into his pocket. Nobody. Quietly, he opened the door and slid out onto the sidewalk. Looking like a homeless drunk, he walked quickly to the wall of the building, changing his gait to a stagger as he rounded the corner.

  “Where the fuck is Gino?” Rupert impatiently grunted, looking up from his newspaper.

  As he stepped forward to direct his attention towards the limo, a drunk, carrying the customary brown paper bag, tottered around the corner and headed towards him.

  “S-scuse me, sir,” the wino slurred.

  “Fuck off,” Rupert warned. “I ain’t got no fucking spare change.”

  “No sir, wait,” the drunk insisted. “Is that your car?”