Vigilante

by Claude Bouchard

  He promised himself to drop in on Miss Baker in the very near future.

  * * * *

  Ron Henderson was in heaven. Thanks to the help of his new friend, the Vigilante, his investigative tasks as a reporter had become so much easier in recent weeks.

  He had to admit that the first message had frightened him a little. Sometimes these wackos could be extremely sensitive and come after you if you pissed them off and, in his line of work, pissing somebody off was a simple and common occurrence. However, his follow up story about the rapists seemed to have pleased the Vigilante and had apparently resulted in the latter becoming his buddy.

  His editor had been somewhat worried with the article about Morretto’s death, because Ron had not even gone to the scene. Ron had lied to reassure him, promising that he had solid sources with the police and that the story was legitimate. It had, in fact, turned out to be just that. The Vigilante had played straight with him.

  Then this morning, while sitting in his cubicle, the PC had beeped, indicating an Eazy-Com message. It had been from his friend again.

  Some guy by the name of Peter Myers was dead. Yeah, Ron had heard about that over the weekend. Some sleazy slumlord that had beat up a tenant awhile back. So the Vigilante had been the cause of death; Myers’ penalty for harming an old woman; an eye for an eye.

  Once again, the message had indicated that this was an exclusive, in exchange for his support. He, Ron Henderson, had unofficially become the Vigilante’s press secretary, a role which he was truly starting to enjoy.

  He finished typing the last lines of his latest masterpiece, his article on Myers, which would be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper.

  He was becoming the media envy of the city.

  * * * *

  Sandy was off to a self-defense class sponsored by the university, the type of activity he definitely approved of. He only wished that all the good people of this world could know how to adequately defend themselves while the criminals didn’t. Then they’d really teach the bastards a lesson.

  While he waited for Sandy to return, he kept himself busy completing his research on Gregory O’Shea, an upcoming prospect. O’Shea was employed by a major arms manufacturer whose principal client was the military.

  He had learned of Mr. O’Shea by chance, from yet another prospect which he had handled several months ago, some punk gang member. The punk had had some extraordinary weaponry, one piece of which he had used in the drive-by shooting of a member of a rival gang.

  Unfortunately, the foreseen target had not been the only victim of this act of violence. Sylvie Theriault, a young woman of twenty-three and soon to be mother of twins, had been standing on the balcony of her first floor apartment, waiting for her husband to come home from work. Three bullets from the automatic weapon had strayed and hit Sylvie, taking her life before her falling body landed in the rocking chair behind her. It was specifically for this reason that the punk had become a prospect.

  He had gotten together with the punk, his purpose being twofold. Obviously, the scum-bag had to pay for his crime. The death of Sylvie Theriault could not go unpunished, that was a given. However, it was also quite important to determine the source of the weapons. The traffic of such killing instruments could not be allowed to flow freely on the streets.

  Hoping to have his life spared, the punk had eagerly supplied a name when asked about the source of the arms. Unfortunately for the punk, his cooperation had not changed his destiny.

  So all he had had to start off with was a name. Gregory O’Shea. But with a name and his computer, he was usually able to find vast quantities of valuable information, which had been the case with O’Shea. Driving records, tax returns, employment history, financial data, nothing was inaccessible with today’s communication networks.

  O’Shea’s employment file indicated that he was Manager, Warehousing and Distribution with an annual salary of $68,000. Yet, in recent years, his net worth had grown to that of someone with several times those earnings.

  His investment portfolio had ballooned quite extensively and eighteen months earlier, he had acquired a fairly large tract of land on which he had subsequently built a luxurious second home. Records showed that since, O’Shea had purchased a variety of expensive furniture, electronic equipment, a boat and several other recreational vehicles.

  When he had tapped into O’Shea’s PC at home, he had hit pay dirt, uncovering vast amounts of data confirming the man’s illicit arms trafficking activities; records of transactions, customer names, delivery dates... He had even found the access codes for the security systems of the man’s residences and place of employment.

  Mr. O’Shea was a very methodical, well-organized person. He also wasn’t very bright.

  Had O’Shea been working for an electronics manufacturer, looting VCRs, or for an auto parts distributor, stealing mufflers, he would not have bothered with him. But O’Shea was stealing highly sophisticated and destructive arms and selling them for a profit. These weapons were subsequently being used to commit atrocious crimes; robberies, muggings, murders; the list went on and on. The Theriault family was still suffering greatly because of these tools of destruction.

  Gregory O’Shea was not a good man and he would have to pay for his actions.

  Chapter 25 - Tuesday, July 23, 1996

  VIGILANTE FINDS SLUMLORD MYERS GUILTY

  McCall stared at the headline, dumbfounded. Once again, Henderson’s article accurately portrayed the facts of a Vigilante murder.

  Over the weekend, the death of Peter Myers had been reported by the media, but no reference had been made to the Vigilante. Fact was, nobody had known that he was responsible. Following the ‘chat’ which McCall had had with his team the previous Wednesday, he was convinced that this information had not leaked from his department. His cops weren’t that stupid, which could only mean one thing; Henderson had to have some kind of connection with the Vigilante. For all McCall knew, Henderson might be the Vigilante. The fool rooted for the assassin well enough in his goddamn columns.

  He would have to invite Ron Henderson over for coffee and a little conversation to get to the bottom of this.

  * * * *

  Eileen Baker left the elevator and headed across the underground parking towards the section reserved for the management of Griffiths & Donaldson. As she approached her car, she noticed and admired an unfamiliar black Mercedes stretch-limousine parked in the spot next to hers.

  Reaching the two vehicles, she squeezed into the tight space between them while digging in her purse for her keys. The driver’s door of the limousine suddenly opened, blocking her path, and a large man climbed out. At the same moment, the rear door on the opposite side of the limo also opened, and a second man emerged, quickly circling the large automobile and coming up behind her.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Baker,” the second man politely greeted her. “Sorry to bother you. I was wondering if I could speak to you for a moment?”

  “Who are you?” she asked uncomfortably. “How do you know my name?”

  “I am a close associate of Giovanni Morretto,” the impeccably dressed man answered, his tone friendly.

  His response did little to reduce her unease. It was public knowledge that Morretto headed a major crime syndicate.

  “You can call me Perry,” the man continued suavely. “Now, you may have heard that Mr. Morretto has recently lost his son, Paulo. A great shame, you know, and Mr. Morretto is very saddened by his loss. He does not understand why somebody would do this to his son. Paulo was a little rough around the edges but never did anyone any harm.”

  He paused for a few seconds, gazing at her intently, his smile warm, yet sad, but his eyes cold and hard. “Mr. Morretto would like to meet with the man who did this. He would like the man to explain why he committed such an atrocious act.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Eileen stammered, her voice shaking. “I-I don’t see how I can help you. Please, I have to go.”

  “I understand that you saw the
very same man not too long ago, Miss Baker,” Perry reminded her, the slightest touch of menace to his voice, the smile cooler. “By chance, I happened to see the composite sketch which was made according to the description you gave. I’m sure that if you thought about it a little harder, you would remember more about this man. Am I right?”

  “Please, believe me!” she begged, starting to panic and close to tears. “I’ve told the police what I could. You saw the picture. That’s all I know. Please leave me alone!”

  “I understand that you might feel for this man,” continued Perry. “He did save you from an ugly situation. However, he has done something terribly wrong, this murdering of Paulo. I must insist that you help us find him.”

  “I-I swear, I can’t help you!” Eileen sobbed, trembling with fear.

  “I’ll tell you what,” suggested Perry, his smile turning to a sneer. “Why don’t you think about this a little? I’m sure that if you do, you will realize that helping us is really the right thing, the only thing to do. Think about it, Miss Baker. I’ll be in touch with you in a couple of days. By then, I’m convinced that you will remember more about the man.”

  He reached up and stroked her cheek softly, once. “Later, Eileen.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and returned to the still open rear door of the limo, disappearing inside while his thug climbed back in behind the wheel.

  The engine roared and the car left with a slight squeal of its tires, leaving Eileen standing there, crying, frightened and helpless.

  * * * *

  12:17 p.m. Chris and Carl were seated at the conference table in the former’s office, reviewing the conversion schedule which had been established for Century Bank. Sonia poked her head in the doorway, interrupting their discussion.

  “Sorry to bother you, guys. Chris, Eileen Baker on the line for you. She seems upset.”

  “I got it, thanks,” Chris acknowledged, going for the phone on his desk. “Hi, Eileen. Is everything alright? When? Where are you now? Okay. Listen, stay there. I’ll be right over. Give me a minute to call McCall and then I’m on my way. Sure, just calm down. Everything’s alright. They just wanted to scare you, that’s all. See you soon.”

  He cut the line and hit the speed dial identified ‘McCall’ on the phone, waiting impatiently for the connection.

  “Hi, Dave? Chris. I’m really glad you’re in. Yeah, I’m fine but Eileen Baker just got a real scare. Somebody from the Morretto family, Perry, he called himself, just had a chat with her in the parking garage at work. Threatened her if she didn’t help them find the Vigilante. Yeah, he left, but promised to come back in a couple of days. Oh yeah, she’s shaken up alright. I’m going over there right now. She’s back in her office. Think you can do something as far as protection goes for a bit? Okay, great. Thanks. Talk to you soon.”

  He hung up the phone and noticed Carl picking up the various documents spread out on the conference table.

  “Sorry, Carl,” he apologized. “This is a bit of an emergency. We’ll finish tomorrow, all right?”

  “No problem, boss,” Carl understandingly replied as he headed towards the door. “We were pretty much done anyway. I’ll get the final copy together and see you with it once it’s complete. You seem to have some bigger things to do right now.”

  “Thanks,” said Chris. “I’ll see you later.”

  He followed Carl out of the office, stopping only long enough to tell Sonia not to expect him back then headed for the downtown headquarters of Griffiths & Donaldson.

  * * * *

  3:36 p.m. Chris, along with McCall, Frank Bakes and of course, Eileen were scattered around the living room of the latter’s home. She was much calmer now, the two double Manhattans no doubt having helped to a certain extent.

  “They were just trying to scare you,” McCall attempted to reassure her. “To see if you knew more. But just in case, I’ll have two cops keep an eye on you for the next few days, okay?”

  Eileen nodded and stated, “I think I’m going to take a few days off and stick around here.”

  “Good idea,” McCall approved. “That’ll be even safer for you and tougher for those schmucks if they do decide to try something.”

  “Patrol car’s here,” announced Bakes from his perch by the window. “I’ll go fill them in and be on my way, unless you still need me?”

  “No problem. Go,” McCall replied. “Thanks Frank.”

  “Take care of yourself, Eileen,” Bakes encouraged, winking at her as he moved towards the door. “You’ll see, everything’s gonna be fine. Those guys won’t bother you, especially if we have anything to say about it.”

  She smiled gratefully at him as he left.

  “Well, unless you want me to stick around,” said McCall, standing, “I’ll get out of your hair and let you relax.”

  “No, I’m fine, Dave. Really,” Eileen replied. “I probably overreacted.”

  “Nothing doing,” McCall shot back. “You reacted fine, Eileen. Don’t make it like you did something wrong here. These wise guys are the guilty ones. Can’t even pick on someone their own size. Take care of yourself and, remember, there’ll be two men here until I say otherwise. If you need something, feel free to ask them and if they can’t help you, call me. Later.”

  She watched McCall leave and then looked up at Chris.

  “You can go too, Chris. I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

  “You sure you’re going to be okay?” he asked, worried. “I can call my wife and have her come join us for dinner if you want. I’m sure you’d love her. I do.”

  “No, I’m all right,” Eileen laughed. “Go. You’ve done enough already. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Listen,” Chris thoughtfully suggested. “If you want, you can spend a few days at our place until this all blows over. My wife’s at home and you two could get to know each other. The pool’s there, complete gym downstairs, everything you’d need to relax.”

  “Maybe,” Eileen replied, her expression brightening. “I’ll think about it. It might do me some good. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure,” Chris smiled. “When I told you that I’d be there for you, I meant it. After all, you agreed to help so it’s the least I can do. I’m sure that Dave’s boys out there will be happy to drive you over. Let me know what you decide.”

  “You go on home and I’ll call you after dinner.”

  “It’s still early,” Chris grinned. “You have more than enough time to pack a bag if you want. I’ll wait for you.”

  “You sure it’s no trouble?” she asked. “I don’t want to impose.”

  “Not a chance. I swear.”

  “Give me fifteen minutes,” she decided, scrambling towards the stairs. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Probably lead a quieter life,” he chuckled in response.

  * * * *

  9:42 p.m. Giovanni and Perry lounged comfortably in the overstuffed leather armchairs in the library of the Morretto home. As he enjoyed his daily two ounce ration of Chianti, the old man fondly reminisced his departed son’s youth, grateful for Perry’s sympathetic ear.

  The phone on the desk rang, interrupting the grieving father’s nostalgic chatter. Perry started to rise from his seat but his boss waved him back down.

  “Sit, sit,” rasped Giovanni, standing stiffly. “I need the exercise. You don’t.”

  Shuffling over to the desk, he noticed, with some concern, that the call was coming in on his private line. Not many people had, much less used that number.

  Gesturing Perry over, he hit the speaker button and barked, “Morretto.”

  “Mr. Morretto?” the unfamiliar voice questioned.

  “Who is this?” Giovanni demanded.

  “This is the famous Vigilante,” the voice calmly replied.

  “You goddamn cocksucking motherfucker!” Morretto screamed at the speaker, dropping heavily into the chair behind the desk.

  “Now, now, Mr. Morretto,” the voice said soothingly. “You mustn’t g
et excited at your age. Bad for the heart. Now, listen carefully. I have something to say.”

  “Go ahead, talk, you lousy piece of shit,” Morretto hissed. “You ain’t gonna be talking for very long. You’re gonna die, you bastard.”

  “Fine,” the voice continued. “I’m going to die. So let me have my final words. Is your friend Perry there, Mr. Morretto?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Perry answered quietly from where he stood by the desk.

  “Good,” said the voice. “Because I wanted you to hear this too so listen carefully. Now, I admit, I killed Paulo but, I did it for a reason. Paulo took the lives of some innocent people and was getting away with it. In my book, that’s not right so I acted accordingly. You don’t agree with what I did? Fine. Then kill me. But leave the girl alone. She was nearly raped a month ago. That’s how she was lucky enough to get to see me for three seconds in the dark. Then the cops harassed her. Now you guys. Come on. Lay off her. She’s a victim.”

  “What’s it to you, anyways?” Perry taunted. “You scared cuz she’s gonna help us find you? And how do you know we spoke to the girl in the first place?”

  “How do you think I got to where I am today, asshole?” the voice quietly enquired. “We all have our connections, Perry. All I’m saying is leave the girl alone. Trust me gentlemen, I’m serious.”

  “And what happens if we disobey?” Morretto sneered mockingly.

  “First,” the voice replied, “I will kill Perry. Then, if you persist, Giovanni, I will kill Maria.”

  “My daughter!” screamed Morretto, throwing his wine glass across the room. “You fucking low-life, I’m gonna kill you.”

  “Leave the girl alone,” the voice repeated slowly, a final warning.

  “Mr. Vigilante,” stated Perry, his tone deadly. “Prepare to die.”