Thirteen to None

by Claude Bouchard

  Dave gazed at Butch as he replied. “I deal with scum everyday but I play by the rules. I don’t beat on anybody, even if most of them deserve it.”

  “Holy shit,” Butch exclaimed. “I’ll have to write this down somewhere so I don’t forget. Today’s the day I finally met an honest cop. I’ll just hope that if I get arrested at some point, it’s by you.”

  “I’m hoping along with you,” Dave replied, smiling slightly for the first time.

  A loud crash of breaking glass interrupted their conversation, likely coming for the living room and the first indication of destruction since the invasion had begun.

  “Ah, Jesus,” said Chris. “Do your guys really have to start breaking things?”

  Butch shrugged as he rose to his feet. “I’ll admit that they’re clumsy sometimes, Chris, but I can’t put the whole blame on them. A piece of ass or two usually does the trick to keep them occupied but since your ladies ain’t around to amuse them, they’re roaming around your place looking for something to do. Must be that one of them tripped and fell or bumped into something. You know, like an accident.”

  He sauntered across the dining room and stopped by a glass door buffet displaying china in the bottom section and a variety of glassware up above.

  “Anyhow, Chris,” he continued, “A smart guy like you with all this expensive stuff must have insurance, right? After all, you never know when an accident like the one we just heard could happen.”

  That said, he reached with both hands behind the buffet’s upper section and slid one side of it forward an inch or two.

  “You see, Chris?” he said over his shoulder. “This top part ain’t attached to the bottom part so that’s risky. Someone could accidentally bump into it and knock the whole thing over.”

  “Don’t do that, Butch,” Chris replied.

  Butch grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t do it on purpose. Pay attention. I’m talking about accidents.”

  He proceeded to pull the upper section of the buffet forward, not stopping until gravity took over, sending the piece of furniture toppling to the hardwood floor with a crashing of wood and smashing of glass.

  “Oops,” he said as he gazed at Chris. “You see what I mean about accidents?”

  When Chris remained silent, Butch opened a door to the bottom section of the buffet and pulled out a stack of dinner plates.

  “Nice dishes,” he said before letting them drop to the floor. “Damned butter fingers is what I got today, just like my crew. I’ll tell you what. I’ll get the word around that they should be more careful.”

  He headed toward the kitchen and saw one of his men looking in the refrigerator.

  “Hey, Shades,” he called.

  “Wassup?” asked the well built black man, peering over his ever-present sunglasses.

  “Chris here wants us to be careful to not break anything.” Butch explained, “And I told him I’d tell you guys but I warned him we were a clumsy bunch.”

  “Got it, boss,” Shades replied, giving Butch a thumbs-up.

  He then pulled a large jar of pickles out of the refrigerator and tossed it over his shoulder. The jar sailed through the air, crashing onto the granite top of the kitchen island where it shattered, sending pickles, broken glass and brine across the floor.

  “Sorry,” Shades said with a shrug before heading toward the open door to the terrace beyond, knocking a couple of empty beer bottles off the countertop to the floor on his way.

  Butch shook his head in mock despair and said, “Like I told you, clumsy as hell.”

  He returned to his chair and smiled at his three captives but rose again after a moment when they remained silent.

  “Well, boys, if you don’t feel like chatting no more,” he said, motioning another of his cronies in the kitchen over for guard duty, “I’ll go take a stroll around and see what’s going on, you know, to make sure my crew is being careful with your stuff, but I’ll be back to hang out some more. I like you guys cuz you know how to take your lumps like men, not like that pecker-head last week in Brighton. Damned old bastard, moaning and crying the whole time we visited, practically ruined the party.”

  Dave’s face darkened. “You were in Brighton last week?”

  “Yeah,” Butch replied. “What of it?”

  Dave shook his head, forcing a smile as he replied. “Nothing important. I used to have some friends who lived there but I haven’t been for a while. Nice little town.”

  Butch shrugged. “Yeah, whatever. Catch you later, gents.”

  * * * *

  Upon leaving the marina, the women had decided that Sandy and Cathy would take the boat across the lake while Leslie and Dominique accompanied Josée for the flight back. As agreed, they would do another flyover of the Barry residence to gather any further information before landing and docking at the neighbour’s property.

  As they approached the Barry home, Josée noticed one of the invaders as he boarded one of the Sea-Doos, fired the craft up and sped away from the dock, tossing a beer bottle in his wake. Clenching her teeth in anger, she flew on, her rage increasing as she noted a handful more men in and around the pool, the terrace now littered with bottles, broken glass and other debris.

  “Savages,” she growled.

  “Tell me about it,” Leslie replied in frustration as she watched another ruffian driving golf balls into the lake.

  “Oh, chérie!” Dominique wailed as she looked down into the front yard. “Your car!”

  Near the garage, two more of the men were in the process of ransacking and vandalizing Dave and Leslie’s automobiles. The vehicles’ doors were open, their contents strewn about the lawn and as the women looked on, one of them raised a crowbar and swung it down, smashing the windshield of Leslie’s Audi TT.

  “It’s okay, baby,” Leslie replied. “It’s just a car. I can get it fixed or replace it. All I care about right now is getting our guys out of there safely.”

  “And making these bastards pay,” Josée managed to say before choking back a sob.

  Fighting to keep her emotions under control, she turned northward, flying over land for a couple of minutes before circling back over the lake to head south, her intent being to land close to the shoreline and out of view of the Barry property.

  The neighbour’s lot was set in a cove and as Josée began her descent, she spotted the Sea-Doo and its occupant, slowly cruising in the cove’s centre, visible only from the shoreline within the cove. Quickly scanning the lake, she saw only empty water nearby with no watercraft anywhere in the vicinity.

  Deciding by reflex more so than conscious thought, she veered toward the cove.

  “Do it,” was all Leslie said as the plane began its rapid descent directly toward the Sea-Doo.

  * * * *

  Willy glided along slowly across the cove, his eyes peeled on the property to his right. Though not as grand as the one they had invaded next door, he had no doubt this place could also be worthy of looting, particularly since nothing indicated that it was currently occupied. Suddenly becoming aware of the increasing volume of the drone of an engine, he turned his head toward the lake; and froze. A seaplane was coming down fast and heading directly at him.

  Cranking up the throttle, the Sea-Doo reacted instantly and jumped forward but, to Willy’s dismay, the plane turned and kept him in its sights. Panic setting in, he veered sharply to his right and headed straight toward shore as the plane approached from behind. With a little luck, he could make it to the private beach ahead and force the maniac back in the air to avoid flying into the trees beyond.

  The sound of the plane’s engine became deafening as Willy raced across the water in fear. The beach was close now, fifteen yards, ten, five…

  Willy’s entire body exploded in a massive flash of pain as the plane’s right pontoon hit him dead on in the middle of his back, shattering his spine and pulverizing his heart and lungs. The plane’s velocity kept his body suspended for a couple of seconds while the Sea-Doo hit the beach and flipped end over
end before coming to rest upright some thirty feet from the shore.

  As the plane began a steep ascent to clear the large copse of mature trees ahead, Willy’s body tumbled to the ground, landing in a jumbled heap. The plane rose higher, its pontoons grazing the topmost branches of a tall oak, and began to circle for its second landing attempt.

  Chapter 9 – Saturday - 4:32 p.m.

  Of all the pleasures of life available to mankind, the two which topped Nose’s list were cocaine, one source of his nickname, and the ladies. The coke was rarely a problem as he generally always had a personal stash with him for when the desire arose, made rather easy since he oversaw coke distribution for the crew. Female companionship, however, was more difficult to come by because, though not an ugly man by any means, he wasn’t particularly attractive either, mainly because of his rather large, bulbous nose; the other source of his nickname.

  He had therefore been rather disappointed upon learning that the particular home chosen for their weekend extravaganza was occupied by three middle-aged men without a female in sight. He had hoped Butch would decide to tie the guys up and move on to somewhere else but there had been no indication so far that they would be leaving any time soon.

  After he and Razor had completed the strenuous task of getting Ape’s body from the dining room to the laundry room at the opposite end of the house, Nose had had enough of the boys’ party and gone off in search of solitude. Armed with a bottle of Glenlivet, he had headed to the dock and settled in the owner’s catamaran, soaking in the sun, snorting the occasional line and sipping from his bottle. From where he laid, he had been well positioned to see a bass boat coast by, clearly heading toward shore, most likely to the neighbouring property.

  This, in itself, would have been a non-event for Nose with the exception that the boat’s occupants had been two rather attractive women. Though they had appeared to be in their late forties, perhaps a bit older, they had seemed to be in fine shape and, for Nose, a lady was a lady.

  Since the moment they had cruised by a little earlier, Nose had been able to think of nothing else and could not stop the continuous tingling in his groin. Making his decision, he grabbed his running shoes and t-shirt then left the boat and casually sauntered along the property’s beach until he was out of sight of the others on the terrace. Butch would not approve of his plan to go off searching for the women without prior consultation and a few of his associates just might mention his wandering off if they saw him. Subtle backstabbing and ratting out others were common activities among the crew as each did whatever possible to earn points with Butch.

  He stopped for a moment at the end of the beach to put on his shoes and shirt then forged ahead through the wooded area before him toward the neighbouring property, remaining alert for signs of anyone around him. Following four or five minutes of cautious trekking, he noted a thinning of the trees ahead. Slowing his pace, he continued forward, pulling his Taurus Slim 9mm pistol from a pocket of his baggy jeans as he went.

  * * * *

  “Damn, this thing is heavy,” said Cathy as they gave the Sea-Doo one last push, bringing it along the side wall of the neighbour’s home.

  “Good thing there were five of us,” Leslie agreed. “But we just couldn’t leave it in plain sight. Any one of those idiots comes cruising along and they’d spot it immediately. It’s still pretty noticeable here. I’d rather we cover it if we can.”

  “I’ll go see what I can find in the shed,” offered Sandy. “Everyone covers their firewood in the winter. There must be some tarps in there.”

  As Sandy hurried off, Josée stated the obvious. “We’ll need to hide the body too.”

  “Too conspicuous?” Leslie asked to lighten the mood. “Yeah, I’d rather get him in a tarp too before we move him.”

  Sandy emerged from the shed and jogged the short distance back, carrying several blue polyethylene tarpaulins and a coil of nylon rope.

  “Got what we need,” she said. “We’ll want to have a better look in that shed. There’s a bunch of tools and stuff which might be useful until we find some real weapons.”

  “We’ll check it out,” Leslie replied. “You and Cathy cover up the Sea-Doo. The three of us will stash that body somewhere.”

  “There’s a cold room in the basement at the front of the house,” said Sandy. “The stairs are at the end of the hallway past the sunroom. Probably better inside than out where animals might get to it.”

  “Makes sense,” said Leslie as she turned to Dominique and Josée. “Come on, ladies. Let’s take in the trash.”

  * * * *

  As Nose approached the clearing, a house came into view and he could hear voices, likely female, though he couldn’t distinguish what they were saying. Creeping forward, he took cover behind some bushes and as he peered through the branches, he spotted two women, the same two he had seen cruise by on the boat. They were busy at the side of the house, covering some big and bulky object with a large tarpaulin.

  Scanning the area, he saw no one else around and hoped these two lovely ladies were alone. He noticed a plane moored at the dock and grinned at the thought of going for a ride with the two women, getting it on in the air. If they were alone, it was likely that one or both were pilots and his fantasy could actually come true.

  Deciding there was no time like the present, he stepped into the clearing and moved toward them across the lawn, approaching quickly but soundlessly from behind as they concentrated on their task.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” he said, his smile and friendly demeanour in contradiction with the pistol he held trained on them.

  Startled, both women spun around and stared back at him in shock for a moment before one spoke.

  “What the hell is this?” Sandy demanded. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Well, well,” Nose replied, his confidence fuelled by cocaine, single malt scotch and his gun. “Aren’t you a feisty one?”

  “She’s not feisty,” Cathy snapped. “You come barging on our property pointing a gun at us. What do you expect? That we offer you a drink?”

  Nose grinned. “Actually, a drink would be nice if you’re offering.”

  “We’re not offering,” Cathy shot back, taking a step forward.

  “Whoa, babe,” said Nose, stepping away and raising the gun. “Stay the fuck where you are.”

  “What happens if she doesn’t?” Leslie asked from behind him. “Don’t move and drop the gun or I’ll hurt you real bad.”

  Nose stiffened and became statue-like but held onto the gun.

  “I know I spoke quickly and you’re probably slow,” said Leslie, “But I really need you to drop the gun right now if you don’t want me to hurt you.”

  With his gun arm already extended, Nose suddenly spun around, ready to shoot and in the few seconds which followed, several things happened. First, Nose heard the high-pitched, whirring sound of an electric motor. As he completed his spin, he felt a severe flash of pain and saw his right forearm, from just below the elbow to the hand holding the gun, drop to the ground as blood spewed from his amputated limb. Last of all, he saw a gorgeous but clearly angry woman with flaming red hair, but he only saw her for a second before she slashed deeply into his chest with a battery-powered chainsaw and ended his life.

  Chapter 10 – Saturday - 4:49 p.m.

  “Are you two sure you’re okay?” asked Leslie.

  Having had to deal with not one but two bodies since their recent arrival, they now sat in the sunroom of the neighbour’s home, getting over the chainsaw incident. The exception was Dominique who was diligently pacing from room to room, spying out the windows for other unwanted visitors all while scrolling from camera to camera at the Barry residence via Josée’s iPad which she thankfully had left in the plane.

  “I’m fine, Les, really,” Sandy replied, not for the first time.

  “Same for me,” said Cathy. “Though I certainly was happy to see you.”

  “You can thank Sandy for that,” Leslie repl
ied. “I came back out to check the shed and saw the schmuck creeping toward you two.”

  “Well then, thanks to both of you,” said Cathy. “I’m just not sure what we would have done if you hadn’t shown up when you did.”

  “I heard you talking back to him,” Leslie praised. “You even started going for him.”

  “Instinct, I guess,” said Cathy. “I have to admit, I’m a bit shaky now but I wasn’t at the time. Just the thought that he was one of them, with that bastard we saw beating on Dave…”

  She cut off abruptly as her eyes welled up with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be, sweetie,” Sandy murmured, offering a comforting hug. “Chris and Jon are in there too. We get how you’re feeling.”

  “We all get it,” said Leslie, squeezing Josée’s shoulder who sat beside her. “How about you, Jo? Are you okay with what happened?”

  “You mean with the plane and the Sea-Doo?” asked Josée.

  “Yes,” Leslie replied. “That took some guts.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” said Josée. “I’ll crash that damned plane into the whole lot of them if I have a chance. The little bastard had it coming to him. I’m fine.”

  “Looks like I have myself a team,” said Leslie, getting back to business. “Moving forward, we’re going to need some better weapons than battery-powered garden tools.”

  Cathy laughed through her dwindling tears. “I’m not sure about that where you’re concerned, girl.”

  “I improvised as required,” Leslie replied. “At least we now have that schmuck’s gun. Did the idiot on the Sea-Doo have anything?”

  “Just a switchblade,” said Josée. “No gun.”

  “Damn,” said Leslie. “One pistol isn’t enough. We don’t know if these guys are all armed or not but they most likely are and we can’t be going at them empty-handed. The good news is, I know exactly where to get whatever we need.”