On Smokie’s tenth birthday, Uncle Spike had taken him aside and presented him with a Schrade Old Timer 18OT Mighty Mite pocket knife, identical to the one Spike himself owned. Though not a collectors’ item by any means, the value of this particular knife in Spike’s opinion was in its size, or rather, lack thereof. At only 2.75 inches in length when closed, the knife was easily concealable and, as Spike had explained, the two inch locking blade could cause serious injury to an unsuspecting adversary. He had shown Smokie how to hide the knife in the folds of his bandana, grinning as he had admitted that the reason for his ever-present headwear was mainly to hide his own blade.
Smokie had cherished the knife ever since and it had actually helped him out of a few rough spots over the years when being unarmed would likely have been hazardous to his health.
“Can you get it out?” ask Rat.
“Nada,” said Smokie. “I was hoping they’d leave my hands tied in front but they retied them behind me when we got down here. Tied my ankles too.”
“At least they let you keep your pants,” Rat grumbled as he shifted around on the concrete floor, turning his back toward Smokie. “Lie back and get your head near my hands.”
They got busy and a few minutes later, they were free of their ties.
“Now what?” asked Rat. “How the hell do we get out of here?”
“I noticed that it’s just a sliding bolt to keep the door shut,” Smokie replied. “There wasn’t even a door knob, just a handle to pull it open.”
“You noticed that? Not bad for a skinny pothead,” said Rat. “So, you think we can just smash our way out of here?”
“Yep,” Smokie confirmed, guiding Rat’s hand to a spot on the door. “If you ram right around here, I think the screws are gonna rip right out of the frame.”
“Why am I doing the ramming?” demanded Rat.
“Cuz you’re a big, strong dude,” Smokie replied, “And I’m just a skinny pothead. Ram the damned door already.”
Rat took his shoulder to the door which burst open with a crack on his third attempt.
“What’s next?” he asked as they stepped into the basement, lit only by the rapidly diminishing daylight filtering through a few narrow windows.
“Let’s see what’s back there,” Smokie suggested, pointing to a closed door near the foot of the stairs and two others beneath them.
Rat headed to the first door where he found what appeared to be a guest bedroom which also doubled as storage space. Rummaging through a few boxes, he was pleased to note they contained clothing and soon found some old Bermuda shorts and a paint stained t-shirt which fit reasonably well. The sole window, he noticed, was set with anti-theft bars, eliminating it as a possible easy exit.
He left the room just as Smokie was returning and shaking his head.
“Bathroom and a furnace room back there,” Smokie whispered. “There’s a window in the furnace room but it’s got bars. There’s a chute for firewood but it won’t open, probably padlocked outside.”
“So the only way is up,” said Rat. “I can’t hear anything up there so maybe they are gone. If they aren’t, let’s hope we can catch them by surprise.”
Chapter 22 – Saturday - 8:24 p.m.
Feeling braver and tougher than what Butch had described of Razor, Fingers unlocked the front door and, following a cursory scan of the front yard in the dimming light, sauntered off toward the garage… And froze.
Sprawled facedown on the walkway, a gasoline canister lying on its side next to him, was Razor. As Fingers hurriedly closed the gap between them, he noticed the arrow protruding from the side of his associate’s head. His heartbeat doubling, he stopped and stared for a second before turning and rushing back to the safety of the house, slamming the door shut and screaming as he bolted toward the kitchen.
* * * *
At the top of the stairs, Rat slowly turned the knob and inched the door gently inward, begging the hinges to remain silent. He breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung open without a sound, revealing the darkened hallway beyond. Cautiously, he moved forward, heading toward the light emanating from the sunroom where the women had taken him hostage upon his arrival. As he drew closer, he listened but heard nothing to indicate anyone but he and Smokie were currently in the house.
Reaching the doorway, he peeked past the frame then pulled back. A petite blonde woman, perhaps in her early thirties and definitely attractive, sat at a table, her eyes fixed on the iPad before her. Glancing back at Smokie, he held up one finger, pointed toward the sunroom and motioned him forward. He then took a deep breath and rushed into the room toward her.
“Look at what I found,” he snarled, yanking her out of the chair and gripping her in a solid bear hug from behind.
“Oh, mon Dieu,” Dominique gasped in fear as she tried to struggle out of his grip without success. “Let me go.”
“Have a look around in here,” Rat directed Smokie with a head gesture, ignoring the woman’s pleas. “See if the dumb bitches left my gun somewhere.”
“Yep,” Smokie confirmed seconds later as he spotted the small pistol lying on an end table.
Rat moved toward the couch he had occupied not long before, easily carrying the writhing woman and tossing her onto it.
“Didn’t have the pleasure of meeting you before,” he said, taking the gun Smokie handed him and pointing it at her, “But I’m damned happy to meet you now. We’re gonna have a little chat first and a whole lot of fun together after.”
* * * *
Leslie couldn’t believe her luck when the second man had stepped out onto the front walk but before she could get him in her sights, he had rushed back to the safety of the house. Disappointed but far from discouraged, she started making her way back to the other three women, giving them a mobile update as she went.
“I couldn’t get the second guy,” she reported. “He went back in too quickly. I’m coming back to join you and we’ll decide what our best bet is to get in there.”
A man’s voice came through her earpiece saying, “Look at what I found,” followed by Dominique’s, “Oh, mon Dieu. Let me go.”
“Aww, fuck,” Leslie muttered as she broke into a run. “Ladies, I’m going to help her. Stay on the call but mute your phones. He could notice her Bluetooth at any time.”
* * * *
Smokie glanced at the iPad on the table just as the screen was fading. Tapping it, the tablet came back to life and he studied it for a few seconds before turning to Rat and the woman with a grin.
“Come check this out, Rat,” he said, holding out the iPad. “The little lady was watching everything going on next door. See? There’re the three old guys in the dining room and there’s Butch with Shades and Fingers in the kitchen. Fingers is freaking out about something. Wonder what that’s about?”
“Yep, he freaking out alright,” Rat replied, staring the screen for a moment before raising his eyes to Dominique. “Hidden cameras. So that’s how your bitch friend knew about the ketchup and mustard. Butch is gonna love this. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?”
“Va te faire foutre,” Dominique replied.
“What was that?” asked Rat, taken aback.
“That was French,” Smokie replied. “We are in Quebec, ya know.”
“I know we’re in Quebec, you idiot,” Rat snapped, “But it sounded fancy how she said it, like from Paris or something.”
“Oui, Paris,” said Dominique.
“Is that where you’re from?” asked Smokie.
“Pardon?” Dominique replied, looking puzzled. “Qu’est-ce que vous dites?”
“Aw, dammit,” exclaimed Rat in frustration. “Do you speak English?”
“L’anglais? Moi? Non,” said Dominique.
“But, you said something in English before,” Rat argued.
“Quoi?” said Dominique.
“What did she say?” asked Smokie.
“I think it means what,” Rat replied.
“No, before,” said Smoki
e. “You said she spoke in English before. What did she say?”
“Christ, I don’t remember,” Rat snarled. “But it sounded like English.”
“Maybe she said something in French but it sounded like English,” Smokie suggested.
“De quoi parlez-vous?” Dominique demanded.
“Shit, this is gonna be tougher than I thought,” Rat muttered.
* * * *
‘That’s my girl,’ thought Leslie as she approached the neighbour’s yard through the trees. ‘Keep them going just a minute longer.’
“Les!” came Sandy’s urgent whisper from the darkness to one side, causing her to stop in her tracks.
“What are you doing here?” Leslie asked as she joined Sandy behind a tall copse of shrubs.
“Backing you up,” Sandy replied. “I was closer than you were so I knew I’d get here in time. How are we doing this?”
“I’m hoping they’re still in the sunroom,” said Leslie, taking advantage of the moment to cock and arm the crossbow. “If they are, I can take at least one out. You go around the front. I don’t think they’ve noticed Dom’s earpiece so we’ll take a chance and un-mute our phones to stay in touch. If I need you inside, I’ll let you know. If one of them comes out, shoot him.”
Sandy nodded and quickly disappeared into the brush as she headed toward the front of the property. As she crept along the edge of the clearing on the side of the house, the stack of chopped firewood, or more precisely, the axe protruding from the chopping block, caught her eye. Noting the side windows were dark, she ran in a crouch, yanked the axe out and hurried to the front corner of the home. Following a quick glance to confirm the coast was clear, she hurried across the lawn and up the steps onto the wide porch which spanned the width of the building, taking cover against the wall by the front door.
* * * *
With his eye still on Dominique, Rat addressed Smokie. “As much as I’d like to strip this little bitch down and show her what it’s really like to fuck with me, I think we should haul her ass next door and let Butch decide how to deal with her. Keep an eye on her while I get my own clothes back on.”
He handed Smokie the gun then stripped off the clothes he had found and donned his jeans, t-shirt and running shoes.
“How’d you end up here, anyway?” he asked as he tied his shoes.
“Two of them ambushed me as I was driving on the road just out front,” answered Smokie. “One was pretending to be passed out on the shoulder and the other was freaking out and begging for help. Then they pulled guns on me, got me back in the truck and drove me here.”
“Go see if the truck’s still out there somewhere,” said Rat, reaching for the pistol with one hand as he pulled his phone from his jeans pocket with the other. “I’ll keep an eye on our little lady here while I bring Butch up to speed.”
Smokie nodded and headed toward the front door while Rat turned his phone on and waited for a signal to place his call.
* * * *
“And you’re sure it’s an arrow?” Butch asked, not for the first time.
“It’s a fucking arrow, Butch,” Fingers replied before taking another pull of vodka from the bottle. “Go see for yourself if you don’t damned believe me. It’s stuck right in the side of his head, sticking out about a foot.”
“Don’t get your shorts in a knot,” Butch snarled. “I didn’t say I don’t believe you but really, a fucking arrow?”
His phone trilled at that moment, interrupting their argument.
“Well, God damn it to hell,” said Butch in surprise as he looked at the call display. “It’s Rat.”
* * * *
As one would expect with a sunroom, three of the four walls enclosing the comfortable space currently occupied by Dominique and Rat consisted mainly of large windows, most of which were open with only the screens separating the inside from the outside.
From where Leslie was now positioned, she had a clear view of Rat where he stood inside, barely twenty feet away, a distance made to seem even shorter as she watched him through the scope. Taking careful aim, she could not afford to miss and had no intention of doing so, she slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger of the crossbow.
* * * *
Though Dominique was doing her best to appear brave in the face of her captors, she was a quivering mess of fear on the inside, well aware that the cards likely held pain, suffering and death for her in the not too distant future. However, things sometimes quickly change in life and, on occasion, for the better.
She sat on the couch, glaring at the brute who stood before her, his gun trained on her in his left hand, his phone held to his ear with his right hand as he waited for his call to be answered. She blinked and he was suddenly lowering both hands and dropping the gun and phone, a dazed expression on his face, his eyes glazed over. As he started to fall forward toward her, he tried to raise his hands to his neck and she noticed the bolt. Sticking out some six inches from just below his ear on the right side, the other end protruded about the same length from his left ear.
Rolling off the couch, she managed to get out of the way, avoiding his landing on her. The door leading in from the porch opened and Leslie rushed in, putting a finger to her lips.
She leaned over and picked up the phone, disconnecting the call before speaking. “Where’s the other one?”
“Gone to find his truck,” Dominique replied, pointing toward the front door.
“Stay here, babe,” said Leslie, pausing just long enough to load her last bolt before disappearing into the dining room beyond.
* * * *
“Hello? HELLO?” Butch shouted into the phone. “RAT? WHAT THE HELL’S GOING ON?”
“Aww, Jesus Christ,” he snarled, slapping the phone onto the kitchen table. “The bastard hung up on me.”
“Are you sure it was him?” asked Shades.
“Who the hell else could it be?” Butch challenged. “It was his damned phone, you idiot.”
“But if someone got him, they would have his phone,” Shade argued as patiently as possible, “So they could have made the call.”
“Oh yeah? And how would they know my number?” Butch demanded.
“Aww, jeez, bro,” said Shades, standing and shaking his head. “Fucking speed dial, man.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Butch conceded. “I can’t even think straight anymore with all this shit going on and I’ve had it. Those bastards in the other room have to know what the hell is happening. I’m sure of that. I’m going to take a leak and then they’re going to start talking.”
* * * *
Alex paced impatiently in the marina’s parking lot, waiting for his brother to arrive while the three men he had selected to accompany him calmly smoked and chatted by his Audi Q7. Though he hoped they would not have to use any of them, several handguns, rifles and baseball bats had been loaded in the cargo area of the SUV.
The sound of a vehicle turning into the parking lot got Alex’s attention but he was disappointed to see a red E-Series Wagon rather than his brother’s Escalade. However, as the mini-bus pulled to a stop beside him, he realized that Serge was at the wheel with five other men lounging on the seats behind him.
“Where did you get this?” Alex asked as his brother lowered the window.
“My long-term guest at the pub was driving it,” Serge replied with a smile. “I figured I might as well use it because he certainly doesn’t need it for a while. You’re ready to go?”
“All set,” said Alex. “We were waiting for you guys to arrive.”
“What about the boats?” asked Serge.
“They left about five minutes ago,” replied Alex. “Two boats with four men in each.”
“So, eighteen of us in all,” said Serge. “That should be enough.”
“I would think so,” Alex agreed. “It’s nice to have family and friends for special occasions. Let’s get going.”
* * * *
Smokie stepped out the front door and, not bothering to close it behind him, beg
an crossing the porch to the steps when he sensed more than heard movement to his left behind him. He turned in time to see Sandy swinging the axe at him, a move which saved his life. The blade, which would have caught him on the back of the neck and likely decapitated him, swung mere inches from his face, mainly because he launched himself in a backward dive down the half dozen concrete steps.
Landing with a thud on his back, he began to crab walk in desperation as Sandy came after him with the axe raised above her shoulder, ready to strike.
“Gimme a break, lady,” he pleaded, ceasing his crawl as he realized trying to escape was futile. “I’m just trying to get outta here. I didn’t do anything except go along for the ride.”
“You bastards kidnapped my husband and friends,” said Sandy, stopping her advance. “You beat them, destroyed our property, stole from us–”
“I never touched any of them,” Smokie interrupted, “And I didn’t break nothing. All I did was drink some of your beer and eat a burger. Tie me back up, call the cops and turn me in if you want to but don’t kill me like an animal.”
“Get up,” Sandy ordered as she took a step back.
“Okay,” Smokie replied. “Just don’t hit me with that thing.”
Keeping an eye on Sandy, he gingerly rose to his feet and brought his hands to his head, seemingly adjusting his bandana.
“What are you do–” Sandy started to ask when he suddenly lunged toward her.
Just as quickly, he staggered back and gasped, dropping the small knife he held as he grasped as the arrow imbedded deep into his chest. His knees buckled and gravity took over, pulling him to the ground in a crumpled heap.
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