9 More Killer Thrillers

by Russell Blake

  “Wouldn’t these guys see the cameras?” asked Dominique.

  “No, they’re tiny things and not obvious,” Sandy replied, still scanning the cameras in search of their husbands. “Oh, look. They’re in the dining room.”

  They stared at the small screen on which they could see Chris, Dave and Jon bound to their chairs. One of the intruders, a lanky man with a ponytail, was seated across from them and speaking while another large man sat off to one side, glaring at the prisoners. A third leaned against the wall beyond the dining table.

  “Can we hear what they’re saying?” asked Cathy as she saw her husband talking.

  Sandy replied with another shake of the head. “It’s video surveillance only. We have cameras but no mikes.”

  As they watched, the man who had been speaking rose to his feet and crossed over to Dave then slapped him in the face with something a few times.

  “Leave him alone,” Cathy whispered, her voice trembling.

  On screen, the soundless verbal exchange they were witnessing suddenly turned physical again as Dave’s aggressor stepped back and kicked him in the chest, knocking the chair backwards to the floor.

  “You bastard!” Cathy hissed as her eyes filled with tears.

  Leaping over the chair, the man dropped down, kneeling on Dave’s chest or neck while he spoke. After delivering another blow and more verbal exchange, he rose to his feet and turned toward Jonathan, cuffing him on the back of the head before stomping out of the room. The large man moved over to Dave, yanked his chair back to an upright position then returned to his seat, slapping the back of Jonathan’s head in passing.

  “That son of a bitch is mine,” Cathy vowed with fire in her eyes.

  They continued watching the screen with lumps in their throats as they gazed at the three captives. When it became clear after a moment that, however temporarily, the action was over, Leslie spoke.

  “Let’s get going. We’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter 7

  Saturday - 3:50 p.m.

  While the level of rowdiness was increasing in the Barry home as the thirteen uninvited guests indulged in the available stock of beer, wine and liquor, the atmosphere in the dining room where the captives were being held remained quiet to date, barring Butch’s earlier blow-up.

  Looking to provoke their captors as little as possible, Chris, Dave and Jonathan remained quiet, speaking only when spoken to and limiting their words to a bare minimum required to respond to their captors’ satisfaction.

  Though Butch had suggested Ape take a break from guard duty to roam the property and have some fun, the thug had refused, preferring to sit and glare at Jonathan while imbibing a regular stream of alcoholic beverages. Since the home invasion had begun, under two hours earlier, he’d had half a dozen beers before reverting to a bottle of Appleton Estate rum he had returned with following a bathroom break.

  “You think you’re hot shit, asshole?” he suddenly slurred at Jonathan.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonathan replied.

  Ape took a swig from his bottle then set it down with a thud before rising to his feet and taking a couple of unsteady steps toward Jon.

  “You think you’re fuckin’ better than me?” he demanded, raising his tone.

  “Just sit back down and enjoy your drink, buddy,” Jonathan replied, maintaining a neutral tone.

  “Are you fuckin’ giving me orders, asshole?” Ape yelled, taking another wavering step closer.

  “What the hell is going on here?” asked Butch as he swaggered in from the kitchen, attracted by the commotion.

  “This asshole is pissing me off,” Ape snapped, “And I’m gonna kick his ass.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “I didn’t say or do anything.”

  “What’s so fuckin’ funny?” Ape demanded, his anger increasing. “You laughing at me?”

  Shaking his head, Jonathan looked up at Butch and said, “I think the only way we can calm your monkey down is to let him have a go at me.”

  Butch smiled and said, “You’re shitting me, right?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “It’s what he wants. Now, my only question is, would this be done fairly or is he a pussy who would beat on me while I’m duct-taped to a chair?”

  “Did you call me a pussy?” Ape screamed, his face turning a deep shade of scarlet as his pressure mounted.

  “Calm down, Ape,” Butch ordered before turning back to Jonathan. “So you’re saying you want to fight him?”

  “What I’m saying is, he wants to beat on me so we might as well get it over with because this is getting old,” Jon replied. “I’m just wondering if he’s a man or a wuss.”

  Butch grinned and looked at Ape who now shook with rage as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “What do you say, Ape? Are you a man or a wuss?”

  “Untie the fucker,” Ape snarled. “I’m gonna rip off his head, shove it up his ass and kick it back up to his throat.”

  Butch pulled out a switchblade and turned to Jonathan. “Remember, this was your idea. It was nice knowing you, Jon.”

  “No hard feelings if I hurt him, agreed?” said Jonathan.

  Butch laughed as he started cutting the bindings. “You’re a riot, buddy but, yeah, whatever happens, we’ll still be friends.”

  While he finished freeing Jonathan, Butch ordered Ape and Willy, another of the crew, to move the dining room table to one side, clearing the center of the room for the upcoming brawl. A handful of crew members who had been drinking and eating in the kitchen had now moved closer, looking forward to a bit of violent entertainment.

  Free of his restraints, Jonathan rose to his feet, shaking his arms and legs a bit to loosen up his muscles. Though in peak physical condition, the five foot nine, fifty-eight year old appeared an unlikely danger to the six foot plus, two hundred thirty pound gorilla awaiting him. Jon’s attire of t-shirt, swimming trunks and canvas deck shoes did little to improve the image.

  Ape, who was anticipating the upcoming fight with relish, had even calmed down some and stood grinning at his soon-to-be victim before him.

  “Just to show you I’m not a pussy,” he said, “I’ll let you go for it first. Whenever you’re ready, ya little twat.”

  Jonathan nodded. “Your fight, your rules.”

  No sooner had he uttered the words that his foot lashed out, catching Ape squarely in the groin. As he doubled over, Jonathan clasped his hands behind the big man’s head and yanked him down hard to meet his rising knee. Pulling Ape’s head back up by his long, stringy hair, he repeated the motion two more times, each knee blow more vicious than the preceding one. He then twisted Ape’s head with an audible crack and shoved him away before stepping back, less than ten seconds after the fight had started.

  “Holy crap,” Butch exclaimed as he stared down at the motionless body with its now deformed, blood-covered face. “Someone check him to see if he’s okay.”

  “Don’t waste your time,” said Jonathan as he sat back on his chair and got in position for the inevitable duct-taping. “He’s dead.”

  “You killed him?” said Butch, somewhat in a daze.

  “I didn’t have any choice. It was him or me,” replied Jonathan. “You can’t with argue that, can you?”

  Butch thought for a moment then nodded. “You’ve got a point. I guess he was losing his touch after all.”

  Jonathan gazed at the handful of crew members watching on expectantly and added, “So, we’re good, right?”

  “Yeah, right. No hard feelings,” Butch replied then looked toward his men. “Willy, tape my friend back up here. He’s a dangerous bastard. Nose and Razor, get Ape outta here. Dumb fuck ain’t no use to me anymore.”

  Chapter 8

  Saturday - 3:57 p.m.

  Assigned to keep an eye on their captives since they had arrived, Willy was relieved when Butch told him to go and have some fun while he kept their hosts company. After grabbing another beer in the kitchen, he headed out on the terrace where a couple of
his associates were grilling burgers while a few others were messing around in the pool.

  Fond of water sports, he peered toward the dock and was pleased to see that both Sea-Doos were moored. He had jet-skied on a few occasions in the past and just loved the feeling of rushing over the water on the compact crafts. Clad in cut-off jeans, he kicked of his running shoes and stripped off his t-shirt then hurried down to the dock.

  The key was already in the ignition of the closest Sea-Doo when he reached the dock and he had the engine running and was casting off in seconds, tossing his empty beer bottle over his shoulder into the lake behind him as he roared away.

  * * * *

  “So, how are you gents doing?” Butch asked as he pulled up a chair in front of his captives.

  “This isn’t quite the day we had planned,” Chris replied, “But we’re taking things in stride.”

  “Yeah, I guess we kinda screwed up your schedule and stuff,” replied Butch, almost apologetically, “But my guys work hard for me all year and I owe it to them to have a great summer vacation.”

  “Did you ever consider taking them to Disneyland?” asked Jonathan, “Or maybe just a water-park or a movie?”

  Butch laughed and replied, “I like you Jon. We come in here and tie you up then you almost get killed by Ape and you still have a sense of humor.”

  “Yeah, Jon’s a riot,” said Chris. “You should hear him when he’s not being held prisoner.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Chris,” Butch replied. “I’ve got a feeling you’re pretty funny too. I’m not sure about Dave here though. He’s pretty quiet and looks dead serious. Everything okay, buddy?”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Dave replied.

  “I’m thinking you’re pissed off at me for slugging you before,” said Butch, “And I’m sorry about that. I have a bit of a short fuse and expect people to play straight with me. I’ve gotta be tough to keep these guys in line. I’m sure you understand that.”

  “I can imagine they’re a handful,” replied Dave.

  “Oh, they’re rowdy bastards alright,” Butch agreed. “Being a cop, I’m sure they’re just the type you like to take into a back room and beat the crap out of.”

  “That’s not the kind of cop I am,” Dave disagreed.

  “What do you mean?” asked Butch. “You’re not the kind of cop that deals with low-lives like me and the boys? Only fancy white collar criminals are good enough for you?”

  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 neighbor’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 neighbor’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 center, 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.