She moved to the farthest end of the couch, cowering into the corner and managing to slip the earpiece out of sight behind a seat cushion. To her relief, her captor did not sit next to her but rather, pushed a center table aside with his foot, clearing any obstacle between them then dropped into an armchair across from her.
“There, we’re nice and comfy so now we can chat. I’m Butch,” he said with a smile which quickly disappeared. “Now, who the fuck are you?”
“I-I’m Becky,” Cathy replied.
“Becky who?” Butch demanded.
“Becky Thatcher,” Cathy blurted the first thing which came to mind and hoped Butch wouldn’t catch her Twainian slip.
“Okay, Becky,” said Butch, “So what are you, a cop or something?”
“No, no, I’m not a cop,” Cathy stammered, her mind spinning as she tried to come up with a plausible story. “I-I work in security, that’s why I have a gun, but I’m not a cop.”
“Security, eh?” Butch pushed on. “What kinda security?”
“Uh, armored transport,” Cathy replied. “I-I work for Brinks.”
Butch nodded in approval. “No shit. We’ll have to talk more about that later. You could maybe give me some inside tips and stuff. Hell, maybe we can work a job together, but for now, I wanna know what the hell you’re doing here.”
“I, uh, I’m staying at a friend’s house next door,” Cathy started, taking her time, hoping to stretch things as long as possible. “She and her husband are away on vacation and she invited me to spend some time here while they’re gone–”
“I give a rat’s ass about that,” Butch interrupted. “Why did you come here with a gun?”
“I-I was next door, at the dock,” Cathy replied. “I was tying up the boat I rented and this man came up on another boat. He told me there seemed to be some trouble here but he didn’t want to get involved. He said maybe I should call the police.”
“Who was this guy?” asked Butch. “You have a name? What did he look like?”
Cathy shrugged. “He wasn’t someone I knew but, like I said, I’m not from around here. He looked about your age, early twenties, tall and husky with dark, wavy hair. I did ask his name and he said it was Rat, or something like that.”
“Rat?” Butch repeated. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”
“That’s what I understood,” Cathy replied. “I thought it was a strange name but I figured it must be a nickname.”
“Okay, so what did this Rat tell you?” asked Butch, obviously interested.
“Not much, really,” said Cathy, doing her best to look pensive. “Pretty much like I said before, that there seemed to be trouble here. I asked him what kind of trouble and that’s when he said he didn’t want to get involved and maybe I should call the police.”
“What kind of boat did he have?” Butch asked.
“Hmm, I don’t know very much about boats,” Cathy replied then went on to give a fairly accurate, visual description of the Barrys’ powerboat.
“Damn,” Butch muttered when she was done, lost in thought, his expression almost one of sadness.
“Is something wrong?” asked Cathy, trying to extend their conversation.
Butch looked up at her and his gaze hardened. “Yeah, something’s wrong. I asked you what the fuck you’re doing here and you’re just feeding me bullshit and not answering my question.”
“I’m sorry. I was getting to that,” said Cathy. “After Rat left, I thought about calling the police like he’d suggested but didn’t really think I should without knowing if something was wrong here or not so I got my gun and came over.”
“So, why’d you come inside like a damned robber?” Butch demanded.
Cathy allowed herself to glare at him. “The cars outside are damaged, there’s a bashed up motorcycle on the lawn and a body on the walk with an arrow sticking out of its head.”
“And you don’t know anything about that?” Butch challenged, “My bike smashed, my guys getting killed and disappearing?”
“All I know is what I’ve told you,” Cathy replied. “With what I saw, I didn’t think ringing the doorbell was the smartest thing to do.”
Butch gazed at her and smiled again. “The smart thing to do would have been to get the hell away from here and mind your damned business. I don’t know that I believe your story, sweetie, but since you decided to join the party, let’s have some fun. Get up. We’ll go get a drink, you’ll meet our hosts and my buddies then you and me will have us a sweet little time together.”
* * * *
“Très bien,” Alex said into his phone before ending the call and dialling his brother’s mobile. “Serge, the boats are in place.”
“Excellent,” Serge replied. “I’ll call Sandy and let her know we’re here.”
* * * *
“I’m ready to go in,” said Sandy.
“I’m in position,” Josée confirmed from outside the French doors leading to the dining room.
“Same here,” said Leslie who crouched on the roof by the kitchen skylight. “Dominique, what are we looking at?”
“Butch is still in the den, talking with Cathy,” Dominique reported. “The guy with the sunglasses is on the loveseat in the dining room and the other one is walking back and forth in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, I see him,” Leslie replied. “Sandy, are you good to go in first and handle Butch?”
“I’m definitely good,” Sandy replied. “Where is he in the den, Dominique?”
“He’s sitting in the armchair between the sliding doors and the window,” said Dominique. “Cathy is on the couch across from him.”
“Got it,” Sandy acknowledged, relieved to know she’d have a clear shot at Butch without putting Cathy’s life in danger.
“So, a quick recap,” said Leslie. “Sandy takes out Butch. As soon as it’s done, Josée and I go in and take the two others. We’re good?”
“Let’s do this,” Josée replied.
“Good here,” said Sandy. “I’m going in.”
As she spoke the words, a beep came through her earpiece, indicating another call.
“Aw, crap I’m getting another call,” she whispered, pulling her phone out to look at the display. “It’s Serge. He might have something for us.”
“Take it,” said Leslie. “Hurry.”
“Allo, Serge,” said Sandy, switching calls. “This isn’t a good time. What is it?”
“Bonjour, Sandy,” Serge replied, noting the urgency in her hushed tone. “I will be brief. We have eighteen men in two cars and two boats only seconds away if you need help.”
“Serge, stay where you are,” Sandy pleaded. “We’re at a critical point and we hope this will be over in the next few minutes.”
“We are keeping our word,” Serge replied. “But we wanted to be close by to help quickly if needed. Call me or Alex and all our men will be there in seconds.”
“I will, Serge,” Sandy promised, “But don’t move in unless I call you. You may be hearing gunfire soon. Now I have to go.”
“Bonne chance, Sandy,” said Serge before cutting the connection.
“Okay, I’m back,” said Sandy to the other women. “Help is close by if we need it but they’re staying clear until told otherwise.”
“Good,” Leslie replied. “Set to go?”
“I’m going in now,” Sandy confirmed.
She unlocked the door to the mudroom at the south end of the house and pushed it open, thankful for its well oiled hinges. Slipping inside, she closed the door behind her and crept toward the hallway which would lead her to the den some twenty feet away. Peering past the door jamb, she could see light spilling into the darkened hallway from the den’s entrance. Her heart raced as she heard the indistinguishable murmur of a man’s voice, likely Butch’s, and realized how close he was and how soon he would pay for his crimes with his life.
As she stepped into the hallway, Dominique’s voice came through her earpiece. “Butch is getting up and so is Cathy. He h
as his arm around her neck now and his gun against her head. They’re leaving the den.”
Sandy stepped back into the mudroom, out of sight, just as Cathy emerged from the den, Butch pressed against her, using her as a shield. A wall mirror at the end of the hallway offered Sandy a clear view of them and she froze in position as she realized Butch might see her reflection as well. However, the hallway and mudroom were dark and, after barely a glance in her direction, Butch shoved Cathy out and they headed the other way. They stopped briefly while he scooped up Cathy’s errant pistol then moved on and disappeared to the left, the kitchen and dining room their obvious destination.
“They’re heading your way,” Sandy murmured.
“Stay put for now, Sandy,” Leslie replied. “I’d like them to be all in the same area so we can hit from all sides.”
* * * *
“Hey, boys, look what I found us,” Butch announced as he entered the dining room, propelling Cathy by the arm ahead of him.
“Aw, Christ, Cathy,” Dave moaned, blanching as he watched his wife stumble into the room.
Butch yanked Cathy to a halt and turned to Dave. “What did you call her?”
“What are you doing here, baby?” Dave asked with tears in his eyes, ignoring Butch.
“I asked you a fucking question,” Butch bellowed, wrapping an arm around Cathy’s neck and pressing the muzzle of his gun against her temple. “Fucking answer me or I’ll blow this bitch’s brains out.”
“I called her Cathy,” Dave replied. “Now, leave her alone.”
Fury shone in Butch’s eyes as he spoke. “Cathy, huh? Why’d the lying slut say her name was Becky? Who is she, Captain? Where do you know this whore from?”
“She’s my wife, Butch,” Dave said, the deadly undertone in his voice unmistakable. “Just let her go.”
“You’re in no position to tell me what to do, asshole,” Butch snapped, “And I’ll do whatever I want with her. I guess lying just runs in the family, don’t it. Well, Captain, you know what happens when people lie to me. They gotta be taught a lesson and it ain’t no different for your little lady here.”
“You’ll regret what you’re doing, Butch,” Dave warned, his face now white with anger. “Let her go.”
“Fingers, get some tape and shut the captain up before I shoot the bastard,” Butch ordered as he dragged Cathy backwards to the dining room table. “Shades, come and give me a hand with the lady here.”
“Give this up, Butch,” Chris pleaded as he watched the thug shove Cathy against the end of the table, pushing her down so she lay flat on her face.
“Fingers, tape up the other two while you’re at it. They’re just gonna whine,” said Butch before turning back to Cathy. “You just be a good girl and cooperate and you might even enjoy it.”
He kicked her legs apart, pinning her to the table with one hand behind her neck, his gun pressed firmly to the back of her head while Shades proceeded to tape her ankles to the table legs. Fingers, done with his duties of muzzling their three captives, joined his accomplices and got busy securing one of Cathy’s wrists to a further table leg while Shades looked after the other. Throughout, Cathy remained cooperative and silent, offering neither resistance nor the barest whimper.
“Well, she ain’t no spring chicken,” said Butch, gazing at the spread-eagled woman before him, “But she still looks damned good if you ask me.”
“Sweet butt,” Fingers added, winking at Dave before returning his gaze to Cathy. “Maybe we should have stripped her down before trussing her up.”
“Nothing good old scissors can’t fix and I saw some in that knife block in the kitchen,” Butch replied, laying his revolver down on a nearby credenza before starting to remove his belt. “Go get them and cut these clothes off the lady. She’s earned herself a bare-ass whippin’ by lying to me and I’m itching to give it to her.”
* * * *
“They taped Cathy to the table,” said Dominique. “Now one of them is going to the kitchen.”
“I see him,” said Leslie, watching from the skylight above. “Where are the others?”
“Butch is standing behind Cathy,” Dominique replied in a worried tone. “He’s removed his belt. I think he’s going to whip her.”
“Where’s the other?” Leslie urged.
“He’s standing in front of the French doors,” said Dominique.
“He’s right in front of me,” Josée confirmed, staring at the silhouette on the voile curtains from where she stood outside, a few feet from the doorway and ready to go.
“Sandy, start moving,” Leslie directed. “We’re going in a few seconds.”
* * * *
“I’ve got just what we need,” were Fingers last words as he strolled under the skylight in the kitchen on his way back to the dining room. A second later, he was falling to the floor, dead from the impact of nine double-aught pellets fired from Leslie’s shotgun through the skylight above, glass showering the mangled corpse.
As Leslie dropped into the kitchen through the now glassless skylight, a second shotgun boomed, this one from outside the French doors leading to the dining room. Travelling at a speed of some fifteen hundred feet per second, this round of pellets easily tore through the glass and wood barrier before ripping into Shades’ back and internal organs beyond and catapulting his lifeless body to the center of the room.
Taken completely by surprise, Butch froze for a couple of seconds before attempting to react. As he turned to the credenza to retrieve his revolver, his legs were kicked out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor on his back. Looking up, he found himself staring into the barrels of not one but two shotguns held by as many women. A third approached with a handgun aimed at his chest.
“Twitch and you’re dead,” said the redhead he had seen drop in through the skylight.
“I’m not moving a muscle, lady,” Butch replied, remaining very still.
“Put your feet together,” the familiar looking blonde with the handgun ordered, zip-tying his ankles once he had complied.
“Now, very carefully, roll onto you stomach,” said the redhead, “Hands behind your back.”
He rolled over and as the blonde was securing his wrists, he realized who she was and chuckled.
“You’re Mrs. Barry,” he said with a grin. “You bitches didn’t really go to L.A. Bunch of fucking liars.”
Sandy rose to her feet and responded by kicking him several times in the ribs. After patting him down and relieving him of a switchblade, phone and wallet, the women turned their attention to freeing Cathy and the men.
Cathy, the first to be cut loose, went to Butch as soon as she was free, raining a volley of blows to his head before spotting his gun on the credenza.
“You’re dead, you motherfucker,” she shrieked, hitting the side of his face repeatedly with the heavy handgun before standing and aiming at his head.
“Cathy, don’t,” shouted her husband, the tape on his mouth gone but still partially tethered to the chair while Leslie sawed at his remaining bonds.
“Why not?” Cathy demanded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’s an animal. He would have killed you. He deserves to die.”
“It’s not for you to do, sweetheart,” Dave pleaded, now freed and approaching. “Give me the gun.”
“He was going to kill you, Dave,” Cathy repeated. “He was going to kill Chris and Jon too. He was going to rape and kill me. He needs to pay for what he did and what he was going to do.”
“He does need to pay, sweetheart,” Dave agreed, “But it’s not up to you to deliver the sentence.”
“Listen to your husband,” said Butch from where he lay on the floor. “He’s a cop. He knows this shit.”
“Shut the hell up,” Dave bellowed, delivering a kick of his own at the hog-tied thug before turning to his wife. “Please, Cathy. Give me the gun.”
“He’s right, Cathy,” said Chris. “Give Dave the gun.”
She looked around at her friends who, one by one, nodded
in agreement. Sighing, she removed her finger from the trigger and handed the gun to Dave who laid it back down on the credenza.
“Let’s get this garbage off the floor,” he said, reaching down for Butch.
Chris joined him and together, they pulled Butch upright and dragged him a few feet before shoving him into the captain’s chair which until recently had been occupied by Chris. Jonathan joined them with a roll of duct tape and Butch was soon bound to the chair with several layers of tape wrapped across his chest and around the chair back.
“Not real comfortable with my arms behind me,” Butch muttered.
Jonathan responded by slapping a strip of tape across Butch’s mouth before turning to the others.
“Well, that was quite a day,” he said, giving Josée a hug. “Is everyone okay?”
“Now we are,” Sandy replied, her eyes glistening as she squeezed Chris tightly.
“Nobody got hurt?” asked Dave, his arms wrapped around Cathy.
“Banged elbow is all,” his wife replied, her voice cracking. “Nothing like what you three went through with these animals.”
“We fared okay,” Jonathan reassured her before addressing Leslie. “What are we looking at?”
“A damned mess,” she replied. “Besides this asshole, two are alive and under guard.”
“Who has them?” ask Chris.
“The Morin brothers,” Sandy replied, “Who are also waiting nearby in case we need help.”
“This party’s over so you might as well tell them to go home,” said Chris. “We’ll call them in a bit about the captives. Where are the others?”
“Bodies which aren’t here are at the neighbor’s,” Leslie replied. “We’ve got some cleaning up to do.”
Jonathan sighed. “Tell me about it. We’re going to have to think a bit to determine how to handle this.”
“And all of this because of this son of a bitch,” Dave growled as he ripped the tape off Butch’s mouth. “What do you have to say, asshole?”
Butch looked up at Dave with a smirk on his face. “Well, Captain, all I have to say is that it looks like it’s our lucky day.”
“Is that right, Butch?” Dave asked. “Why is it our lucky day?”
9 More Killer Thrillers Page 135
