by Gary Coffin
“Yer damn right the truck still works. That ain’t no foreign jobby. 100% built in the U.S. of A. Whatya need?” he asked as they emerged from the wooded area.
“Forsman needs me. He’s out there chasing a monster. I need two things: I need your truck, and I need you to go back into the building and retrieve a duffel bag. It’s got my night silk and NVGs. Those items could be traced back to me. You’ll find the duffle on the roof by the door. There’s a truck in the basement you can use. The keys are in it,“ said Rayce as he took off his gloves and handed them to Sammy.
“Wear these until you can ditch the truck somewhere. We don’t want to leave any evidence.”
“No problem, big guy.”
Rayce climbed into Sammy’s truck and raced off toward the highway.
Rivka lay on the mattress looking at the ceiling far above. Her efforts to find escape were abandoned the previous day. The walls were constructed with framing timbre at least four inches thick, and a heavy duty steel door guarded the entrance. Even if her hands and feet were not bound, she did not think there was a way out. The heel scuff marks that covered the wall near the door told her that she was not the first person to be held in this room. The thump of a closing door told her that Ogrodnik had come back. She wriggled back, away from the entrance, in anticipation of the big man’s return.
The door swung open, and Ogrodnik reached in and picked Rivka up in a single arm and carried her underneath his arm, much like an American football player might carry the ball.
“I hope your day has not been too unpleasant. I apologize for keeping you locked up like a caged animal, but circumstances dictated my actions. I’ve been busy accelerating my plans and making arrangements for my departure,” he said as he set her down on the couch gently.
“You’re not leaving without me, are you?” Rivka jibed trying to get a rise from her captor.
“Ha-ha. I’ve always said that a sharp wit is an indicator of a quick mind. And you have both. No, my dear, a large portion of my planning was to ensure your death will not be in vain. Together we will get our revenge on that fool Amyot. Vengeance will be yours, even if it comes from the hereafter.”
Rivka had already determined that whenever possible, she would get him talking. She guessed that he didn’t have much opportunity to converse and relished the chance to advertise his genius. Perhaps in his blathering, he would reconsider his plans for her. “What are you rambling about?” she asked.
“Did you know I took souvenirs from the victims?“
Rivka shook her head no.
“Yes, I took a tuft of hair from each. It was discrete, just a few well-placed snips from the hairline in the back where it wouldn’t be noticed. My intent was not that they are used as trophies; I have no need for such things. The truth be told, I had no plans for the snips of hair. I took them and hid them and haven't thought of them again until recently. It was done on the spur of the moment for the first victim to establish a serial killer MO, so I continued doing it for all the victims. I had never intended to need or use them. And now, as fate has delivered you to me, I have a plan for them, a plan that will allow for a settling of scores. I plan to cast Amyot into the spotlight for not only your murder but for all the Stungun murders.”
“I’m listening,” said Rivka.
Ogrodnik smiled. “Amyot walks his dog early every morning before the joggers and cyclists have hit the road. He drives to Bois de Liesse Park up in St Laurent near his house where he parks and then takes the dog out for a thirty-minute stroll in the woods. It is in this park where I will dump your body tonight. I have already paid a man handsomely to a plant a jewelry box in Amyot’s cottage up north in St Adele. Hidden inside that box, the police will find the trophy locks from the victims. They’ll also find trace evidence of you in a rolled-up mat at the bottom of his home garbage can. All it will take is an anonymous tip tomorrow saying that someone saw Amyot putting something large and bulky in his trunk at 5:00 in the morning. The camera at the entrance of Bois de Liesse Park will confirm his presence at the scene. The rest will fall into place. He lives alone, and thus will have no alibi. Another call to the press will have them circling like sharks; his life will be ruined.”
“You said you had feelings for me. Why kill me?”
“I do have feelings for you, but I am not delusional. A union between us is not possible. I am, as you have said in the past, a monster, a freak. Whatever intellectual gifts I was born with are countered by my physical form. I see the repulsion in people’s faces when they look at me. The way they cross the street in order to avoid coming close to me. It’s who I am and have always been. There is no place for me in this society. And for those few that I have had feelings for in my life, there can be no place for them either. If I can’t have you, nobody can.”
Ogrodnik waited in silence as he perceived that Rivka was forming the next question in her mind. “I don’t understand the connection between the Stungun Killer and Biovonix.”
“Ahh. Well framed. We are running out of time, but I can afford you the answer to this one last question,” said Ogrodnik as he leaned back in his chair.
“There is an entire sub-society that exists to service the needs and wants of men with power and money. These people often look for services that cannot be found in the want ads of a newspaper or on a website. I thrive in this arena and have an established presence as someone who is capable and willing. When someone like Alex Banik started looking for such a person, our union was a natural. I had the skills he was looking for, and he had the financial means I was seeking. Because we were both originally from the old country, this cemented the relationship. He pays me enough to do his wet work that I can overlook the un-pleasantries of working for such a supercilious ass. I have now fulfilled all my obligations to Banik and have no desire to work for him again. And, to answer your question, Banik has no idea that I was the Stungun Killer. I was completely "off the reservation," as they say. There are only two connections between the two—me and you, Ms. Goldstein. You were lucky enough to be a primary on both investigations.”
With that Ogrodnik rose from his chair and advanced toward Rivka. ‘The witching hour has arrived. It is time to set my plan in motion. And unfortunately for you that starts with your death. I don’t want to see you suffer, Ms. Goldstein. I would prefer to just kill you quickly, but I need to revive the Stungun MO.“
Ogrodnik pulled a Taser and a roll of tape from his pockets and advanced. He pressed the Taser to the back of her neck and then re-applied the tape across the mouth of the now stunned Rivka Goldstein.
Rivka’s muscles were jelly and of no use to her, but she remained fully conscious this time. Ogrodnik picked her up easily with one large arm across her chest and laid her face down on the couch with her legs hanging off the end. She heard the snapping sound of a folding knife opening and felt a tug at her waist as he sliced her belt off from the back. She could feel the life coming back into her legs and was gathering herself into one final revolt: one last desperate surge of effort that might be enough to alter her fate. She sensed he was bending down to slice the nylon restraint from her ankles but had paused.
Rivka moved her head enough to see Ogrodnik now standing behind her. He was now standing straight up, head turned to one side like a prairie dog standing guard. He had heard something, she thought. Was there someone outside? Ogrodnik tased her again and headed out through a hidden door in the back of the room.
Elliot found Hochelaga Landscaping without issue. He drove by slowly and saw the gate and an old sign with the faded logo of Hochelaga Landscaping hanging haphazardly from a rusted pole.
He parked his car half a block down in front of another industrial type building and walked back to Hochelaga. All the businesses were closed at this time of night so through traffic was non-existent. He crouched under the closed gate and passed a small gatehouse that was there for show only. Once inside and able to see past the row of trees and bushes that lined the property front, he found himse
lf on the edge of a large open area in the middle bounded by a number of outbuildings. The courtyard area was lit up by a few spotlights mounted on the outbuildings. The lack of lighting in the Hochelaga office trailer on his immediate left told Elliot the trailer was unoccupied. The largest of the outbuildings and the only one that looked like it may be occupied was at the far end of the property. It appeared to be a work shop of sorts. Not only was it the only building to have a light on inside, but there was a truck parked off to the side.
The workshop was about 20 feet tall and 80 feet wide. There was a large sliding door at the front of the building that was partially open. A light shone from inside, and from Elliot’s vantage point, he saw what looked like some old machinery and storage shelves along the back wall.
Not wanting to stay out in the brightly lit courtyard, Elliot quickly made his way to the closest building to his right. Once out of sight, he took his time to map out the area. He concluded that the fastest way to get to the work shop without being seen was to skirt the boundary of the outbuildings walking in the shadows cast from the night lights.
While making his way around the back of the outbuildings, he inadvertently kicked over an empty can unseen in the dark of the shadows and sent it clanging against a nearby rock. He froze where he was and let the clatter disperse into the night air. Seconds later he heard a dog somewhere in the neighborhood reply to the tin can clatter. Likely a guard dog at one of the surrounding businesses, he thought. He remained motionless and let the din die down. When he was certain that there was no movement coming from the large building, he continued on.
Kneeling just inside the shadow of the work shop, he felt the sticky coolness of the moist ground seeping through his pants at the knee. The smell of oil was strong, and he thought for a second about the dry cleaning he’d need for the pants and then shook his head and gave himself a mental reprimand for not staying focused. Elliot crept up to the side of the open door to peek inside. The back of the large room was lined with wooden shelving filled with old, greasy boxes and machine parts of all shapes and sizes. As far as he could tell, the room was empty. He drew his gun and held it at waist level pointing straight ahead as he advanced into the room, taking caution to be quiet. Now fully inside, he stood in the doorway listening for people sounds, his form silhouetted from the light of the room. The floor to his left was littered with wooden staves from a broken pallet, so he inched around to the right in order to avoid them. A whooshing noise passed by his ear followed by a sharp pain as a thin pipe cracked the wrist on his gun hand and caused the gun to skid across the concrete floor. Elliot’s immediate reaction was one of surprised agony as he bent forward to cradle his wrist. That reaction also prevented the Taser coming from behind to find its mark. Instead of a body shaking jolt that would incapacitate him, the brush with the Stungun nodes caused a spike of pain that took him to his knees but nothing more. Elliot saw Ogrodnik over his shoulder stretching out with the stungun forward to finish its job and, without looking back, grabbed a stave in his left hand and spun around swinging the piece of wood. The broken stave found its mark and met the oncoming stungun. Ogrodnik cried out as the stave made contact with his outstretched hand. Elliot spun back up on his feet to meet his attacker. Ogrodnik, already over the little surprise, tossed the shattered Taser off to the side and pressed forward. Elliot reached for the lessons he learned from years of Karate and instinctively assumed the Hachiji-dachi, the basic ready stance used by all Karate disciples. Ogrodnik, unimpressed by his opponent’s combat stance, reared back to deliver a heavy overhand blow. Elliot saw the punch coming and prepared to deflect the roundhouse and then counter with a closed fist strike to the face. What he was not prepared for was the brute force behind the coming blow. Ogrodnik’s punch tore through Elliot’s deflection attempt and glanced off the side of his head and then down onto the shoulder that took the full brunt of the downward punch. Elliot’s shoulder screamed, and his knees sagged from the blunt force of the massive fist. He was able to evade a short left-hand swing and, as Ogrodnik was winding up to deliver another massive right-handed blow, Elliot stepped into his opponent and delivered a Kouchi, a bent wrist strike to the chin of the giant that would shatter a brick back at the dojo. Ogrodnik did not fall; he did not even stagger. The big man’s head was jerked to the side, but the blow had the same effect on him as a carried infant striking its parent might have. Now inside his reach, Ogrodnik grabbed Elliot by the upper arm with one hand and the front of his shirt with the other and slammed him down onto the cement floor.
Elliot was slow to regain his wits, and before he could move to escape, Ogrodnik had his feet and hands trussed with nylon tie wraps.
“The missing partner, how quaint. So much for the cavalry coming in at the last minute to avert tragedy. All you’ve accomplished is to get yourself killed at the same time as your partner. I’ll be sure to tell Ms. Goldstein of your failure before I dispatch her,“ said the monster in his soprano pitched voice.
“Before you join my growing list of victims I need to know who else might know about me and Hochelaga Landscaping.”
“I’ve got a whole squad of Montreal’s finest on their way here as we speak,“ Elliot spat back.
“Yes, how predictable it is for you to say that. No, I think not. You are here on your own. The guilt you feel for Ms. Goldstein being captured drives you to attempt the heroic. You seek redemption. You’ve already failed to save your mother, and now you will also be responsible for the death of your partner as well. The only solace I can offer you is that your guilt will be short-lived. Because, you see, the dead feel no guilt,” said Ogrodnik as he walked over to a workbench against the wall.
Elliot tested the ties. They were tight, and they were strong.
“Did you know the human foot has as many nerve endings as the tongue? I think after exposure to the hot end of my torch, you will be forthcoming in telling me what I want to know.”
Ogrodnik turned to the workbench, found and lit a small propane torch. Elliot saw the advancing ogre and feigned injury in a fetal position until the big man came closer. When Ogrodnik bent down to grab his leg, Elliot lashed out with both feet with all of his strength hoping that a lucky blow would give him an opening. The double kick found the most vulnerable area on the big man and sent him staggering back in pain. The torch flew from his hand and rolled away, leaving the big man in a world of pain and a seething rage. He could not have timed his kick better, but all he managed to do was enrage the monster before him. Ogrodnik took a moment to compose himself and then set upon Elliot with a vengeance. A single massive hand closed around Elliot’s throat, lifted him high above his head and then hurled him against the wall a dozen feet away.
Elliot awoke from a momentary blackout with a tilted view of Ogrodnik standing in front of him. Pain ripped through his head and left shoulder. He attempted to move, to get his legs working, to get away from the certain death that stood before him. His bound legs, still weak but able to function, failed to move him. He looked down to them and immediately saw the problem. A rusty bolt on the wall of the workshop was protruding from his shoulder. He straightened his legs in order to lift his body up and take the pressure off the shoulder, but the pain only increased with the movement. A flurry of motion caught his eye, and he looked up in time to see the blurred form of Rayce in the act of cracking a wooden post across the back of Ogrodnik’s head. Ogrodnik staggered and fell face first onto the concrete floor. Rayce tossed the splintered wood aside and rushed to Elliot.
“Let’s get you down from there,” he said as he lifted Elliot and pulled his body from the bloody bolt. Elliot shuddered as the bolt passed back through his shoulder.
“Can you talk?”
Elliot nodded. “It’s just my shoulder. Help me up, and cut my ties. We need to find Rivka,” he managed weakly.
Rayce forced his thick fingers into the nylon ties around Elliot’s feet and snapped them with a violent jerk. Elliot cried out in pain when the process was repeated on
the bindings behind his back.
“Let’s take a look at the shoulder before I move you too much. We need to stop the bleeding.”
Rayce peeled back Elliot’s shirt in order to get a better look at the wound and might have been decapitated had he not seen the widening of Elliot’s eyes. He threw up his arm and lunged to the left. It wasn’t enough to block the incoming blow, but he did manage to deflect a portion of the energy away from the side of his head.
Ogrodnik’s pipe glanced off Rayce’s shoulder, then off the side of his head and slammed into the wall where it spun out of Ogrodnik’s grip and under a pallet. The force of the blow flipped Rayce over onto his back into the corner of the room. The big man was on him in a flash. Still stunned from the pipe and unable to defend himself properly, Rayce was on his back in the corner with his head wedged up against the wall and Ogrodnik overtop raining down blows with his massive fist.
Elliot was only six feet away and saw the entire sequence play out in front of him. The big man was relentless in his attack as his fist rose and fell into Rayce; the sound of fist on flesh spanked out across the room. Elliot struggled to get up and help but could not will his legs underneath him.
After dozens of strikes, Ogrodnik stopped the pounding and knelt down closer to grab Rayce’s head with both hands. Elliot saw Rayce’s head, now covered with blood and fleshy bruising, with the giant’s hands on each side. The big man gave a violent twist but lost his grip on the slick, blood covered skull. He bent down farther to regain his grip and in doing so hid Rayce from Elliot’s view. All he could see was the big man’s back, now facing away from Elliot as he struggled to get the hold he needed to finish the job.
Ogrodnik’s head snapped back from an unseen strike, and then his enormous body seemed to lift off the floor, and he was driven backward onto his backside. The big man rolled away to gain his feet as Rayce rose out of the corner, his face completely covered with blood and a series of welts already rising around his eyes. The only places on his face that were not bloodied were the whites of his eyes and his teeth, visible through a twisted sneer.
