Getting Even

by Claude Bouchard

  Chapter 6 – Friday, October 2, 2015

  Deli Planet Restaurant, Montreal, Quebec, 12:17 p.m.

  “Hey, Frankie,” said Dave McCall as he slid into the booth at Deli Planet in Central Station. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “No problem, boss,” Frank Bakes replied. “I just got here myself.”

  Dave smiled and said, “You should check your emails, Lieutenant. I quit being your boss a while ago.”

  Two years earlier, growing conflicts with his superior had led to Dave’s resignation from his position as head of Montreal’s Special Homicide Task Force coupled with a lawsuit for constructive dismissal. As a result, the director of police had been terminated and Dave had banked a healthy settlement all while joining Discreet Activities, a little known government agency involved in fighting crime via less than conventional methods.

  “Ah, that explains why Harris has been using your office and assigning us our cases,” said Frank. “I hope you still miss us.”

  “In fact, I do,” Dave admitted, “But I don’t miss the politics and I especially love no longer reporting to a moron.”

  Frank laughed. “I trust you got the email about the moron getting fired right after you quit? Seriously, you would have gotten along great with Toupin, the new director.”

  “I know I would have,” Dave agreed. “I’ve dealt with Alexandre in the past and always liked his style. The problem is, if I hadn’t quit, Rémi Vaillancourt might still be in charge. Anyhow, it all worked out for the best. The department has a much stronger leader, I enhanced my retirement fund, I have much more time to hang out with Cathy and I’m enjoying the work I do.”

  “It certainly seems that way,” said Frank with a grin. “What exactly do you do besides travel the world at the taxpayers’ expense?”

  “If I told you that, well, you know,” Dave quipped. “But, enough about me. I saw your television spot the other day and realized I hadn’t seen you in a while.”

  Frank frowned. “That’s a TV appearance I would have loved to miss. I deal with murders for a living but, damn it, my neighbour getting shot minutes from home while he’s out jogging is ridiculous. I’ve known Paul for years and he’s one hell of a great guy. He had to be a random target which makes this a lot scarier.”

  “A couple of minutes later and you could have been that random target,” Dave suggested.

  “Funny you should say that,” Frank replied. “I was a few minutes late getting out on Wednesday but if I had been on schedule, I probably would have been right there with Paul. We run often enough together when he’s in town. We don’t plan it, we just often go out for our jog at the same time.”

  “Well, I’m happy you weren’t there that morning,” said Dave, “And it seems like he’s going to pull through from what I’ve heard.”

  “It’s looking good,” Frank confirmed. “Definitely some luck involved because he took eight rounds, six in the back and two graze shots to the head, from about fifteen feet. On the plus side, it was cool Wednesday morning and Paul likes to get a good sweat going so he was layered up. Also, the shooter used low velocity, twenty-two ammo so Paul ended up with some nasty flesh wounds but no internal damage.”

  “Has there been any progress with the investigation?” asked Dave. “Witnesses? Anything?”

  Frank shook his head. “Last I heard, I was the best witness they had. Nobody saw or heard anything.”

  They paused their discussion while the waitress came to take their orders and then resumed, unaware they were being watched.

  * * * *

  William still could not believe this lucky turn of events. Though he had never been a religious man, he now mused that perhaps there was a God and He clearly did work in mysterious ways. This might explain why William had shot the wrong man, who apparently would survive, and why Frank Bakes, the intended victim, was still alive – and having lunch with none other than former police captain, Dave McCall, the man who had orchestrated William’s arrest.

  Had William successfully assassinated Bakes, he might have subsequently spent weeks, even months, trying and failing to locate McCall, who seemed to have literally disappeared following his resignation from the Montreal police department. Instead, the alive and healthy Bakes had unknowingly led him directly to the elusive ex-cop.

  He had devoted much of his time since Wednesday morning’s fiasco on further familiarizing himself with the detective’s routine, intent on developing a new strategy to eliminate the man. Another attempt during Bakes’ morning jog was out of the question, at least in the short term, and he did not wish to let weeks go by before moving forward with his planned revenge. Shortly after noon, Bakes had left the Special Homicide headquarters near Dorchester Square and, with William on his tail, had made his way to Central Station a few blocks away.

  Once inside, the detective had headed directly to the Deli Planet restaurant and William had been pleased to see the hostess lead his quarry to a booth visible from the main concourse. Mere moments later, William had been shocked, and delighted, when he had witnessed McCall’s arrival.

  Since, he had been keeping an eye on the two men as he casually strolled about amidst the roaming crowds of office workers out for a bite or errands during their lunch break. Slightly more than an hour had now gone by and he could see Bakes and McCall were settling up with their waitress; lunch was over, time to roll. Unaware of where McCall had come from or where he would go from here, William resigned himself to keeping his plan simple – follow the ex-cop as long as possible and gather all the information he could to assist him in further tracking the man in the days to come.

  He watched as the two men left the restaurant then followed from a distance until they stopped briefly at the southern end of the concourse. He slowed, pretending to consult his mobile while Bakes and McCall exchanged final words before shaking hands and parting ways. With the detective out of the picture, William continued after McCall, following him down the escalators to the tunnels leading the Place Bonaventure, Le 1000 and the Metro, Montreal’s subway system.

  He hoped McCall wasn’t heading to the Bonaventure underground parking lot to recoup his vehicle. Doing so would definitely reduce William’s chances of getting a lead and following the man down there without a plan might get dicey. He currently was unarmed and even if he had been, he had no intention of doing something rash and risk getting caught.

  His fears proved unfounded as McCall turned into the tunnel leading to both Le 1000, Montreal’s tallest skyscraper, and the Metro. A subway ride might hold some promise and supply William with vital information about McCall’s daily activities and whereabouts. The same held true if his destination was the prestigious office tower they were heading toward. However, the ex-cop might end up stepping out on the street to hail a cab and disappear. Time would tell.

  They reached the end of the tunnel where McCall could continue straight ahead and down the escalator to the subway or turn left and up to the ground floor of Le 1000. Left and up he went. Another pang of anxiety gripped William as he considered McCall might be headed to this building’s multilevel parking lot. However, he reasoned, should that be the case, he would have time to make it to the exit and hopefully get McCall’s plate number.

  Once at the top, McCall moved along with countless others through the plate glass doors into Le 1000’s vast lobby and headed to the escalators leading to the elevator banks above. William stayed with him, half a dozen people behind, and continued to follow to the bank of elevators destined to the upper floors of the fifty-one storey building.

  The doors to the closest car stood open and, as McCall headed toward the opening, William accelerated his pace, intent on seeing his quarry’s floor selection. He entered the car and turned his head just in time to see McCall tap a key card on a security reader before punching the button for the forty-eighth floor. Others piled in and chose their destinations and, seconds later the doors slid shut and the passengers were whisked upward.

  Having accomplished all he could
for now, William left the elevator at its first stop on the thirty-seventh floor to head back down. The last hour or so had turned out to be rather fruitful. Not only had he located Dave McCall, even though by chance, he had also tied him to a probable work location, this based on the man having a card key to access a secured floor.

  He would settle in downstairs somewhere, keep an eye out for McCall and kill some time researching what firm or organization occupied the forty-eighth floor. With a little luck, he might even get a chance to further tail the man and learn where he lived as well.

  * * * *

  Le 1000, 48th Floor, 3:31 p.m.

  “– and last on our agenda is Dino Castellini,” said sixty year old Jonathan Addley, head of the unofficially named Discreet Activities agency since its inception in 1994.

  “We’re still good to go,” replied Chris Barry, Addley’s most seasoned operative.

  “Let’s run through this one last time,” said Jonathan. “I don’t want any loose ends.”

  “I’ll be dealing with him at his condo Monday night,” replied attractive, thirty-three year old Leslie Robb. “As long as he’s home, which he should be.”

  Jonathan frowned. “That’s still nagging me. There are seventy units on ten floors in that building. That’s potential for a lot of witnesses. Are we sure we don’t have any other alternatives?”

  “Castellini’s following the judge’s bail orders to the letter,” said Chris. “He spends his weekdays at his recycling business and his evenings and weekends at home. Groceries and anything else he needs are delivered and his social life is limited to occasional visits from a handful of closer friends and associates, generally on weekends.”

  Jonathan nodded. “So he hasn’t tried to mess with the ankle monitor?”

  “He’s smart enough to know it’s not worth it,” Chris replied, “So, unless we want to blow up his plant or run him off the road, the condo is our only option.”

  “I guess,” Jonathan conceded. “What about security? He has bodyguards around twenty-four, seven since he was released on bail.”

  “Aw, crap,” Leslie exclaimed. “We never thought about security.”

  Jonathan gazed at her and said, “You’re spending too much time with Chris, my dear. His smartassness is rubbing off on you.”

  “Don’t blame me,” said Chris. “She was already a smartass when we met her.”

  “I can’t deny that,” Jonathan agreed. “So, what about security? Any concerns?”

  “Johnny O’Reilly picks him up in the morning and drives him to the plant in Vaudreuil,” Leslie replied. “The grounds are fenced in with a guard at the gate and there are more security cameras than one would expect for a recycling plant. Dino and Johnny are in there all day, usually until around seven when they head back home.”

  “And at the condo?” asked Jonathan.

  “All pretty basic,” said Chris. “Card key is needed to get into the building. Castellini has one of the three penthouse units, the one at the back overlooking the river. Of the other two, one is occupied sporadically by a retired couple who travel a lot and the other is vacant. Castellini has two cameras set up on his floor, one on the elevators and the other on his front door. He’s also hooked into the building’s security cameras which cover the outside parking in front, the indoor parking entrance on the side and the main lobby.”

  “And those are monitored from another unit in the building?” asked Dave, recalling a previous discussion.

  “It varies,” Chris replied. “During the day, they’re monitored from a distance, likely from his plant. Come night time, it’s on site. Around six every day, someone from his crew shows up, does a round of the building and grounds, checks the penthouse then settles in for surveillance duty in the other unit Castellini owns on the eighth floor.”

  “And you’re sure there are no cameras inside his place?” Jonathan questioned.

  Chris shook his head. “Not based on the feeds we’ve seen. The only other camera is focused on the door of eighth floor unit.”

  “What about the alarm system?” Jonathan pressed on.

  Chris shrugged. “It’s not our concern. O’Reilly disarms it when he does his walk-through. I’ve never seen him reset it when he leaves, nor have I seen Castellini disarm it when he goes in.”

  They continued the discussion for a few more minutes, wrapping it up when Chris announced he had a four o’clock meeting in a neighbouring building. After making his fortune via stock options at the age of thirty-five and joining Jonathan’s team, the computer savvy executive had limited his corporate presence over the last eighteen years to board directorships.

  “I’ll ride down with you,” said Jonathan. “I’m done for the day.”

  “Same here,” said Dave. “You coming, Leslie?”

  “I’ll stick around for a bit,” Leslie replied. “Dominique and I are going for dinner and a movie but she’ll only be here in an hour. Have a great weekend, guys.”

  * * * *

  Le 1000, Lobby, 2nd Floor, 3:47 p.m.

  William leaned against the railing, gazing down at the handful of skaters gliding about on the ice rink in the Atrium at the rear of the landmark skyscraper. Behind him, a chime sounded, announcing the arrival of yet another elevator from one of the top floors. Casually, he turned to watch the passengers alight – and was met with his second shock of the day.

  While finding Dave McCall earlier that day had been a coincidence, there was a certain logic to it in the sense that he and Frank Bakes had worked together for many years. They, in fact, had been the lead investigators in the Homeless Killer case and their efforts had unfortunately led to his arrest nine years earlier. However, somehow involved in their investigation had been two unknowns, impersonating bums in a most believable fashion, who had actually been the ones to apprehend him at the time.

  He had never known who those men where, apart from their fake street names, Dougie and Bob, and was certain finding them would be next to impossible – yet, there they now stood, no more than twenty feet away from him, chatting with McCall. Gone, of course were the ratty clothing, dishevelled hair and unkempt beards. Both clean-cut and clean-shaven, the one he’d known as Bob wore business-casual and had an almost military air to him. As for Dougie, he sported a tailor-made suit, shirt and tie. Both had slim leather satchels slung on their shoulders.

  Nine years had passed and their appearances were vastly different but there was no mistaking the likenesses. He had found Dougie and Bob, his last two targets. Of course, much still remained to be done. He would have to find out who they were, what they did, where they lived – but he had found them. They likely worked with McCall on the mysterious forty-eighth floor, which meant he should be able to pick up their trail here again in the coming days and weeks. All he needed was time, which he had, and patience, which he would work on.

  The men parted ways, with McCall and Bob going to the stairs nearby, possibly on their way to the underground parking, and Dougie heading toward the front of the building. William set off after him and soon found himself in the underground city once again. Dougie moved at a firm, steady pace, a couple of glances at his watch suggesting he might be on his way to an appointment. After a few minutes, they seemed to reach their destination, Place Ville-Marie, where Dougie went directly to the elevators.

  With few other people around, William slowed his pace while pretending to consult his phone, not quite certain what to do. At that moment, two men in suits approached the elevators from the opposite direction and William was once again blessed.

  “Good afternoon, Chris,” one of the men called out as they joined Dougie.

  “Hey, Stan,” Dougie/Chris replied, shaking the man’s hand. “How’s it going?”

  “No complaints here,” Stan replied then gestured to his colleague. “Have you met Jeremy Logan?”

  “Only on paper,” Chris replied, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy. I’m Chris Barry.”

  Their continuing conversation faded as
they entered a waiting elevator and disappeared behind the sliding doors.

  “Chris Barry,” William murmured to himself with a smile as he strolled off, his highly worthwhile shadowing work done for the day.

  Chapter 7 – Monday, October 5, 2015

  Pierrefonds-Roxboro, Montreal, Quebec, 7:16 p.m.

  Likely due to its composition of mid to upper-class residential neighbourhoods, the West Island sector of Montreal had never been known for any major gang activity. This, as well as ties with a few influential organized crime figures, had allowed Dino Castellini’s West Enders gang to easily gain and maintain control of drug distribution on the western half of the island for a number of years – until three years earlier when the Mobstas, an amalgamation of several east-end gangs, had decided to expand westward.

  An escalation of clashes had ensued, culminating on August 29, 2014, when two masked men had entered Sammy’s Steakhouse and calmly sprayed the dining room with machine gun fire, killing five known members of the Mobstas. The attack had also taken the lives of three innocent victims and injured another seven.

  Though police had been convinced of Castellini’s involvement, they had been unable to find any proof to support their beliefs, even after the bodies of two known West Enders wannabes had been found less than a month after the massacre. However, a new development had shown promise on December 18, 2014. Rudy Aalto, yet another WE wannabe, had walked into the Pointe-Claire district police station with his attorney, requesting protection and leniency in exchange for his confession and testimony implicating Castellini.

  Aalto had confirmed the two bodies found in September had indeed been the shooters at Sammy’s Steakhouse who had acted on Castellini’s orders. Expecting the two men would brag about their feat, the gang leader had subsequently tasked Aalto with their execution, promising him full colours in exchange for his efforts. All had seemed fine until a bomb rigged in Aalto’s car had detonated prematurely, sparing his life and spurring him to visit the authorities.