Vigilante
A novel by
Claude Bouchard
Vigilante
All rights reserved
Copyright © 1995 by Claude Bouchard
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
Published by Claude Bouchard
Kindle Edition
What others are saying about Vigilante!
Claude Bouchard writes smart crime fiction. Vigilante is packed with maximum velocity, page-turning thrills. Holly Christine – Pittsburgh Books Examiner
This book is a roller-coaster ride, kick in the pants! Claude hit me with a twist that I never saw coming! C.K. Webb – WebbWeaver
I had a really great time with this book. Winslow Eliot – Author of ‘The Bright Face of Danger’
Discover other titles in the VIGILANTE series at
http://www.claudebouchardbooks.com
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Tuesday, June 25, 1996
Chapter 2 - Wednesday, June 26, 1996
Chapter 3 - Thursday, June 27, 1996
Chapter 4 - Friday, June 28, 1996
Chapter 5 - Saturday, June 29, 1996
Chapter 6 - Monday, July 1, 1996
Chapter 7 - Tuesday, July 2, 1996
Chapter 8 - Wednesday, July 3, 1996
Chapter 9 - Thursday, July 4, 1996
Chapter 10 - Friday, July 5, 1996
Chapter 11 - Saturday, July 6, 1996
Chapter 12 - Monday, July 8, 1996
Chapter 13 - Wednesday, July 10, 1996
Chapter 14 - Thursday, July 11, 1996
Chapter 15 - Friday, July 12, 1996
Chapter 16 - Saturday, July 13, 1996
Chapter 17 - Monday, July 15, 1996
Chapter 18 - Tuesday, July 16, 1996
Chapter 19 - Wednesday, July 17, 1996
Chapter 20 - Thursday, July 18, 1996
Chapter 21 - Friday, July 19, 1996
Chapter 22 - Saturday, July 20, 1996
Chapter 23 - Sunday, July 21, 1996
Chapter 24 - Monday, July 22, 1996
Chapter 25 - Tuesday, July 23, 1996
Chapter 26 - Wednesday, July 24, 1996
Chapter 27 - Thursday, July 25, 1996
Chapter 28 - Friday, July 26, 1996
Chapter 29 - Saturday, July 27, 1996
Chapter 30 - Monday, July 29, 1996
Chapter 31 - Tuesday, July 30, 1996
Chapter 32 - Wednesday, July 31, 1996
Chapter 33 - Thursday, August 1, 1996
Chapter 34 - Friday, August 2, 1996
Chapter 35 - Saturday, August 3, 1996
Books by Claude Bouchard
Prologue
The old man was drunk again. That usually meant trouble.
The ten year old boy silently backed his wiry, four foot four inch frame away into the recesses of the attic, his secret place, as he called it. There, he would be safe as long as he remained quiet because the bastard turned violent when he got drunk.
The youngster worried about his fifteen year old sister though, who had arrived ten minutes before their stepfather had. He had heard then seen her through the ventilation grill set in the ceiling of her room as she came in and tossed her worn packsack onto the bed. However, she didn’t know he was there as nobody knew about his secret place. They never used the attic.
He had watched as she had examined her face in the dresser mirror and ruffled her wavy, shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair before sticking her tongue out at her reflection. Though he’d never told her, he thought that she was getting prettier every day but she was never happy with how she looked or with the worn, no-name clothing she had to wear.
“Where the fuck is everybody?” the old man hollered angrily as he plodded heavily up the stairs.
The boy could hear the stupid drunk bounce off one wall, then the other as he stumbled upwards. Laying flat on his stomach, the youth quietly started inching back towards the ventilation grill, being careful not to snag his baggy jeans on the rough, wooden floor. Doors could be heard slamming open and closed in the upstairs hallway. He reached the grill and peered down through it at his older sister, wishing that there was some way he could magically beam her up to him, like they did in Star Trek.
She was seated on the bed with knees gripped under her chin, huddled in the corner and trembling with intense fear as she stared at the door. She visibly stiffened as the footsteps approached, causing a nauseous wave to wash over her brother as he secretly but helplessly watched on. The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door and silent seconds went by, serving only to increase each sibling’s private terror.
‘Please go away. Leave her alone!’ the boy pleaded in his mind, biting his knuckles to keep from screaming.
At that moment, door crashed open, causing his sister to jump with fright.
“Howya doin, girly?” their stepfather snarled with a leering smile. “Didn’t ya hear me callin?”
“I, I was studying,” she stammered in a thin voice. “I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry.”
From the safety of his hideout, the boy could now see the stocky, forty-something year old slob with his greasy, greying hair, dirty blue jeans and bulging belly under his tight t-shirt. His unsteady stance made it clear that he had gone drinking after his shift at the machine shop if he had gone to work at all.
“Where’s your mama, sweetie?” he slurred, approaching her.
“She’s-she’s out, I guess,” the girl replied, trying to sound confident but not succeeding. “But she should be back real soon.”
The old man smiled again, more of a sneer, as he wavered slightly.
“And that little shit brother of yours?” demanded her stepfather. “Where’s he at?”
“I-I don’t know,” she mumbled. “No one was home when I got here.”
“So it’s just you and me, huh, kiddo?” he mused, scratching his stubble thoughtfully as his cold bleary eyes wandered over the forms of her body beneath her thin, yellow sundress.
“I’m sure Mom will be back real soon,” she repeated tearfully as she shrunk into the corner, shivering with terror.
The old man grinned at her for a few seconds, then stepped back and pushed the door shut.
As he returned, he started unbuttoning his jeans and retorted, “Well, girly, real soon is just not soon enough for me today. You’re just gonna have to fill your mama’s shoes.”
The boy rolled away from the grill, not wanting to see what was taking place. His sister shrieked and several slaps were heard amidst a muttered “Quiet, little lady.” Covering his ears, the youngster cowered in the darkness and silently wept with frustration. But, what could he do? He was only ten.
After a minute or two, the boy heard the bedroom door below swing open and slam shut and everything grew quiet. With tears in his eyes, he crawled forward and once again peered down through the grill.
Their stepfather was gone but his sister was still there, lying on the bed, whimpering and shaking uncontrollably. Her dress was ripped and he could see her exposed breasts, scratched and bruised. Her left eye, just above the cheekbone, was already starting to swell from when the pig had hit her and the sheets were spattered with blood.
He began to soundlessly weep once more as he vowed that he would get even when he was older.
Chapter 1 - Tuesday, June 25, 1996
8:00 p.m. Sandy was at school, her last night of the spring term and would not be home for a while. She had mentioned that she would be going for a drink or two after class with a few fellow students to celebrate the completion of another semester. She would therefore most likely not be home before midnight. She never was on such occasions as she enjoyed these mini social events.
With Sandy out, he was alone for the evening but this had never proved to be a problem in the past and this night would not be any different. He was perfectly capable of looking after himself and could always find a way to occupy his time.
He pulled on some black Levi’s and a dark t-shirt, slipped into his black Reeboks and laced them securely. Leaving the bedroom, he descended to the main floor, headed for the foyer closet and retrieved his black leather jacket. No studs or chains, just black leather. He slipped into the coat and donned a black baseball cap. Dark, reflective aviator glasses completed the ensemble.
Examining his image in the mirrored doors of the closet, he flashed himself a grin and murmured, “Perfect, as usual.”
It was time to go.
After setting the security system for the house lights and alarm, he picked up his small canvas bag and hopped down the short flight of stairs leading to the garage.
Once there, he hesitated for a few seconds as usual, tempted to use the Corvette, all black and waxed and shiny. But no, that would be too conspicuous, and frankly, not practical. Sighing, he climbed into the mini-van, turned the engine as the garage door opened, and sped off into the evening.
* * * *
She was sitting at the bar of her favourite watering hole, somewhat frustrated thanks to the two jerks who had been ogling her and flashing their stupid smiles.
‘Why can’t a girl blow off some steam in peace after a tough day like guys do?’ she wondered, annoyed.
She hoped that the two idiots would get bored and look elsewhere. After all, she hadn’t done anything to attract their attention. She had even refused to accept the drink which they had ordered for her. She was just trying to relax after a hard day at the office.
“Another Manhattan?” the bartender offered, interrupting her thoughts.
“One more,” she replied curtly, glancing towards her antagonists. “On my tab.”
“Don’t let them get to you, Eileen,” the beefy barkeep suggested understandingly, nodding in the direction of the two suits. “Just a couple of schmucks, that’s all. Ain’t no way they’re gonna bother you while I’m around.”
“Thanks, Alain,” she responded, flashing a grateful smile. “And, in the end, you’re right. They are just a couple of schmucks and all they did is look at me.”
She grinned suddenly then theatrically added, “Alas, regardless of how inconspicuous I try to appear, I fear I must accept that I’m a looker.”
“And a modest looker at that.” laughed Alain as he went off to fix her drink.
Eileen Baker was, in fact, a very attractive woman. Though now a seasoned advertising executive at the age of thirty-two, her long, dark curly hair, green eyes and stunning smile had allowed her to comfortably pay her way through university as a part-time magazine and catalogue model. At five feet, four inches, her slender, sculpted shape turned heads whether clad in blues jeans and a t-shirt or a skirt suit and heels as she now wore.
Before Eileen realized it, the third drink was nearly gone and she was actually feeling better. The two shirts and ties at the end of the bar were engrossed in the sports news playing on the big screen T.V. and seemed to have lost interest in her. They didn’t look like bad guys after all; probably married, with kids. Simply a question of excited hormones; men were like that. All you had to do was confront them, mention their wives, and they couldn’t look you in the eye if their lives depended on it.
Some good rock’n’roll was playing in the background, Springsteen, mid-seventies. The place was filling up, even if it was only Tuesday night. But after all, it was only 8:45 and this was one of the more popular spots downtown. Many, like her, worked late and needed to wind down a bit before going home for a few hours of sleep and starting all over again. Ah, life in the fast lane, living in the 90s, work, work, work.
She drained her glass and although tempted to have another, decided against it. She was driving, plus, she had an important presentation to make in the morning. She signalled Alain, paid her tab along with the usual generous tip and headed for home.
* * * *
He pulled onto a side street off Sherbrooke and found a parking spot with little trouble. It was still early and crowds did not tend to flock downtown on Tuesday nights.
Cutting the engine, he climbed out and engaged the car alarm. One could never be too careful on these streets; which incidentally was why he had come here in the first place. A few minutes of searching at best and he was confident that he would find some action. At least, this was what he hoped.
* * * *
Eileen had been lucky enough to find a parking spot on Aylmer, just one short block from the bar. She didn’t particularly like this area in the evening but, then again, no sector of the downtown core could be considered completely safe once darkness set in. Drunks, junkies, the homeless and gangs had slowly but surely taken over night-time downtown during the last fifteen years. Crime rates had risen drastically and the city administration’s efforts to curb them had failed miserably; life in the 90s.
As she rounded the corner, Eileen heard the clatter of steady, rapid footsteps coming down the sidewalk behind her. She quickened her pace and her car was in sight.
Reaching her vehicle, she threw a glance over her shoulder while she fumbled in her purse for her keys. The two suits from the bar were heading towards her.
Frantically, she tried to unlock the car door but before she could get the key in the lock she felt someone press up against her and firmly grip her waist.
“Pretty early to head home, sweetheart, don’t you think?” the voice whispered from behind. “Why don’t we go for that drink now?”
Although frightened, she turned to glare at him, the younger one, and firmly shot back, “I’m not sure your wife would appreciate that.”
Grinning over his shoulder at his older buddy, her aggressor mocked, “Isn’t that sweet? The young lady is concerned about my old lady.”
Turning back to her, he snarled, “Maybe you’re right, bitch. Maybe we don’t have time for a drink.”
With that, he grabbed her around the chest, pinning her arms, while covering her mouth with his other hand. While his older accomplice kept watch, he proceeded to half drag, half carry her struggling form towards a dark alley close by.
Once into the alley, he threw her to the pavement in the corner formed by two brick walls. Eileen started to scream and he rewarded her with a slap across the mouth.
“Keep that up sweetheart, and this evening may become unpleasant.” her attacker hissed threateningly.
Leering at her maliciously, he unzipped his pants and moved in on her as she cowered in the corner in terror. At that moment, her aggressor heard a sudden gurgling, gasping sound behind him and turned to find his older accomplice lying on the ground, legs flailing as he clutched his throat.
As he stared in stunned, uncomprehending silence, he noticed a dark pool rapidly forming around the older man’s head. Looking up, he realized that another man stood a few feet away, a long, thin knife in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. In the dim light, he noticed that the blade of the knife was stained and dripping. His buddy had now ceased moving and lay lifeless on the ground.
The stranger calmly crouched down over the body and carefully wiped the blade on the dead man’s jacket. He then pressed a button on the knife’s handle, causing the blade to disappear, and slipped the weapon into a pocket.
Returning to a standing position, he turned his attention to Eileen and spoke.
“Miss, I believe that you should be on your way. I am truly sorry for any inconveni
ence these gentlemen may have caused you and I promise they won’t ever do it again.”
Speechless and in tears, Eileen rose on shaky legs and bolted down the short alley to the street. Within seconds, the gunning of an engine was heard, followed by the car’s tires screaming off into the night.
The stranger, wielding the bat, turned towards the younger assailant who was frantically struggling with his pants zipper.
“Now my friend,” he announced with a deadly smile. “It’s my turn to have some fun.”
Chapter 2 - Wednesday, June 26, 1996
6:00 a.m. Chris Barry awoke to the opening lines of Etheridge’s “Come to my Window” playing on the clock radio. Quickly, he turned off the alarm to avoid waking his wife who slept peacefully beside him.
He gazed at her and thought, as he had many times before, how lucky he was to have her. If anything, she was more beautiful now than she had been when he had first met her fifteen years earlier. Back when she was eighteen.
With a sigh of contentment, he climbed out of bed and made his way into the bathroom adjoining their bedroom, closing the door quietly so as not to disturb her.
Theirs was a good life and Chris was proud of what he had accomplished to date.
Following high school, he had felt that studies weren’t as important as money was so he had headed for the labour market. After having held a couple of clerical jobs however, he had soon realized that if he wanted more, a further education would in fact come in handy. He had therefore enrolled at a local university and following several arduous years attending night classes, had obtained his degree in business administration. Now, at the ripe old age of thirty-four, he was Executive Vice President and Chief Operating Officer of CSS Inc., preceded only by Walter Olson, the company’s founder, President and CEO.
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