Vigilante

by Claude Bouchard

  “I already know how to drive,” Carl spat out sullenly, hardly bothering to look at the obviously stolen car.

  “You call operating that piece of shit pickup of your step-father’s, driving?” Eddy cackled. “You probably don’t even need a permit to drive that piece of crap, it moves so slow.”

  “Fuck yourself, Eddy,” Carl defensively suggested. “At least, it ain’t stolen.”

  “Carl, think about it,” Mike pleaded. “Check it out. This is a car!”

  Carl forced himself to glance at the vehicle. It definitely was a car.

  “Whose is it?” he asked helplessly, struggling to find a reason not to drive this dream machine.

  “Some guy who parked it at the lot my cousin works at,” Eddy answered glibly, moving in for the kill. “Guy’s gone on vacation for two weeks so he don’t need it. And he sure as hell ain’t gonna report it stolen from Europe, is he?”

  They had Carl where they wanted him. He could not argue of the danger that the cops would pull them over for driving a stolen vehicle. It wasn’t officially stolen. Plus, it was an incredible car.

  “Okay. Let’s go for a ride,” Carl decided with a sudden burst of confidence. “And I’m driving.”

  Amid hoots and cheers from his buddies, he climbed in behind the wheel while Eddy got in the back and Mike swung into the front passenger seat.

  “Welcome to manhood,” Mike solemnly declared, ceremoniously dangling the keys before his younger friend. “Start this baby up.”

  Carl, grinning from ear to ear, nervously inserted the key into the ignition and, taking a deep breath, cranked the wondrous automobile to life. Closing his eyes, he savoured the moment, feeling and listening to the smooth rumble of the engine. This thing would move.

  They pulled out of the alley and within minutes were cruising down Church Street with Carl trying to determine if this was not more exciting than his first sexual encounter a few months earlier with Easy-Suzy from school. It was a toss-up. The tie breaker would be once he got onto the highway to see what this machine could really do.

  “Hang a left at the next light,” Eddy ordered from the back seat.

  “Screw that, Edward,” Carl challenged. “I’m driving, see? And I wanna just cruise for a while.”

  “Goddammit, Carl!” Eddy roared as they approached the intersection. “I just want to pick up some smokes at Taylor’s. They got a brand that’s cheaper than the rest. Turn already! We’ll cruise after.”

  “All right,” snorted Carl, slowing as they neared the light. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

  “I just need some butts. That’s all,” muttered Eddy, staring out the window.

  They turned left on Hadley Avenue and two blocks further, pulled into the parking lot at Taylor’s convenience store. Mike climbed out of the car and scanned the area as he removed his jean jacket. At the same time, Carl heard the sound of a long zipper opening behind him and, suddenly feeling uneasy, turned to see what was going on. In the rear seat, Eddy reached into a duffel bag, pulled out a sawed off shotgun and handed it to Mike who covered it with his jacket.

  “What the fuck is going on!” Carl shouted, his stomach starting to churn.

  “Shut up,” hissed Eddy. “You want everybody to hear you?”

  “I’m outta here,” Carl shot back, lowering his tone. “You guys are fucking crazy! You might kill somebody, or get us killed!”

  “Nobody’s gonna kill nobody,” Mike stepped in to reassure their young friend. “The guns are just to scare them. They’re not even loaded, Carl. Listen, all you gotta do is wait here with the engine running. We go in, place our order, we’re back out in two minutes and we drive away. Nothing to it. It’s all planned.”

  “I don’t like this kind of shit,” Carl replied, finding it difficult to breath. “I’m fucking fourteen. I don’t want to get busted at fucking fourteen!”

  “Ain’t nobody’s gonna get busted, Carl,” Eddy soothingly stated from the back seat. “You’ll see. This’ll be a piece of cake. Trust me.”

  “I still don’t like this,” mumbled Carl, resigning to the fact that he was about to participate in his first serious criminal activity. “You motherfuckers better not ever try to pull something like this on me again. Next time, I’ll take off and fucking leave you there.”

  “Okay Carl, you’re right,” Mike conceded. “We shoulda told you ahead of time. We were just scared you wouldn’t go for it and we needed a driver we could trust for our plan. We won’t do it again. I promise. Come on, Eddy. Time’s a wasting.”

  “Back before you know it,” Eddy grinned as he climbed out of the rear of the car, obviously similarly armed based on the way he also carried his jacket.

  They headed into the store and thirty seconds, which seemed like thirty minutes went by as Carl waited outside.

  “This is crazy,” he whispered to himself, feeling progressively nauseous. “Goddamn fucking crazy.”

  But he knew he couldn’t let his friends down, although he promised himself to make them pay if anything went wrong.

  As that thought went through his mind, a shotgun blast exploded from inside the store. Carl violently vomited, making a mess of himself and the interior of his wonderful stolen dream machine. He looked up and through a blur of tears saw Mike and Eddy burst out of Taylor’s and frantically run towards the Trans Am.

  As they reached the car, a girl in her late teens slammed through the store’s exit and rushed towards them, crying and screaming. In her hands was a revolver, quite large, obviously of heavy calibre.

  Eddy wrenched the door of the car open and dove head over heels into the back seat.

  Mike followed and, although not yet completely into the car, screamed, “Go, Fuck, Go!”

  Carl jammed the accelerator into the floor and the car jumped forward, tires painfully shrieking.

  As they raced passed the girl, she raised the gun and rapidly fired all six rounds. Both right-side windows shattered and several bullets ricocheted off the car in a shower of sparks. Miraculously however, none of the boys were hit and they sped off safely into the night.

  The plan had not worked. Taylor, the owner of the place, had unfortunately not responded as expected to their request for the cash register contents. After bellowing, “I’m gonna kill you little fuckers!”, he had reached under the counter, pulled out a handgun and aimed it at them. Mike had panicked and shot and Taylor had been dead before hitting the ground.

  His daughter, Cassandra, who had been in the back store, had heard the explosion and had come running just as Mike and Eddy were exiting the store. In seeing her father, she had grabbed the gun from his hand and come after them but they had gotten away.

  The boys were quite shaken by the ordeal and, of even greater concern, extremely scared of getting caught. The girl had seen them close up and would probably be able to identify them. This was no longer a simple robbery. This was murder.

  They had dumped the car, along with the guns, into the river near Riverfront Park and walked home, dreading the unknown events which might befall them in the coming days. Carl had not stopped swearing at his two buddies most of the way.

  The next morning, the story had been in the papers and on the news. By the evening, composite sketches had been made and were being presented to the public by the media. Although the rather vague sketches did not resemble them very much, the boys continued to worry.

  Two days following the murder, Mike and Eddy, unable to deal with the pressure, had decided to leave town and head for Toronto. They had invited Carl to join them but he had bluntly refused. Unlike them, he had a mother who cared about him and, if he disappeared, the police would definitely become involved.

  As they bade each other farewell, they had solemnly vowed never to speak to anyone about what had happened.

  Carl looked at the clock radio again. 3:55 a.m. He was not surprised. Whenever he had the nightmare, sleep became a rare commodity afterwards. Resigning to his insomnia, he let his thoughts turned to Eddy and Mi
ke, as they usually did following the dream.

  He had run into Eddy, by chance, about four years ago. He had been in Toronto on business and was having a drink in a bar at Pearson while waiting for his flight. Eddy, who was also at the airport, had noticed him and had come over to chat. As is often the case when friends grow apart, times and interests had changed and neither had been comfortable with the other.

  Mike, Eddy had told him, had died a few months earlier. He had been hanging around with a less than desirable crowd for a while and, apparently, had made somebody unhappy. Consequently, his body had been found in an alley off Yonge Street downtown. He, Eddy, was heading for Vancouver, having grown tired of Toronto. It was time to start a new life; again.

  Carl dared another look at the time; 4:28. He rolled over, determined to get some sleep. He had a busy day ahead of him.

  Chapter 8 - Wednesday, July 3, 1996

  9:42 a.m. Dave McCall exited the elevator and sauntered over to the highly attractive brunette at the reception desk of Griffiths & Donaldson.

  “Good morning,” she gushed, with a smile which was much too sweet. “What can I do for you?”

  Avoiding the answer that his quick wit brought to mind, McCall courteously replied, “Hi. Eileen Baker, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment, Mr...?” the bombshell queried.

  “McCall,” he responded. “And no, I don’t have an appointment. Please tell Miss Baker that I would like a few minutes of her time.”

  “Let me see what I can do,” she replied coolly, efficiently playing her role of master of the gate.

  She gestured towards a series of chairs off to the right, his cue to have a seat. Punching a few numbers on the console before her, she whispered something into the mike strapped to her head, eyeing him suspiciously throughout.

  Following a ten minute wait, a good looking blonde appeared from one of the hallways which led to the reception area and approached him.

  “Mr. McCall, I presume,” she said with a stiff smile. “I’m Jessie Heft, Miss Baker’s secretary. How can I help you?”

  Holding off on another ‘cute’ response, McCall answered, “You can lead me to Miss Baker’s office.”

  “Unfortunately,” the blonde replied, “Miss Baker is extremely busy and has a very important meeting in...” she looked at her watch, “Exactly eight minutes.”

  “I see,” said McCall, showing his disappointment as he stood. “I just wanted to say hello. I wanted to see how she was doing.”

  He was not sure if Eileen had spoken to anybody about her previous week’s unpleasant experience.

  “Eileen is fine,” Jessie informed him, the tight smile still firmly in place. “She suggested I let you know that if she has anything else to say to you, she will give you a call.”

  “Well, I won’t take up any more of your time then,” said McCall, accepting that today would not be the day Baker helped him break the case. “Ladies, I thank you for your hospitality.”

  He returned to the elevator, convinced more than ever that Eileen Baker knew more about the Vigilante than she was ready to admit. He would have to visit Eileen at another time.

  * * * *

  10:05 p.m. He sat in the mini-van, parked in a quiet residential district, with only the glow of his cigarette defying the darkness. Across the street, half a dozen houses down, lived his next prospect.

  He couldn’t go see him yet. The gentleman already had visitors but they would be leaving soon. Visitors never stayed long at this place. Just long enough to score.

  The door of the house opened and two people emerged, crossing the street and heading his way. He watched them with growing disgust as they approached. They were kids, no older than thirteen or fourteen. Quietly, he climbed out of the truck and walked around to the back of it. They had not noticed him. He waited until they had strolled past and came up behind them.

  “Freeze boys,” he softly commanded. “This is the police.”

  The kids stopped in their tracks and started to turn towards him.

  “No, don’t turn around,” he ordered sharply. “Lean up against that car. Assume the position, just like in the movies.”

  The boys complied, leaning against the car, arms wide, legs spread.

  “How do we know you’re a cop?” one of them sneered, attempting to cover his fear with a degree of toughness.

  “This proof enough for you, kid?”

  He flashed a gold shield and I.D. card in the boy’s face, holding it there long enough for the kid to study it.

  “W-well, detective, sir. We haven’t done anything wrong. We-we’re just heading home from a friend’s place.”

  “Empty your pockets on the roof of the car, please,” he ordered.

  “But sir,” the boy started to plead.

  “Now,” he barked.

  The boys obeyed and the quiet one started to whimper softly.

  He sifted through their belongings on the roof of the car; wallets, keys, matches, small change, a pack of cigarettes; nothing illegal.

  “I will give you one last chance to empty your pockets, boys,” he quietly warned. “Then, I will be forced to search you myself. If, at that time, I find anything that I don’t like, you will have the most unpleasant evening you have ever had.”

  The talker, admitting defeat, reached into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag which he placed on the roof of the car with a noticeably shaking hand.

  They looked like good kids; most likely from upper class families, considering the neighbourhood. They had probably bought the shit with their allowance money.

  “Have you boys ever done crack before?” he asked.

  “N-No, s-sir,” the crier wailed.

  The talker, who had grown silent, shook his head emphatically.

  “I’m happy to hear that. This stuff will kill you. I can promise you that. I can also promise you something else. If I ever catch you doing something stupid like this again, you will have proved to me that you want to ruin your lives. That being the case, I will make your wish come true. I will personally make your lives so miserable you can’t start to imagine it. Now boys, do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Both boys nodded with fervour while still assuming their spread-eagled position. He was not sure, but he thought one of them might have actually crapped in his pants. Good. They would be staying out of trouble for a while.

  “Now, pick up your stuff and get the hell out of here. Remember, we have a deal.”

  Only seconds were required for their belongings to disappear from the roof of the car. All that remained was the plastic bag. He watched them as they started to walk away at a rapid pace. Yep, the one on the left had definitely shit his pants. Three cars down, they started to run, fast. He chuckled a little, although it wasn’t funny at all.

  ‘Now,’ he thought, ‘Back to the business at hand.’

  * * * *

  Zack glanced at his watch as he closed and securely locked the door behind his two customers. 10:05. He thought about the two boys who had just left and realized how his customers were becoming younger and younger. But he didn’t feel guilty. Hey, he wasn’t forcing them to do the stuff. He was just a business man. Anyway, these kids were all spoiled little brats, coming from rich families. They were destined to have fucked up lives.

  He had never expected that these little snobs would be so much into dope. His belief had been that only the punks in the low-life neighbourhoods needed the release. However, quite the contrary had turned out to be the fact, his customer base was widening on a daily basis and he was rapidly becoming a rich man.

  Checking the time again, he decided to catch a couple of hours of sleep before going to the club. The real action only started after midnight, after all. He went upstairs to the bedroom, set the alarm for 12:30 and promptly fell asleep.

  * * * *

  His meeting with the kids had not been part of the plan and consequently, had delayed his schedule a little. But it didn’t really matter. He was in
no hurry and Zack wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight.

  Returning to the mini-van, he retrieved his small canvas bag, then crossed the street and headed for Zack’s house.

  He had come to know of Zack the same way he learned of many of his prospects; from the police’s computer records.

  Drug-related problems had been on the rise in this upper-class neighbourhood in recent months. A number of kids had been hospitalized due to crack or heroin overdoses, three of whom unfortunately had died.

  Zack, who had moved into the area four months ago and was thought to be responsible for the influx of narcotics, was being monitored by the cops. However, the police had limited resources, Zack had rights, and until illegal activity could reasonably be established, he was protected by the system.

  He reached Zack’s house and, after scanning the street to ensure the absence of any curious onlookers, crept around into the back yard. The spotlight by the patio door illuminated the yard a bit too much for his taste; he twisted the bulb in its socket half a turn and the yard went dark.

  Shortly after the boys had left the house, he had observed the lights go out, first on the ground floor, and a minute later, upstairs. That had been twenty minutes ago. He presumed, actually hoped, that this meant Zack was asleep.

  He was pleased that the house did not have an alarm system. This, he had confirmed during an earlier visit two weeks prior, while Zack had been out. He had taken advantage of Zack’s absence to study the layout of the house and therefore knew exactly where he was going.

  He proceeded further along the rear wall where half a dozen steps led down to a basement entrance. On his last visit, he had taped and broken one of the four glass panels in the door and installed a new one using modelling clay rather than window putty to hold it in place. He smiled as he noted that his masterpiece had not been disturbed and most likely not noticed. Zack did not seem to use the unfinished basement nor this entrance very much if at all. With the help of his knife, he quickly scraped off the modelling clay, eased out the small pane of glass, reached in and unlocked the door. Pulling the door open on its quiet hinges; he had WD 40ed them last time, he slipped through, closed the door behind him and made his way into the house.