Vigilante

by Claude Bouchard

  ‘Gonna be a great day,’ he thought, looking at the sky.

  Maybe Tony, a regular at ‘Aces’ who had become a friend, would be keen for a little round of golf. They hadn’t played together for a while. He would call him when he got home.

  Satisfied with his plans for the day, he turned his thoughts to the incredible landscape laid out before him. He gazed towards the mountains to the east, anticipating an impressive sunrise in the morning’s cloudless sky. With his eyes fixed on the horizon, he absently opened his juice bottle and brought it to his lips. As he tilted his head back to drink, the baseball bat smashed into it, ending his life.

  * * * *

  Carl sat in one of the bars at the Richmond Inn, waiting for Chris to arrive so they could go for dinner.

  After having flown in the previous day, Sunday, they had spent this day making courtesy calls to a handful of current and potential clients. Prospects were highly interested and required little convincing while actual customers were extremely satisfied with the firm’s services. Therefore, their meetings had consisted of activities such as breakfast at the Vancouver Yacht Club, a round of golf at Quilchena and a mid-afternoon cocktail party, to name a few. The talk had been mostly about sports, music, movies and women and very little about business.

  While Carl waited, he watched the news playing on the screen mounted above the bar. Although it was the second time he saw the brief report, he paid close attention, keen on grasping all the details.

  The body of a man had been found early that morning in Stanley Park, having apparently succumbed to a violent head injury. Foul play was suspected and police were investigating but had no leads to date. The victim, identified as Edward Schaeffer, was co-owner of a downtown bar which was known to occasionally cater to members of Vancouver’s underworld. Authorities were urging anyone who might have information about this crime to contact them at the 1-800 number which appeared on the screen. More details, the reporter promised, would be announced as they became available.

  ‘Well, well,’ Carl mused as the report ended. ‘As long as Mike and Eddy kept their promise, I’m now the only one who knows our little secret.’

  Feeling satisfied and content as he hadn’t in a long time, he looked forward to a night on the town in one of North America’s finer cities. He saw Chris enter the bar and stood to wave him over.

  * * * *

  In another bar across town, Frank Bakes and Terry McDonald, fellow cop and travelling partner, sat and watched the same news report.

  “Same M.O. as the Vigilante case,” Terry thoughtfully commented. “Think it could be the same guy?”

  “Get real,” Frank scoffed. “We’re 3,000 miles away from home. Finish your beer, will you? I’m starving.”

  Chapter 13 - Wednesday, July 10, 1996

  Sandy constantly worried about her husband and his activities, even more so when he was out of town.

  It was not that she disapproved of what he did. In fact, she encouraged and supported him. Her life had been affected by violence in the past and she had learned the hard way that the system could not, or did not, do much about it. Having also encountered violence when he was young, this was his way of making sure somebody paid, sometimes.

  Over the years, she had offered to go with him on a few occasions but, each time, he had flatly refused. Although what he did was morally right, it unfortunately was also illegal and, should he ever get caught, he intended to assume full and sole responsibility for his actions. On this basis, he most certainly did not want her involved. Her moral support, encouragement and most of all, acceptance of what he did were all the help he required. Past that, he insisted on being on his own.

  Financially, they were extremely comfortable with more than sufficient savings and investments for her to live on if anything ever happened to him. He had made sure of that. However, as he had told her many times in the past, she had nothing to worry about in the end, for he would never get caught.

  She wandered around the house, looking for something to do to pass the time. She missed him when he wasn’t near her and was always anxious for him to return. At least the waiting was nearly over. He would be home tonight.

  Chapter 14 - Thursday, July 11, 1996

  4:15 p.m. Chris Barry left the office for his 5 o’clock appointment with Eileen Baker. He knew that by leaving at this time he’d be early but that was part of his plan. He always preferred to be the first to arrive at such meetings, believing that in so doing, the environment became his and allowed him more control over eventual outcomes.

  Setting up the meeting had been easy. He had called her from the West Coast to enquire if they could get together upon his return, to discuss a business proposition. CSS did no television or radio advertising but they did run a large number of ads in a variety of business and computer magazines and newspapers. Although not from lack of trying, Griffiths & Donaldson had been unsuccessful in their approaches with CSS in the past. Eileen had readily accepted the unexpected invitation.

  As he drove by the main gate and waved to the guard, he wondered how Eileen would react once she found out why he really wanted to see her. He highly respected people in general and blatantly manipulating them was not his usual style.

  “Hey,” he reasoned, trying to convince himself. “At least, I’ll be swinging some advertising business her way.”

  But, in the end, he was fairly certain that she would help out. Although not high on manipulation, he had an incredible knack for convincing people. That was how he had gotten to where he was today.

  “Enough analytical thought,” he muttered to himself. “What you need is a little distraction.”

  He hit the ‘play’ button on the CD player and within seconds was mellowly cruising towards his downtown destination to the sounds of ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond’.

  * * * *

  Eileen Baker still had difficulty believing that she was having drinks with Chris Barry, the second in command of CSS; even harder to believe was the fact that he had called her.

  Henry Marshall, another account executive with G & D, had been trying to get into illustrious firm for the last three years, during which time he had not even managed to get onto their property. CSS was in the computer industry and to say that security was extremely tight was somewhat of an understatement. Without an appointment, one didn’t get in and Henry had never gotten an appointment.

  She had been brooding in her office following a particularly unproductive presentation and meeting with some top brass jerks from a major food packager. They hadn’t appreciated her idea, claiming that it didn’t communicate ‘Farm fresh’. Jesus, the product was boiled, separated, processed, stuffed with additives and preservatives and canned. Six months elapsed between the farm and the final consumer.

  The phone had rung but she had ignored it and a moment later, Jessie, her secretary, had knocked on the door and entered.

  “Not now, Jessie,” Eileen had snarled.

  “I think you should take this one, Eileen,” Jessie had insisted.

  “Why? Who is so important?” Eileen had shot back, glaring.

  She was too hard on Jessie sometimes.

  “Man by the name of Chris Barry. Says he’s E.V.P. at CSS Inc. Says he wants to talk over some business possibilities with you.”

  Jessie had allowed herself a small smile, watching Eileen’s expression transform from one of anger to one of sheer astonishment.

  “Why me? CSS is Henry’s prospect,” Eileen had stammered, obviously in shock but keenly interested.

  “Told him that,” Jessie had replied. “He told me that he wished to speak to Eileen Baker, not Henry Marshall. Shall I take a message or simply let him know that you’re not interested in speaking with him?”

  By then, Jessie’s smile had turned into a smirk.

  “Get out of here, you moron,” Eileen had responded, grinning from ear to ear. “Thanks Jess.”

  “He’s on 324,” Jessie had called out as she closed the door.

 
; Barry had told her that he was planning some important increases in advertising volume which his marketing department could not handle. He wished to involve an outside agency, to get some new blood into the system. A few friends had recommended Griffiths & Donaldson, or more precisely, Eileen Baker. Was she available to meet on Thursday, maybe for a drink? She had willingly accepted. Henry was no longer speaking to her but that was no great loss.

  She left the office and walked the four short blocks from Peel Street to Crescent, quite anxious to meet the great Chris Barry. If things went right, this rendezvous might just change her life forever.

  * * * *

  Chris arrived at L’Annexe at a quarter to five and requested a table on the far side of the terrace. From there, he would see Eileen approach the bar before she entered. Requesting that they be served only once his guest had arrived, he ordered amber Bacardi with Coke for himself and a Manhattan for Eileen. He had done his homework.

  His watch read 4:59 when he saw her hurry up the sidewalk and to the restaurant’s entrance. As she reached for the door, she noticed him watching her and froze for a few seconds, returning his gaze. He smiled and stood and she entered. Hesitating for a few more seconds, she took a deep breath, as if to sum up her courage, and marched determinedly towards him.

  “Mr. Barry, I presume,” she spoke demurely.

  “Eileen,” he replied brightly, shaking her hand warmly. “How are you?”

  “Fine, Mr. Barry,” she responded, glancing up at him. “How are you?”

  “Never better. Please, have a seat,” he invited, pulling out a chair for her. “And call me Chris.”

  The drinks arrived as he returned to his seat. He waited for the waiter to leave before speaking again.

  “I took the liberty of ordering before you arrived. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “No, that’s fine. I see you know more about me than I thought,” she politely commented, gesturing towards her glass.

  “I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he grinned. “It’s good business practice.”

  “I guess I can’t disagree with that.”

  They sat for a moment in silence, waiting for the other to speak, some kind of unforeseen showdown. Chris won.

  “So you want to do business with me, Chris,” Eileen attempted a businesslike tone. “Why don’t you tell me what it’s about.”

  “Eileen, I got to where I am today by playing straight, so that’s what I’m going to do with you,” Chris quietly replied. “Now, what I told you about additional advertising and wanting to implicate an outside agency is true. G & D has an excellent reputation, as does Eileen Baker. I know. I checked. Therefore, if you want it, that business is yours. We can talk about the finer details afterwards.”

  She nodded wordlessly, waiting for him to go on.

  “The purpose of this meeting however, the main reason, is not advertising,” Chris went on. “I used that as a ploy to get you here and for that, I apologize. However, you probably would not have met with me otherwise.”

  She watched him silently as he spoke, growing uneasy as she wondered what he wanted of her.

  “The police has requested the help of CSS in their investigation of the Vigilante murders,” he continued. “We are responsible, primarily, of trying to trace some computer messages which the Vigilante has sent the cops through Eazy-Com. Any questions so far?”

  She shook her head in response.

  “I asked to meet with you at the request of Dave McCall, whom you’ve met,” Chris explained. “Dave is a personal friend of mine. He believes that you may know more about the Vigilante than you let on. Dave hopes that, if he is right, I will be able to convince you to give a better description of the man.”

  “I can’t do that!” she quietly exclaimed, her tone a mixture of adamancy and incredulity. “I-I really didn’t get a good look at him. That’s what I told the cops. I really don’t think I can help, Chris. I swear!”

  “Listen, I don’t want to frighten you,” he replied soothingly. “I just want you to do what’s right. I’ll help and support you in anyway I can.”

  He reached over and patted her hand before picking up a large envelope on the chair beside him and sliding it across the table towards her.

  “Here’s a summary of your interview with the cops as well as some other information related to the Vigilante case. Take the time to look this over. My card is in there as well. Call me once you’ve thought about it. If nothing has changed, I’ll respect that. I’ll get out of your hair and I’ll make sure McCall and his boys do the same. But look this over, carefully, before you make your final decision. I promise I won’t call you back on this. It’s completely up to you.”

  She gazed at him and knew he was telling the truth.

  “Okay,” she hesitantly agreed, “But no promises.”

  “Ball’s in your court, Eileen. You decide if you play it or not. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she nodded nervously.

  As he looked around to signal the waiter, he grinned and added, “Expect a call from Nancy Biron tomorrow. She’s my Director of Marketing Services. Congratulations, Eileen! You’ve just cut a big deal for Griffiths & Donaldson. This calls for a celebration. Let’s eat!”

  * * * *

  Carl Denver hit the ‘Enter’ key and the transaction was complete. As he did so, he suddenly thought of his step-father and involuntarily broke into a smile. The old man had definitely been wrong about the uselessness of computers. Just twenty effortless minutes had been required to make Carl another $50,000 richer.

  Over time, especially since he had joined CSS, he had realized how easily money could be skimmed electronically. For example, every month, banks paid interest to millions of customers. A few minor changes to a couple of programmes and a fraction of each payment was re-routed to some dummy account. This dummy account was then emptied into a secured account in the Cayman Islands.

  Thanks to networks like Eazy-Com and his system overriding skills acquired at CSS, such a task was relatively easy. And, with countless corporations and financial institutions to choose from, Carl had an extensive list of targets. He therefore never did one of his ‘tricks’ at the same place more than once. He didn’t have to.

  He knew that he could not go on forever but, then again, he had no intention of doing so. Sooner or later, he recognized that he would have to cease his activities, retire and disappear. And when that time came, Carl intended to be a very rich man.

  Chapter 15 - Friday, July 12, 1996

  The west end section of downtown St-Catherine Street had changed drastically over time and unfortunately, not for the better. Once a well kept street, lined with posh boutiques, restaurants and respectable nightclubs, it was now home to strip-joints, peep-shows, amusement arcades and dollar stores. Drunks, junkies, pushers, pimps and prostitutes littered its sidewalks, completing the unpleasant decor.

  This was Johnny B.’s world, his territory. Although only twenty-four, Johnny was King in the downtown sector.

  Raised in a less favourable district of the city, just east of his now so-called kingdom, Johnny B. had grown up surrounded by crime. His father had been a two-bit addict who had spent more time in jail cells than at home. His alcoholic mother had been a hooker who usually spent her hard earned money on supporting her, and her husband’s, respective habits.

  By the time Johnny B. had turned twelve, he had already been involved in a variety of crimes including auto thefts, muggings and armed robbery. At sixteen, he had been pimping, with ten girls on his payroll. Now, at twenty-four, he was the unofficial Pimp King with some fifty girls walking the street for him. Another fifty, his classier dames, worked as call girls through his escort agency. Johnny B. kept 70% of the take, the girls got to keep the other 30%. All of his girls were young, some under eighteen, none over twenty-two.

  Over the years, Johnny had clearly established his reputation in the area. On a few occasions, some of his girls had tried to hang on to more than their share of the take. Without he
sitation, he had viciously demonstrated that ‘One did not hold out on Johnny B.’ His victims had served as examples to the others. In recent months, a couple of other pimps had tried to move in on his girls or his territory. Johnny had met with these individuals and, with the help of a tire iron, ‘explained’ that this was his kingdom.

  Yes, Johnny B. was a man to be feared in this neighbourhood. Johnny B. was King.

  * * * *

  Sandy was spending the afternoon with Lisa Green and called to ask if he minded having dinner alone. She would stay over for dinner with Lisa and come home afterwards. That was fine, he replied. He had an errand to run anyhow. He suggested that they meet for a movie later, for the 9 o’clock showing. It was Friday, after all. They agreed on what to see and where, and it was a date.

  He left the office around 4:00 and drove around for a while, eventually making his way to Sherbrooke Street, downtown. Turning right off Sherbrooke onto Drummond, he rode halfway up the hill before veering left into the entrance of the underground parking garage of an apartment building. He inserted a magnetic card into the slot, opening the door before him and drove down three levels, to the visitors parking area.

  He cut the engine and climbed out of the black Corvette, looking around to make sure that he was alone. It was only 4:25 so the place was deserted as he had hoped. Opening the trunk, he removed the small canvas bag which he had prepared especially for this occasion.

  Not far from where he had parked were two doors, one marked ‘exit’, the other, ‘maintenance’. He hurried to the ‘maintenance’ door, removing a key-like instrument from the bag as he went and quickly got to work. Within seconds, he was inside the small storeroom, the door securely closed behind him. He donned a pair of coveralls and then examined the remaining contents of the bag to ensure that he had not forgotten anything. Everything was there.