“You’re thinking of Chris’ weapons vault.” Sandy stated, not asked.
Above the Barrys’ garage was a large workout and leisure room furnished with a variety of gym equipment, a pool table, Jacuzzi and sauna. Concealed behind one wall between the sauna and bathroom was a four by eight foot locked vault filled with an assortment of firearms, ammunition and other weaponry.
“Unless we reconsider asking Alex at the marina, or his brother,” said Leslie, “Do you know any place else in the area where we could get what we need on such short notice?”
“No, I don’t,” Sandy admitted, “But they have guys out front keeping an eye on things. How are we going to get in there without getting caught?”
“I really don’t think this should be a group activity. The more we are, the better the chances of someone seeing one of us,” Leslie replied. “I’m good at what I do, Sandy. There’s a back door to the garage with the stairs going up inside. You have the veranda on the second floor with the outside staircase leading up to it and another door to get in. There are windows if the doors aren’t viable entry points. Also, the last time I saw, the doors to all five bays were wide open. I’m sure I can get in there without getting caught.”
“I don’t know, Les,” said Cathy. “If we’re right about Chris meaning there were thirteen of them, there are still eleven left. I don’t like eleven to one odds.”
“Based on what I’ve seen with the cameras,” Dominique announced as she entered the sunroom, her eyes glued to the iPad, “There are ten of them left and I’m pretty sure I didn’t miss any of them. Your camera coverage of the property is excellent, Sandy.”
“It’s possible Chris had miscounted,” said Leslie, “Or that’s not what he meant when he said the thirteenth.”
Dominique shook her head. “I’m pretty sure that is what he meant. Take a look at this video and you’ll see why they’re down to ten.”
They gathered around Dominique and watched the very short clip of Jonathan taking Ape permanently out of the picture.
“Wow,” Josée uttered in awe as she stared at the frozen image of the dead man on the screen. “That was quick.”
“Your husband is very efficient,” said Leslie.
“I was aware of that,” Josée replied, her pride apparent. “I’ve seen him train but, wow.”
“So, good, we’re down to ten,” said Cathy, “But I still don’t like those odds.”
Leslie grinned. “Those odds just improved by almost ten percent. This will be a piece of cake.”
“As much as I hate to say so, I have to agree with Leslie on this,” said Josée. “We can’t all go in there and she’s the only one with actual experience in this kind of thing. I certainly have no doubt that she can handle herself if she runs into one, even a couple of these guys. What we should concentrate on now is figuring out the best way the rest of us can back her up.”
“I guess you’re right,” Sandy conceded.
Cathy sighed and looked at Leslie. “Okay, majority rules but you better be careful, girl.”
“I will,” Leslie promised. “I always am. Now, let’s get this lined up.”
“I know I’m jumping ahead here,” Josée interrupted, “But even if you can get in without being seen, how do you plan to get out of there loaded up with a bunch of weapons?”
“That, my dear,” Leslie replied with a smile, “Will be the easiest part of it all.”
* * * *
“Who owns that nice little Audi roadster out front?” asked Butch as he strolled into the dining room, hands clasped behind his back, a smirk on his face.
“It’s my wife’s,” Chris quickly answered before Jon or Dave claimed ownership of Leslie’s car.
“Well, give her this when you see her,” said Butch as he tossed the TT’s rear view mirror at Chris, hitting him in the chest with it before it tumbled to the floor, the glass shattering.
“Oops. Sorry,” said Butch then continued. “How about the Nissan Armada? Whose is that?”
“That’s mine,” Dave replied, shaking his head. The sounds emanating from the car demolishing activities out front had not gone unnoticed, even from their centrally located dining room prison.
“Love that colour,” said Butch. “What fancy name do they call it?”
“I think it’s graphite blue,” Dave muttered.
“Well, remember that name, Dave,” said Butch. “One of my guys had a bit of an accident out there. He found a sledgehammer in the garage and sorta nicked your truck with it a couple of times. If you decide to get it touched up, you’ll wanna be sure to get the right colour. I’d suggest a full paint job myself but, hey, ain’t my car so, it’s up to you.”
He turned to Jon and asked, “Where’s your ride, buddy?”
“The girls took my car to get to the airport,” Jon replied. “I’ll be going back with Dave.”
“Hmm, I don’t know about that,” said Butch. “Not sure that thing is gonna get you very far but Chris has all kinds of fancy rides out there in his five car garage and my guys haven’t messed with them, at least so far. Maybe you can work something out with him to get yourself home when the time comes, right Chris? You’ll help your buddies out, won’t you?”
“Sure thing, Butch,” Chris replied. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll deal with things when the time comes and work something out.”
Butch stood before them, smiling for a moment before his expression grew serious.
“I’m starting to wonder about you guys,” he said, a hint of frustration in his tone. “Something’s not right with you.”
“What’s wrong with us, Butch?” asked Chris as he, Jon and Dave gazed evenly at the crew leader.
“I don’t know,” said Butch, seeming to search for the answer. “You don’t react to nothing, at least not like I’ve seen other folks react at other places we’ve been to.”
“How are we supposed to react, Butch?” Chris asked. “Is there something we’re supposed to do while you’ve got us trussed up here? Maybe keep you up to date on current events?”
“We could always sing for him,” Jonathan suggested. “I’d dance but, you know, with the tape and all.”
“Please don’t.” Dave interjected. “I’ve heard you guys sing.”
“He’s got a point,” said Chris. “Maybe we could tell some jokes. He did say he thought we were funny earlier.”
“Are you fuckers jerking me around?” Butch demanded, his face paling with anger.
“Of course not, Butch,” Chris replied. “We’re just trying to right the wrong you sense within us.”
“Boss, I think they’re jerking you around,” said Dibs from where he sprawled on a loveseat to one side, bored with his assignment of guard duty. “Damned lack of respect if you ask me.”
“Lack of respect, eh?” said Butch, eyeing Dibs, one of his more senior side-kicks, warily. “Come over here, Dibs.”
“Sure thing, Butch,” Dibs replied, rising from the loveseat and sauntering over. “What’s up?”
Butch gestured toward the three prisoners. “So you’re saying you think these guys don’t respect me?”
Dibs shrugged and grinned. “Seems to me they were they were being downright, what’s the word? Sarcastic, that’s it. They were just plain mocking you, Butch.”
“Now, why the hell would they be mocking me?” Butch asked, gazing at the captives. “Ain’t I been treating them good enough?”
“Well, Butch, if I can say something,” said Dibs, pursuing the increasingly obvious charade. “We’ve been helping ourselves to whatever we want but didn’t give them nothing to eat or drink since we got here. Maybe that’s got ‘em pissed off.”
“Holy shit,” Butch exclaimed. “You’re right. No wonder they don’t respect me. We gotta fix this now. Go get these guys some food and something to drink.”
“We’re fine,” Chris interjected as Dibs left for the kitchen. “We don’t want anything.”
“Shut the fuck up, buddy,” Butch said in a pleasa
nt tone. “I’m trying to earn your respect here.”
Dibs, who had called in a few others from outside, returned with them shortly, their arms laden with various wares gathered from the kitchen which they dumped on the table.
“Razor, open up a bottle of wine for our friends here,” ordered Butch.
“No problem,” Razor agreed, picking up a bottle with both hands and smashing the neck off on the edge of the table. “Shall I pour?”
“Please do,” Butch replied. “Serve our host first.”
The shaved-head young man ambled over and suddenly thrust the bottle toward Chris, spattering his face and chest.
“I do hope you like red,” he said before pouring half the bottle on Jonathan’s head.
He moved on to Dave and emptied what was left onto his crotch before stepping aside and heaving the broken bottle against the wall across the room.
“Ya think they’d like some Cole slaw?” another asked, the container already opened in his hand.
“I’m sure they would, Lefty,” Butch replied.
“Here you go, guys,” said Lefty, flinging a handful of slaw at each of the three bound men.
“Fingers, would you serve the eggs?” Butch asked.
“I’m on it,” Fingers replied, scooping up a carton of eggs and flipping it open. “Aw, crap. There’s only seven.”
Butch sighed. “That’ll just have to do but make sure you give three to my friend, the captain.”
Taking an egg in the palm of his hand, Fingers stepped behind Dave and pressed the egg against the captain’s tightly clamped lips while pushing at the back of his head with the other hand.
“Open up,” he said before increasing the pressure, crushing the egg in Dave’s face.
After smashing two more eggs on Dave’s head and vigorously rubbing the mess into his hair, he moved on to repeat the exercise with both Jon and Chris. Following behind him were two other crew members, the condiment team, one armed with squeeze bottles of ketchup and mustard and the other with a large jar of mayonnaise. However, mere minutes after the food frenzy had started, Butch seemed to grow bored and annoyed.
“Okay, guys,” he announced. “We’re done with the feeding cuz I don’t want to spoil them. Go find something else to do and try not to break anything. Me and Dibs gotta have a chat with these jokers.”
As quickly as the men had appeared when summoned, they were gone, heading back outside in search of some distraction or more targets for destruction.
Leaning against the dining room table, Butch lit a cigarette and watched his prisoners as he waited for the others to clear out.
“I hope you get it now. While I’m here,” he said after a moment, “I’m in charge. If you want to be smart-asses, shit like this happens.”
In response, Dave shook his head, Jonathan rolled his eyes and Chris smiled then said, “Well, we certainly feel stupid now, Butch. You showed us.”
Butch stared at Chris, attempting to determine the sincerity of the man’s words before reacting. Only seconds passed however, before Dibs broke the silence.
“You were right before, boss. There is something wrong with these guys.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you think is wrong with them,” Butch suggested.
“They ain’t scared,” said Dibs, looking the three prisoners in the eyes. “Or maybe they are, but not enough, least not enough to show it.”
“Yep, that’s what I was thinking too,” said Butch, never one to admit he had missed something. “Seems to me, they should be scared but they don’t look it.”
“It’s in the eyes, boss,” said Dibs. “We’ve seen it with others all the time but these guys don’t got that.”
Butch paused while he dropped his finished cigarette to the floor, taking his time as he lit another and pulled a long drag.
“Maybe we just been too easy on these boys,” he suggested. “Maybe we should show them why they should be scared.”
Dibs smiled and nodded. “I think we should.”
Butch took another long drag on his cigarette and knocked the ash off, exposing its burning header, over half an inch long.
“Show ‘em, Dibs,” he ordered, holding out the cigarette.
Taking it, Dibs stepped up to Chris and asked, “So, you gonna show me some fear, buddy?”
Chris responded with silence, his expression neutral as he stared into his aggressor’s eyes.
“Have it your way,” said Dibs as pressed the burning end of the cigarette onto Chris’ forearm and held it there.
When the only reaction he saw was the slightest clenching of the jaw, he pressed harder with the cigarette, crushing and scattering the burning ember on Chris’ skin. The smell of burning hair and skin forced him to glance down for a second and when he looked back up, Chris’ stare remained, his expression unchanged, his jaw quite possibly no longer even clenched.
Looking down again, Dibs realized the cigarette was out, a nickel-sized circle of blackened ash and burned flesh having replaced the red-hot ember. He dared look into Chris’ eyes once more, hoping to detect the slightest sign of fear but saw nothing.
“Want to do one on the other arm?” Chris asked, his tone soft, his gaze cold and unflinching.
Suddenly feeling nauseous as fear finally made its appearance, though within him and not the prisoner, Dibs flung the cigarette to the floor and stepped back, leaning on a nearby credenza to steady himself. Taking a deep breath then another, he looked up at Butch.
“Best advice I can give you, boss. We best keep an eye on these motherfuckers, non-stop, and make damned sure they don’t get loose. I gotta get some air. I’ll send in one of the boys to replace me.”
Chapter 11 – Saturday - 5:24 p.m.
Though Dominique’s regular reports of events at the house, including the food hazing incident and the subsequent attempt to intimidate Chris, had served as minor distractions, the women understood that wasting any time on worrying served no purpose but to delay them further. Each minute was precious and the faster they surged ahead, the better chance they had of getting their men out unharmed.
Following a bit more negotiating, planning and fine-tuning, they had agreed that Sandy would accompany Leslie on the weapons acquisition expedition. Her role would be that of lookout once they reached their destination and, armed with their sole firearm, she would offer backup if Leslie ended up in a tight spot. In the meantime, while Dominique continued with the camera surveillance of the Barry residence, Cathy and Josée would search the neighbour’s house and property for anything which might prove useful.
After having ensured that none of the invaders were patrolling the woods separating the two properties, Leslie and Sandy had circled around to the front of the Barry lot, maintaining cover amongst the wall of conifers. From that position, they had determined that there were still two men in the vicinity of the garage, seated in the back of Dave’s SUV under the raised lift-gate, chatting as they shared a bottle of liquor. Based on Dominique’s observations, they had been there for a while and if they remained where they were, Leslie could enter the garage from the rear door and make it up the stairs while staying out of their field of vision.
“We’ve seen what we need here. We’ll head back the way we came behind the garage,” Leslie whispered as she pointed. “You’ll have a clear view of those two bozos from those trees and you’ll be well positioned to head back once we’re done.”
Sandy nodded and they slowly returned, retracing their steps, careful not to make any sound which might attract the attention of the two wayward guards. Once behind the garage, Leslie waited until Sandy was in position then confirmed the go-ahead with a nod before creeping to the rear door and disappearing inside.
* * * *
“This is damned fine scotch,” said Tops as he passed the bottle over to Olly. “This Barry dude knows how to live.”
Olly read the label. “GlenDronach. Never heard of it but yeah, it’s smooth.”
“I just wish the guy had some fine pussy
to go with his fine booze,” said Tops. “I was looking to get laid. Instead, we end up in a place with three old guys.”
“Maybe they’ve got false teeth and give great blowjobs,” Olly suggested. “You can go ask them.”
“Aw, Jesus,” Tops replied, hopping off the back of the SUV. “You’re sick, man. That’s disgusting.”
Olly laughed. “I was just screwing around. I didn’t mean to get you turned on or nothing.”
“You’re the one thinking about it, not me,” replied Tops as he gazed around, his eyes settling on the windows above the garage. “Do you know what’s up there?”
“Yeah, it’s a gym,” said Olly. “Pretty damned nice too. Bunch of machines, free weights, even a hot tub. Go check it out.”
“Might as well,” Tops agreed. “I’m getting damned bored here. You coming?”
“Nah, I saw it already,” Olly replied, getting to his feet and stretching. “Anyhow, Butch wants at least one of us out here to keep an eye on things. You go. I’ll stick it out here for now.”
* * * *
Sandy watched as the smaller of the two men stood behind Dave’s SUV and looked around. Her pulse quickened as his gaze seemed to rest on the upper floor of the garage. Leslie had given her a thumbs-up a moment earlier from one of the gym’s windows and Sandy now wondered if the man had spotted her up there from below. Her worrying intensified as the man sauntered off toward the spiral staircase leading up to the veranda while the other moved out of sight in front of the garage.
Pulling her phone from her pocket, she needed only wait a few seconds more to confirm that the first man’s destination was indeed the gym on the second floor. As he started to climb the stairs, she pressed the power button to unlock her phone and her heart sank. Nothing happened, the screen remained black. Her phone was dead.
In a panic, she looked up and saw that the man had reached the veranda and was now crouched down below the window line as he crept toward the door, obviously having spotted Leslie inside. Upon reaching the entrance, he carefully peered through the window one last time then slowly turned the knob, eased the door open and slipped inside.
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