Thirteen to None

by Claude Bouchard

  “I’m doing the same,” Serge replied. “But keep the details to yourself. We don’t want anyone getting any ideas and–”

  “Serge, I just noticed something,” Alexandre interrupted. “Chris’ Sea-Doo is here, tied up at the dock.”

  “Are you sure it’s his?” asked Serge. “A lot of people have Sea-Doos around here.”

  “This is true,” Alexandre replied as he gazed down at the watercraft, “But not too many have a GTX Limited iS 260 with the name ‘CeeBee’ painted on the bow.”

  “So, one of these guys is at your place too?” Serge more said than asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to find out,” replied Alexandre, already scanning the patrons as he approached the terrace. “I’ll let you go for now but I’ll keep you posted.”

  * * * *

  Lefty had been ecstatic when Butch had ordered him to go search for Willy on the Sea-Doo. As far as he was concerned, the weekend was a bust so getting away from that damned house and the crew for a while had been fine by him. Once out of sight of the others, he had raced directly toward town with barely the occasional cursory scan of the lake in search of Willy, intent on getting to the marina as quickly as possible to relax and knock back a few cold ones. Upon his arrival, he had been pleased to note the lively atmosphere and had soon been seated in the shade of a parasol on the terrace.

  Looking at the time, he realized he had been there for an hour already, the minutes flying by as he chatted with a couple of young, attractive women sitting at the next table. Reluctantly, he said his goodbyes, knowing it wasn’t a good idea to be gone much longer with Butch being in one of his nasty moods.

  He headed to the end of the dock where he had moored the Sea-Doo and as he approached, he noticed a couple of men who seemed to be admiring his craft.

  “Scuse me,” he said as he came upon them.

  They turned to face him and one of them, a burly man of medium height in his fifties said, “Sorry. Is this yours?”

  “Uh, huh,” Lefty replied with a nod.

  “Really nice,” said the other, a younger, taller and muscular man. “They just don’t make a sweeter ride than the GTX.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Lefty replied. “I like it.”

  He tried to step around the men but both moved along with him, barring his access.

  “What’s the fastest you’ve ever done with it?” the younger man asked.

  “I-I don’t know,” said Lefty. “I never really clocked it. I just like to ride.”

  “Are you serious?” the older man asked in surprise. “How can you ride a bullet and not clock your speed? How long have you had it?”

  “A while,” Lefty replied with a hint of impatience. “Sorry, guys but I gotta get going.”

  “There’s no rush, son,” said the older man, holding up his hand. “You know, I have a friend who has a Sea-Doo just like this one.”

  “That’s real nice, buddy,” said Lefty, getting annoyed, “But like I said, I have to go. Move out of the way.”

  “What’s your hurry?” asked the older man, not budging. “I just want to talk for a minute so I’d suggest you calm down and lose the attitude.”

  “Listen, I don’t know who the hell you guys are,” Lefty retorted, now growing uncomfortable, “But I don’t have to take this shit.”

  On that note, he turned to head back the way he had come and found himself staring at the barrel chest of likely the biggest, tallest man he had ever seen.

  Looking down at Lefty, the giant grinned and said, “My boss didn’t finish talking to you so walking away like that is just not right. Now, turn around and, just for fun, put your hands behind your neck, fingers interlaced.”

  Lefty stared up at the man, gulped and did as he was told.

  “Frisk him, just to play it safe,” said the older man as he stared Lefty in the eye.

  The big man patted Lefty down, finding a switchblade, a cell phone and a worn leather wallet, all of which he slid into a pocket of his cargo shorts.

  “I’ll tell you who I am,” the older man continued. “I’m Alexandre Morin and I own this place. Now about this Sea-Doo here. It’s not yours. You see, I told you I had a friend who had one just like it, right down to the name painted right there so, this is his, not yours.”

  “Yeah, he lent it to me,” Lefty sneered. “So, what’s the big deal and why is it your business?”

  “Don’t make me hurt you, boy,” Alexandre replied. “You see, I’m not smiling and that’s because I’m mad as hell at you and your buddies for what you did and what you’re doing.”

  Lefty started to lower his arms as he spoke. “I don’t kno-aARRGH!”

  A loud, cracking pop was heard as the giant grabbed Lefty’s right wrist and yanked his arm high up behind his back, dislocating his shoulder. Lefty blanched and his knees buckled but the big man easily kept him on his feet.

  Alexandre glared at Lefty in silence for a moment then spoke in a quiet tone. “You’re done with your games. Now, you behave yourself and do what you’re told and maybe, just maybe you won’t get hurt anymore. Understand?”

  Lefty nodded, unable to speak.

  “Good,” said Alexandre before addressing his men. “Take him to the pub. Serge has one of his buddies in the basement there already so they can keep each other company, well, if the other guy ever wakes up. I’ll call Serge to let him know you’re coming. He’ll want to have a chat with our friend here and I’m sure this punk will want to cooperate. If this little bastard decides he doesn’t want to play along or tries to do anything stupid, I want you to hurt him bad.”

  Chapter 17 – Saturday - 7:19 p.m.

  “Merci, Serge,” Sandy exclaimed. “Well, we already have quite a bit of information about the gang but, yes, call me back if you learn anything you think we could use… Yes, I promise I’ll call you or Alexandre if we need anything else.”

  She cut the connection and beamed at the others. “Not only did Serge get the guy at the pub, Alexandre grabbed one of them at the marina.”

  “Are you serious?” asked Cathy.

  “Absolutely,” replied Sandy. “Serge called his brother to give him a heads up, just in case we needed help along the way, and Alexandre recognized Chris’ Sea-Doo at the marina. When the guy tried to leave, Alex and a couple of friends got a hold of him.”

  “Where are these bastards now?” asked Leslie.

  “The one at the pub is still unconscious,” Sandy explained. “Serge said he tapped him with a wrench. He’s got him tied up in the basement and his son is keeping an eye on him. The other one just arrived at the pub with Alex’s buddies. Serge is going to find out whatever he can from him and keep me posted. He also assured me these guys won’t be going anywhere.”

  “So, two less of these morons to worry about,” said Leslie, counting in her head, “Which leaves us with five to go. It’s looking better by the minute.”

  “Oh, non,” Dominique suddenly wailed from where she sat, her eyes never leaving the iPad.

  “What is it?” Leslie asked as they all crowded around the small screen.

  “Their leader is angry,” Dominique replied then fell silent as they all watched in rage and fear as the events unfolded.

  * * * *

  “Where the hell are those idiots?” Butch screamed, having failed to reach Rat, Dibs and Lefty.

  Enraged, he slammed his phone onto the dining table before picking up a half full liquor bottle and hurling it against the wall, showering his captives with shards of glass and rum.

  “Watch it, asshole,” Jonathan growled.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Butch snarled, stomping over and cuffing Jon on the side of the head. “I’ve got enough crap to deal with without your stupid comments.”

  “You’ve got crap to deal with,” Jonathan retorted, “Because you’re an asshole surrounded by a bunch of misfit morons. The whole lot of you couldn’t change a light bulb if your lives depended on it.”

  In response, Butch punched Jonathan in th
e face three times in rapid succession.

  “I said shut the fuck up,” he hissed before spitting in Jonathan’s face.

  Jonathan shook his head, pushing aside the waves of pain before looking up at Butch and smiling with blood stained teeth.

  “You’re a piss-ant wuss,” he said softly. “A cowardly, ball-less pussy.”

  Butch yanked out the Magnum from its back holster and pressed the barrel against Jon’s forehead hard enough to tip the chair back a couple of inches.

  “Do you want me to blow your brains out right now, old man?” he demanded. “Do you want me to put an end to your stinkin’, miserable life?”

  “Go ahead,” Jonathan replied. “Blow my damned head off. I’ll die knowing that you proved my point, that you really are a gutless wimp.”

  Butch glared at Jonathan, breathing hard, a film of sweat glistening on his forehead.

  “Pull the fucking trigger!” Jonathan bellowed suddenly, causing Butch to jump back in surprise.

  “Y-you’re fucking crazy, man,” Butch stammered before turning to Fingers who was sprawled on the loveseat, the official station for anyone on guard duty. “Keep an eye on these bastards. I don’t trust them for a minute. I’m gonna go round up the others and figure out what the hell is going on.”

  Chapter 18 – Saturday - 7:32 p.m.

  Likely the most laid back member of the crew, Smokie was easy to get along with and rarely got involved in any disagreements, especially not with Butch. As long as he had his pot to smoke, he was happy and willing to go along with whatever was going on. To this extent, when Butch had given his orders over ninety minutes earlier, Smokie had simply headed for the Suburban and driven off, heading north to the town of Brome Lake while Dibs went in the opposite direction toward the larger town of Knowlton.

  Since leaving, Smokie had been driving non-stop with a multitude of joints to keep him company, dutifully exploring the area as he canvassed side roads and streets of small developments along the way. That was until Butch had called him ten minutes or so earlier, telling him to get back to the house. Butch had been angry because some others weren’t answering their phones but that wasn’t Smokie’s problem. He had answered his and was heading back as he had been told to do.

  * * * *

  “I spotted the Suburban,” Josée announced when Leslie answered the phone. “He’s heading your way, southbound on

  Lakeside Road.” “How far is he?” asked Leslie.

  “He just turned on Lakeside at the north end of the lake,” Josée replied.

  “That’s about five kilometres from here,” Sandy piped in. “How fast is he going?”

  “I’d say fifty to sixty,” Josée guessed, “So you’ve got maybe five minutes before he gets there.”

  “Then we’d better get moving,” said Leslie. “Great work, Jo. Come on back. I don’t think we’ll be needing the aerial view any longer.”

  * * * *

  Alex Morin sat in his small office at the marina, able to concentrate on little else than the situation involving his friends, Chris and Sandy Barry. Though he felt he should be doing something, both he and Serge had given Sandy their word in exchange for her promise to call them if she and her friends needed help.

  His phone vibrated on his belt and he was pleased but surprised to see it was his brother calling so soon after the delivery of the second captive.

  “Oui, Serge,” he answered. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine with me,” his brother replied, “But I’m worried about Chris and his friends, not to mention Sandy and the other women.”

  “Have you spoken to the little bastard I sent you yet?” Alex asked.

  “Yes, as soon as he arrived,” said Serge. “Like so many of these tough gang guys, once they have to fend for themselves, they piss in their pants and this one was no exception.”

  “But he arrived less than twenty minutes ago,” Alex insisted. “You surely didn’t get all the information you could out of him.”

  “Alex, s’il te plaît,” Serge sighed. “Give your big brother more credit than that. I kindly asked the young man to tell me everything about what was going on in exchange for his life, and he did. I now know how many of them were there, how many are dead or have disappeared–”

  “Dead? Disappeared?” Alex exclaimed. “Mon Dieu, Serge. What is going on?”

  “There seems to be more than meets the eye with Sandy and her lady friends,” Serge replied with a touch of humour to his tone. “They apparently have been quite busy in the last few hours.”

  “Good for them but their luck may run out,” said Alex. “These are dangerous men and we mustn’t forget that Chris and his friends are being held hostage. I’m not comfortable just sitting and doing nothing.”

  “Neither am I,” Serge replied, “So here’s what I propose.”

  * * * *

  “Almost there,” Smokie said aloud as he recognized a landmark he had noted upon his departure.

  He rounded a curve, cruising at a leisurely speed and came onto the straight stretch of road, just a minute or two from the Barry home. As he approached, he noticed a woman standing in the middle of the road in the distance, waving her arms in the air, obviously signalling him. He slowed as he got closer and spotted another woman, sprawled on the side of the road, immobile.

  Edging onto the shoulder, he pulled to a stop, set the gearshift into Park then opened the door and climbed out.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as the clearly agitated, attractive redhead rushed over to him.

  “We were walking and my friend suddenly felt faint,” she explained, tugging on his arm to lead him toward the prone woman. “Then she passed out and fell there. Please help me. I’m worried and I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’m not sure what I can do to help,” Smokie replied as he moved toward the apparently unconscious woman a dozen feet away. “I ain’t no doctor or nothing but maybe I can give you a ride somewhere.”

  “Or maybe you can stop where you are and keep your hands where I can see them,” said Leslie from behind.

  Something in her tone convinced Smokie that obeying her command would be in his best interest and he immediately froze and raised his hands in the air. He was further reassured he had made the right decision when the woman lying on the shoulder of the road sprang to her feet and pointed a pistol at him.

  “Aw, crap, ladies,” Smokie muttered. “What’s going on? Are you mugging me or what?”

  “Are you armed?” asked Leslie, ignoring his questions.

  “Why would I be armed?” Smokie asked in return. “Look, ladies, I don’t want any trouble. I just want to get back to my buddies. They’re waiting for me.”

  “Answer my question,” Leslie insisted. “It’s a bad idea to waste my time right now.”

  Smokie sighed. “Switchblade, back left pocket. Want me to pull it out?”

  “No,” Leslie replied. “I’ll get it. If you move, you’re dead. And keep any smart-ass frisking comments to yourself.”

  She pulled the knife from his back pocket and asked, “What else do you have on you?”

  “Wallet in the back right pocket,” Smokie replied. “Phone and smokes in my shirt pocket. That’s it.”

  Leslie quickly retrieved the mentioned items then confirmed the absence of anything else with a quick pat-down during which Smokie remained still and silent.

  “Good man,” she approved once done. “Now, we’re going to get into your truck. I’ll drive, you’ll sit in the passenger seat and my friend will sit behind you with her gun pointed at your head.”

  “You sure you don’t want to just take the truck and let me go?” suggested Smokie.

  “I’m sure,” Leslie replied. “Turn around and bring your hands together.”

  “It was worth a try,” said Smokie as he watched Leslie bind his wrists with a zip tie. “Am I gonna get out of this alive?”

  “Keep on behaving like you have so far and you’ll be fine,” Leslie replied. She
led him to the Suburban and settled him in the passenger seat, securing him with the seatbelt before adding, “But if you do anything stupid, you’ll be dead, just like some of your other buddies.”

  She hurried to the driver’s side, climbing in and starting the engine while the other woman, Sandy, got in behind Smokie.

  As they drove the short distance to the entrance of their temporary base of operations, Smokie suddenly chuckled and said, “Wait a minute. Are you telling me the other guys disappeared because of you?”

  “That’s right,” Leslie replied. “You think that’s funny?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Smokie replied with a grin. “Butch would totally freak if he knew his bad-ass crew was being taken down by a couple of babes, no offence intended.”

  “None taken,” said Leslie.

  “So, you’re like the Barrys’ neighbours?” Smokie asked out of curiosity, “Or are you cops or something?”

  “I’m Mrs. Barry,” Sandy replied from the backseat. “That’s my home you’ve invaded and one of your hostages is my husband.”

  “Holy crap, I’m sorry, ma’am,” Smokie exclaimed, seeming sincere. “Honestly, I’m not real keen on these things but what Butch says goes so I don’t have much choice but to go along. When we get in somewhere, I go find a spot out of the way with a bottle and my pot until it’s time to go. Butch knows I don’t get into the nasty stuff and him and me get along so he leaves me alone.”

  “It’s good to know he’s such a considerate man,” Sandy replied, her sarcasm obvious. “Too bad he reserves that consideration to a select few.”

  “At least you weren’t home when we got there,” said Smokie, “But I guess this all screwed up your trip to L.A.”

  “There was no trip to L.A., you idiot,” Leslie retorted as she slowed to a stop at the neighbour’s home.

  “Damn, I guess there wasn’t,” said Smokie, shaking his head. “I am an idiot, and it seems like Butch is too. It’s looking like he made a big mistake this time.”