Thirteen to None

by Claude Bouchard

  “You’ll regret what you’re doing, Butch,” Dave warned, his face now white with anger. “Let her go.”

  “Fingers, get some tape and shut the captain up before I shoot the bastard,” Butch ordered as he dragged Cathy backwards to the dining room table. “Shades, come and give me a hand with the lady here.”

  “Give this up, Butch,” Chris pleaded as he watched the thug shove Cathy against the end of the table, pushing her down so she lay flat on her face.

  “Fingers, tape up the other two while you’re at it. They’re just gonna whine,” said Butch before turning back to Cathy. “You just be a good girl and cooperate and you might even enjoy it.”

  He kicked her legs apart, pinning her to the table with one hand behind her neck, his gun pressed firmly to the back of her head while Shades proceeded to tape her ankles to the table legs. Fingers, done with his duties of muzzling their three captives, joined his accomplices and got busy securing one of Cathy’s wrists to a further table leg while Shades looked after the other. Throughout, Cathy remained cooperative and silent, offering neither resistance nor the barest whimper.

  “Well, she ain’t no spring chicken,” said Butch, gazing at the spread-eagled woman before him, “But she still looks damned good if you ask me.”

  “Sweet butt,” Fingers added, winking at Dave before returning his gaze to Cathy. “Maybe we should have stripped her down before trussing her up.”

  “Nothing good old scissors can’t fix and I saw some in that knife block in the kitchen,” Butch replied, laying his revolver down on a nearby credenza before starting to remove his belt. “Go get them and cut these clothes off the lady. She’s earned herself a bare-ass whippin’ by lying to me and I’m itching to give it to her.”

  * * * *

  “They taped Cathy to the table,” said Dominique. “Now one of them is going to the kitchen.”

  “I see him,” said Leslie, watching from the skylight above. “Where are the others?”

  “Butch is standing behind Cathy,” Dominique replied in a worried tone. “He’s removed his belt. I think he’s going to whip her.”

  “Where’s the other?” Leslie urged.

  “He’s standing in front of the French doors,” said Dominique.

  “He’s right in front of me,” Josée confirmed, staring at the silhouette on the voile curtains from where she stood outside, a few feet from the doorway and ready to go.

  “Sandy, start moving,” Leslie directed. “We’re going in a few seconds.”

  * * * *

  “I’ve got just what we need,” were Fingers last words as he strolled under the skylight in the kitchen on his way back to the dining room. A second later, he was falling to the floor, dead from the impact of nine double-aught pellets fired from Leslie’s shotgun through the skylight above, glass showering the mangled corpse.

  As Leslie dropped into the kitchen through the now glassless skylight, a second shotgun boomed, this one from outside the French doors leading to the dining room. Travelling at a speed of some fifteen hundred feet per second, this round of pellets easily tore through the glass and wood barrier before ripping into Shades’ back and internal organs beyond and catapulting his lifeless body to the centre of the room.

  Taken completely by surprise, Butch froze for a couple of seconds before attempting to react. As he turned to the credenza to retrieve his revolver, his legs were kicked out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor on his back. Looking up, he found himself staring into the barrels of not one but two shotguns held by as many women. A third approached with a handgun aimed at his chest.

  “Twitch and you’re dead,” said the redhead he had seen drop in through the skylight.

  “I’m not moving a muscle, lady,” Butch replied, remaining very still.

  “Put your feet together,” the familiar looking blonde with the handgun ordered, zip-tying his ankles once he had complied.

  “Now, very carefully, roll onto you stomach,” said the redhead, “Hands behind your back.”

  He rolled over and as the blonde was securing his wrists, he realized who she was and chuckled.

  “You’re Mrs. Barry,” he said with a grin. “You bitches didn’t really go to L.A. Bunch of fucking liars.”

  Sandy rose to her feet and responded by kicking him several times in the ribs. After patting him down and relieving him of a switchblade, phone and wallet, the women turned their attention to freeing Cathy and the men.

  Cathy, the first to be cut loose, went to Butch as soon as she was free, raining a volley of blows to his head before spotting his gun on the credenza.

  “You’re dead, you motherfucker,” she shrieked, hitting the side of his face repeatedly with the heavy handgun before standing and aiming at his head.

  “Cathy, don’t,” shouted her husband, the tape on his mouth gone but still partially tethered to the chair while Leslie sawed at his remaining bonds.

  “Why not?” Cathy demanded, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’s an animal. He would have killed you. He deserves to die.”

  “It’s not for you to do, sweetheart,” Dave pleaded, now freed and approaching. “Give me the gun.”

  “He was going to kill you, Dave,” Cathy repeated. “He was going to kill Chris and Jon too. He was going to rape and kill me. He needs to pay for what he did and what he was going to do.”

  “He does need to pay, sweetheart,” Dave agreed, “But it’s not up to you to deliver the sentence.”

  “Listen to your husband,” said Butch from where he lay on the floor. “He’s a cop. He knows this shit.”

  “Shut the hell up,” Dave bellowed, delivering a kick of his own at the hog-tied thug before turning to his wife. “Please, Cathy. Give me the gun.”

  “He’s right, Cathy,” said Chris. “Give Dave the gun.”

  She looked around at her friends who, one by one, nodded in agreement. Sighing, she removed her finger from the trigger and handed the gun to Dave who laid it back down on the credenza.

  “Let’s get this garbage off the floor,” he said, reaching down for Butch.

  Chris joined him and together, they pulled Butch upright and dragged him a few feet before shoving him into the captain’s chair which until recently had been occupied by Chris. Jonathan joined them with a roll of duct tape and Butch was soon bound to the chair with several layers of tape wrapped across his chest and around the chair back.

  “Not real comfortable with my arms behind me,” Butch muttered.

  Jonathan responded by slapping a strip of tape across Butch’s mouth before turning to the others.

  “Well, that was quite a day,” he said, giving Josée a hug. “Is everyone okay?”

  “Now we are,” Sandy replied, her eyes glistening as she squeezed Chris tightly.

  “Nobody got hurt?” asked Dave, his arms wrapped around Cathy.

  “Banged elbow is all,” his wife replied, her voice cracking. “Nothing like what you three went through with these animals.”

  “We fared okay,” Jonathan reassured her before addressing Leslie. “What are we looking at?”

  “A damned mess,” she replied. “Besides this asshole, two are alive and under guard.”

  “Who has them?” ask Chris.

  “The Morin brothers,” Sandy replied, “Who are also waiting nearby in case we need help.”

  “This party’s over so you might as well tell them to go home,” said Chris. “We’ll call them in a bit about the captives. Where are the others?”

  “Bodies which aren’t here are at the neighbour’s,” Leslie replied. “We’ve got some cleaning up to do.”

  Jonathan sighed. “Tell me about it. We’re going to have to think a bit to determine how to handle this.”

  “And all of this because of this son of a bitch,” Dave growled as he ripped the tape off Butch’s mouth. “What do you have to say, asshole?”

  Butch looked up at Dave with a smirk on his face. “Well, Captain, all I have to say is that it looks like it’s
our lucky day.”

  “Is that right, Butch?” Dave asked. “Why is it our lucky day?”

  Butch laughed then replied. “Well, it’s your lucky day because these super bitches managed to outsmart me and my crew and save your ass. Believe me when I tell you that otherwise, you and your two bozos would have been dead by morning, but only after you would have watched me and my guys fuck your whore wife every way possible and torture the hell out of her.”

  “You’re something else, Butch,” Dave replied, maintaining his composure. “You really would have done that?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Butch confirmed. “We woulda had a nasty time. I just wish all these sluts had been here when we arrived cuz things woulda been different. Me and my boys woulda had the party of a lifetime with these broads to mess with and you three idiots watching every minute of it.”

  “And you can just sit there and tell me this?” asked Dave, shaking his head before turning to Chris and Jon. “You both know how much respect I’ve always had for you two, even though we didn’t always share the same vision of how things should be done, but Butch here has me seeing things in a different light.”

  “He certainly has an ‘eye-opener’ flare to him,” Chris replied. “Some people just stand out like that and make you think.”

  “I’ve seen my share of those,” Jonathan added. “Like it or not, they do have an impact on one’s perspective.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Dave agreed. “It’s almost like a fog has cleared in my head.”

  “But, you’re okay with that?” Chris asked. “It mustn’t change who you are.”

  “No worries. I’m fine with it,” said Dave as he turned back to their captive. “Your crew is gone, dead, Butch. You’re the prisoner now, tied up, totally defenceless and you have the gall to say these things to me?”

  “Damned straight, Captain,” Butch jeered. “You wanna know why?”

  Dave nodded. “Yes, Butch, I want to know why. Tell me why.”

  “Remember how I just told you it was my lucky day too?” Butch asked, seeming almost giddy.

  “Yes, I remember,” Dave replied. “Why is it your lucky day, Butch?”

  “Because you’re the cop arresting me,” Butch replied with a grin. “I told you I hoped if I got arrested, it would be by you cuz you told me you’re an honest cop who plays by the book. You remember telling me that?”

  “Yes, Butch,” said Dave, nodding. “I do remember telling you that.”

  Butch chuckled and said, “So, there you go, Captain. I can tell you whatever the hell I like because you’re a straight motherfucker who goes by the rules.”

  Dave gazed at him for a moment with an almost amused expression. He then went to the credenza and returned with Butch’s revolver.

  “Can I tell you something, Butch?” he asked, smiling at the crew leader.

  “Be my guest, Captain,” Butch replied.

  “You’re forgetting something from all our discussions,” Dave continued, “And I’m actually kind of surprised since you’re the one who kept pointing this out all along. Do you remember what it is, Butch?”

  “Hmm, could be a lot of things, Captain,” said Butch. “Why don’t ya just tell me?”

  Dave’s expression went from pleasant to deadly as he replied, “I’m a liar,” before raising the gun and pulling the trigger.

  Books by Claude Bouchard

  Available for your Kindle at

  Amazon.com ~ Amazon.co.uk

  Vigilante

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  Montreal . . . the long, hot summer of 1996. . . and in the dark of night, moving like a shadowy wraith, a vigilante prowls the city's streets. The targets of his bloody rampage: the worst of the worst. . . Murderers. Gangbangers. Rapists. Six months. Sixteen murders. The harried police are still without a clue . . . until the day they receive an email from the assassin himself. Lieutenant Dave McCall, head of Montreal's Special Homicide Task Force, needs help to crack the secrets of the killer's taunting message. He calls on an expert, Chris Barry, who runs a security firm specializing in computer communications. Together, McCall and Barry launch a grim quest to track down a man who preys on predators - an urgent quest to bring this remorseless killer to justice. But whose justice will prevail: theirs--or the vigilante's?

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  Book 8 of the Vigilante Series

  Born of a violent, criminal father, an alcoholic, promiscuous mother and left to fend for himself at an early age, Butch Kincaid was destined for a life on the darker side where he would live and lead by his own rules.

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