Free The First Sixteen: A Vigilante Series crime thriller novella - The Prequel by Claude Bouchard Page A

his denim jacket, yanked him out and
slammed his back against the closed rear door before slapping him on the side
of the head.
    “You
have memory problems, buddy?” I asked as I stepped back. “Didn’t I tell you to
watch your mouth when you’re talking to me?”
    “Yeah,
yeah you did,” he replied, whining again as he rubbed the side of his head on
his shoulder, “But that hurt like a bitch.”
    “I
thought you were a tough guy,” I replied. “Big tough guy who goes around
killing innocent, pregnant women.”
    “Aw,
come on, you said that already,” he argued, “And it only happened once.”
    “That’s
right,” I agreed, “But once too many.”
    “Look,
I’m sorry but it was an accident,” Birks replied. “What’s done is done. You can’t
bring the lady back and, anyhow, they said on the news she died like, instantly,
so she didn’t suffer or nothing.”
    I
stared at Birks for a moment then took another step back as I pulled out the
revolver and aimed it at his face.
    “Holy
shit,” he exclaimed, raising his taped hands up in defense then relaxing a bit.
“Aw, crap, that just a BB gun, you bastard.”
    “Pellets,
actually,” I replied. “Powered with compressed CO2.”
    “You
fucking kidnapped me with a pellet gun?” he stated more than asked.
    I
responded by pulling the trigger and shooting him in the face, just below the
right cheekbone. He howled in pain as he grasped his face as best he could then
stared at me with panic in his eyes as he noted he was bleeding.
    “What’s
the matter?” I asked as I shot him again, this time in the shoulder. “It’s just
a pellet gun. You said so yourself though the manufacturer does specify that
this is not a toy. Did you know that those pellets shoot out at four hundred
thirty-five feet per second? That’s almost two hundred ninety-seven miles per
hour. Pretty impressive if you ask me, even though it’s just a pellet gun.”
    “You’re
crazy, man,” he shrieked. “You broke some fucking teeth.”
    “Aw,
damn,” I replied as I shot him in the ribs, causing him to gasp, tense up then
fall to the ground.
    “So,
not so cool to get shot at?” I asked as I yanked him back up to his feet and
leaned him up against the car again. “Even with a pellet gun?”
    “What
do you want from me?” he sobbed. “Why are you doing this?”
    “If
you still don’t understand why I’m doing this, you’re a sadder bastard than I
thought,” I said. “As for what I want from you, it’s simple… retribution,
payback, the punishment to fit the crime.”
    “So,
you’re just gonna kill me?” he asked, his voice
quavering in pain and fear. “You’re no better than I am.”
    “Get
out of here,” I said.
    “W-what?”
he asked, not comprehending.
    I
gestured to the north, away from the highway and said, “Go. Get away from me.”
    “I’m
all taped up, man,” he whined. “How can I go anywhere?”
    I
nudged his foot with mine and said, “You’ve got some loose there. You can’t run
but you can certainly walk. Move.”
    He
glanced at me then started shuffling away, as quickly as his duct tape shackles
allowed him to go. When he had gone about ten feet, I shot him in the back and
he went down with a moan. I walked up closer and fired the two remaining
pellets at him then holstered the gun and pulled out my knife.

#10
- Ghislain Blouin - Tuesday, May 14, 1996

 
    My
dealing with Birks the previous Thursday had gotten me another headline with
Henderson at the Gazette , a front
page spread in the Saturday edition, in fact, which covered what details were
known, a recap of the Vigilante murders to date and the highlights of Lieutenant Dave McCall’s press conference
held late Friday afternoon. Montreal’s top murder cop clearly recognized he had
a serial killer on his hands, he obviously didn’t like it, even if the victims
were all scum, and he promised the public that resolution in the ongoing case
would soon be the final chapter.
    I
felt for