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Category:
Mystery/Suspense
Publisher: Claude Bouchard
ISBN-10: 0986666564
Type: Fiction
Pages: 213
Copyright: 2013
ISBN-13: 9780986666568
Price: $4.99 (eBook)
Book #7 of the Vigilante series
Less than two years earlier, Leslie Robb, an accountant in her late twenties working for the Imperial National Bank, had seen her life-partner and co-worker, Gina, shot to death during a bank heist subsequently foiled in part by Chris Barry, millionaire and clandestine operative of the government's 'Discreet Activities'.
Taken as a hostage along with Chris by the remaining robbers onto a helicopter secretly piloted by two 'DA' operatives, including 'DA' head, Jonathan Addley, Leslie had played an integral role in helping bring the offenders down. As a result, thanks to her sang froid, sense of moral justice and martial arts affinities, Leslie left the world of finance to fight crime as a member of the 'DA' team.
Now, Leslie has a new partner in life, Dominique Petit, a Canadian/French dual citizen who suggests Leslie visit Paris with her while she is in the City of Lights on business. Less than twenty-four hours after Leslie arrives, Dominique and her sister, Corinne, disappear, turning Leslie's vacation into her own business trip of justice and revenge...
Excerpt
Chapter 1 – Thursday, May 17, 2012
It had turned out to be a very good week for Sébastien Hétu.
On Monday morning, he had sat in a courtroom at the Palais de justice de Montréal, fighting the urge to not burst out laughing as one witness after another denied having ever seen him behave violently in any fashion. Much to the crown attorney’s chagrin, her star witness, who had allegedly seen Hétu beat Hélène Soucy to death, had not even bothered showing up to testify. Word given to the defendant’s lawyer was that the witness had at least been kind enough to call the prosecutor, insisting he was mistaken with what he had initially stated seeing and was off to parts unknown. What had initially seemed like a slam-dunk win for the prosecution had turned to mush and the case had been dismissed on Tuesday morning. It was wonderful what a bit of quiet intimidation and threatening could do.
Since, his girls had been quiet, obedient and submissive which was how he liked them to be. None had attempted to skim on anything, even on a few jobs they had picked up on the side, which was something he liked as well. Two of the girls had decided to move away from the city while he was temporarily a guest of the system but had left what cash they owed him before taking their leave. He appreciated that kind of respect and would probably go easy on them if he ever ran into them somewhere; perhaps he would even leave them alone.
Raising his spirits even more, as he climbed the stairs to the small apartment he kept for business purposes on St-Laurent Boulevard downtown, was the long-legged goddess he was following up. The tight, worn, faded black jeans she wore had learned over time to perfectly hug the curves of her butt and he was looking forward to a closer, more intimate examination.
“It’s this door to the right,” he told her as she reached the first landing. “We’ll be more comfortable in here to, you know, get to know each other better and talk and stuff.”
“Uh, huh,” she mumbled, her eyes to the floor as she nodded.
Quiet because she was shy, stoned or both, he wasn’t sure but, in the end, he preferred his girls to speak as little as possible even when they were spoken to. In addition, with a face and body like hers, chatting would also be the last thing on the customers’ minds. In fact, he’d be able to charge a premium for her services, which he was certain most, if not all, clients would be agreeable to.
He had been snacking on a burger and fries at the pool hall and grill one floor below, one of his main haunts when on the job, when Lilly, one of his girls, had walked in with the five foot eight beauty. Though she had most likely been living on the street for a few weeks, as attested the dirt and grime on her clothing and skin, she remained a knockout. He hadn’t been able to determine the colour of her hair because of the light-knit tuque it was tucked into but even if she was bald, she would still be gorgeous. Her expression had been sullen and guarded but her eyes had been alert, not the look of someone messed up on heavy drugs. Though not always easy to guess, he had pegged her to be somewhere in her twenties.
“Hi, Sébast,” Lilly had said, glancing at him briefly before turning her eyes down. “This is April and she needs work. I told her maybe you could help.”
“Who asked you to do that?” Hétu had sneered, cuffing Lilly under the chin with a knuckle so that she look at him. “How do you know her? Where’d you meet her?”
“I’ve been in Montreal for the last week,” April’s monotone had interrupted, “In this area the last couple of days. I noticed Lilly working the street and asked her if she knew where I could get some work with decent protection. There’s lots of mean fuckers out there. If you can’t help me, no worries, I’ll go somewhere else.”
“Whoa, whoa, hang on,” Hétu had said with a smile as he rose from the table. “Maybe we can work something out. I’d need to interview you first, if you know what I mean. I have to see what you look like, what you’re good at, what you don’t like to do, that sort of thing. Are you ready for that?”
“Sure,” April had replied with a shrug. “Anytime you want, now or later.”
“Now would be fine,” he had said as he peeled a fifty from a roll of bills and tucked it into Lilly’s cleavage. “You can get yourself something pretty with that later. For now, go make us some money while I go upstairs and get to know April.”
Into the apartment, he closed and locked the door behind them then turned towards her, saying, “Get your clothes off - What the fuck is going on here?”
“Keep your hands away from your body where I can see them,” April a.k.a. Leslie Robb ordered, her silenced Glock 36 Slimline trained steadily on his forehead.
“If you’re planning to rip me off,” Sébastien snarled, “You’re messing with the wrong crowd, bitch. You don’t know who you’re dealing with here.”
“Sébastien ‘Spike’ Hétu, local pimp and scumbag with the Aces of Death,” Leslie replied. “Big whoop-dee-do shit. Now, move slowly away from the door towards the bed and keep those hands up or I’ll shoot you.”
“You’re dead,” he muttered as he moved slowly sideways in a semicircular pattern towards the bed while Leslie did likewise, moving away from it until they had effectively changed positions.
“What now?” Hétu scoffed, not unaccustomed to risky situations. “Are you going to frisk me? I really would like that. Or maybe you want to tie me up? That could be fun too.”
“No, I’m going to give you the opportunity to apologize to Hélène Soucy for killing her, face to face,” Leslie replied before double-tapping him in the forehead.
As the body tumbled back onto the bed, Leslie quickly stripped out of the dirty grey and black clothing she wore and donned faded blue jeans, a white t-shirt and denim jacket she pulled out of her packsack. Off came the tuque to be replaced by a motorcycle half-helmet equipped with a Bluetooth device which she activated after tucking in her flaming red ponytail.
“All done,” she said. “Meet you out front.”
She left the apartment, closing the door behind her, and descended one flight to the ground floor exit. As she opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, a metallic blue Harley Davidson Wide Glide pulled up to the curb. She trotted the few steps across to the curb, climbed onto the back and, in seconds, the pair was gone.
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