Read Online The First Sixteen: A Vigilante Series crime thriller novella - The Prequel by Claude Bouchard - Free Book Online
Authors: Claude Bouchard
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Finally, after a moment, he did his
best to look dejected and said, “It was all Emile’s idea. I didn’t know what he
was planning to do. I thought we were only going to steal money and stuff. I
didn’t even know anyone was home.”
“So,
this was all your brother’s idea?” I asked for confirmation.
“Yeah,
it was,” Etienne reasserted. “Like I said, I thought it was just to steal
stuff. I wasn’t expecting things to get rough. I don’t do that kinda crap. It kinda freaked me
out.”
“I
can imagine.” I replied then asked, “What was it that freaked you out? Was it
seeing Emile beating on Leo when he opened the door or was it watching him
simultaneously run after Isabelle?”
“Uh,
yeah, when, uh, he went after the lady,” Etienne confirmed with uncertainty. “She
was screaming and running and Emile went after her like crazy.”
“And
what were you doing while he was running after her and beating her husband at
the same time?” I questioned, purely out of curiosity.
“Well,
I was, uh, I was –”
“You’re
full of shit is what you are, Etienne,” I said as I slapped the tape back
across his face before pulling out the roll for a fresh strip. “And to try to
blame it on your little bro on top of it all? I’m very disappointed…
“Here’s
what we’re going to do. First, I’m going to read you Isabelle Gingras ’ statement which she made to the police a few hours
after you left. I found it to be a clear, believable recounting of events and I’m
sure you’ll agree with me once you’ve heard it, since you were there. Then,
once we’ve agreed on what actually happened, we’ll deal with things accordingly…”
#9
- Rick Bourque - Thursday, May 9, 1996
Some
of you may, or may not, remember Sylvie Theriault although I hope you do. I had mentioned her in some detail when describing my
encounter with Mathieu Masson on February 20, 1996. Sylvie was the young
mother-to-be of twins and the innocent victim who took two stray bullets in a
failed drive-by shooting. Mathieu was the driver of the shooter’s car on that
fateful day in August, 1995. A missing element remained to be dealt with in
order to close the chapter on this atrocity. The shooter, as confirmed by my
buddy, Matty , when we had discussed it less than
three months ago, was Rick Bourque, aka Birks.
Birks
headed a gang, albeit not a very big or highly organized one, but good enough
to generate revenues sufficient to keep him in a decent apartment on the
outskirts of Montreal’s St-Leonard district with a running car, food and so on.
Unfortunately, unless something went wrong with my plans, all of that was going
to end for him before the evening was over.
Considering
the crime which Birks had gotten away with was shooting a semi-automatic weapon
on a busy, public boulevard in broad daylight, I figured he was someone who
might be armed and, maybe, dangerous. I would have to be even more cautious
with this one because getting shot just didn’t sit well with me.
As
with my other prospects, I had been keeping tabs on Birks and, like many of his
kind, he wasn’t as bright or careful as he should have been. With relative
ease, after a few surveillance outings, I had managed to establish enough of
his routine, at least that which worked with my schedule, to fix a day and time
for our encounter.
I
had also had the opportunity to visit his apartment on a couple of occasions and
had determined that he did not have a stash of firearms hidden away somewhere.
In fact, he had nothing which could be considered an illegal weapon of any kind.
Worst case scenario was that he carried a piece and it certainly wouldn’t be a
semi-automatic rifle. I would deal with that as required because it was either
him, or me.
Though
I was taking no chances, I doubted Birks was packing lately, believing that he
was being very careful with firearms since the Theriault killing. In addition, Thursday nights were poker nights with his top guys in
best to look dejected and said, “It was all Emile’s idea. I didn’t know what he
was planning to do. I thought we were only going to steal money and stuff. I
didn’t even know anyone was home.”
“So,
this was all your brother’s idea?” I asked for confirmation.
“Yeah,
it was,” Etienne reasserted. “Like I said, I thought it was just to steal
stuff. I wasn’t expecting things to get rough. I don’t do that kinda crap. It kinda freaked me
out.”
“I
can imagine.” I replied then asked, “What was it that freaked you out? Was it
seeing Emile beating on Leo when he opened the door or was it watching him
simultaneously run after Isabelle?”
“Uh,
yeah, when, uh, he went after the lady,” Etienne confirmed with uncertainty. “She
was screaming and running and Emile went after her like crazy.”
“And
what were you doing while he was running after her and beating her husband at
the same time?” I questioned, purely out of curiosity.
“Well,
I was, uh, I was –”
“You’re
full of shit is what you are, Etienne,” I said as I slapped the tape back
across his face before pulling out the roll for a fresh strip. “And to try to
blame it on your little bro on top of it all? I’m very disappointed…
“Here’s
what we’re going to do. First, I’m going to read you Isabelle Gingras ’ statement which she made to the police a few hours
after you left. I found it to be a clear, believable recounting of events and I’m
sure you’ll agree with me once you’ve heard it, since you were there. Then,
once we’ve agreed on what actually happened, we’ll deal with things accordingly…”
#9
- Rick Bourque - Thursday, May 9, 1996
Some
of you may, or may not, remember Sylvie Theriault although I hope you do. I had mentioned her in some detail when describing my
encounter with Mathieu Masson on February 20, 1996. Sylvie was the young
mother-to-be of twins and the innocent victim who took two stray bullets in a
failed drive-by shooting. Mathieu was the driver of the shooter’s car on that
fateful day in August, 1995. A missing element remained to be dealt with in
order to close the chapter on this atrocity. The shooter, as confirmed by my
buddy, Matty , when we had discussed it less than
three months ago, was Rick Bourque, aka Birks.
Birks
headed a gang, albeit not a very big or highly organized one, but good enough
to generate revenues sufficient to keep him in a decent apartment on the
outskirts of Montreal’s St-Leonard district with a running car, food and so on.
Unfortunately, unless something went wrong with my plans, all of that was going
to end for him before the evening was over.
Considering
the crime which Birks had gotten away with was shooting a semi-automatic weapon
on a busy, public boulevard in broad daylight, I figured he was someone who
might be armed and, maybe, dangerous. I would have to be even more cautious
with this one because getting shot just didn’t sit well with me.
As
with my other prospects, I had been keeping tabs on Birks and, like many of his
kind, he wasn’t as bright or careful as he should have been. With relative
ease, after a few surveillance outings, I had managed to establish enough of
his routine, at least that which worked with my schedule, to fix a day and time
for our encounter.
I
had also had the opportunity to visit his apartment on a couple of occasions and
had determined that he did not have a stash of firearms hidden away somewhere.
In fact, he had nothing which could be considered an illegal weapon of any kind.
Worst case scenario was that he carried a piece and it certainly wouldn’t be a
semi-automatic rifle. I would deal with that as required because it was either
him, or me.
Though
I was taking no chances, I doubted Birks was packing lately, believing that he
was being very careful with firearms since the Theriault killing. In addition, Thursday nights were poker nights with his top guys in
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