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

Within moments, his ankles were bound
together but a foot apart with multiple tape strands crisscrossing from one
ankle to the other. Crude but effective, this would allow for some limited
mobility later but there was no way he could suddenly sprint away if he had the
chance.
    My
shackles complete, I pulled his right foot close to the seat and taped it to a
support bracket underneath. He wouldn’t be swinging his feet up to kick me
while I’d be driving. After fastening his seatbelt around his waist, for safety’s
sake, I reclined his seat as far as it would go and shut the door. Out of
sight, out of mind.
    Not
wishing to overstay my welcome in the neighbourhood, I hurried to the driver’s
seat, knowing the key awaited me in the ignition and, seconds later, we were
off. I felt the ride would be a good time to chat so when I reached the first
stop sign, I leaned over and yanked the tape from his mouth.
    “Jesus,
that hurt, you motherfucker,” Birks bellowed as we resumed our drive.
    “Sorry,”
I replied, “And watch your mouth, asshole. You don’t want to piss me off.”
    “What
the fuck is this all about?” he demanded.
    I
backhanded him with my right as I held the steering wheel with my left. “I told
you to watch your mouth. Don’t make me warn you again.”
    “Okay,
okay,” he muttered, “But I’m kinda pissed off myself
right now.”
    “You
brought it on to yourself,” I replied, “So deal with it.”
    “What
did I do to you?” he asked. “I don’t know you. I ain’t ever even seen you before.”
    “It’s
not anything you did to me,” I said, “But it’s certainly something you did.”
    “You
mind sharing what that was?” he asked, his tone mocking.
    “You’re
really not in a position to have an attitude, my friend,” I said. “That’s more annoying
than you swearing at me.”
    He
sighed. “Alright, I’m sorry. I just want to know why you’re doing this.”
    “August
17th last year,” I said. “An innocent woman died. She was twenty-three and
about to give birth for the first time in her life. She, and her unborn twins,
died because of you.”
    “What?”
he exclaimed. “You got the wrong man cuz that wasn’t
me. No way.”
    “You’re
full of crap, Birks,” I said. “It was you.”
    “H-how
do you know my name?” he asked, surprised and concerned.
    “A
mutual acquaintance shared it with me,” I replied. “You remember Mathieu
Masson, don’t you? He told me your name was Rick Bourque, known as Birks on the
street.”
    “Uh, Matty’s dead, man,” said Birks. “He couldn’t tell you
nothing.”
    I
laughed. “Of course, Matty’s dead. I killed him, you
moron. He told me about you before he died. He told me he had been driving the
car and that you were the shooter. Why the hell do you think I’m here?”
    “Y-you
killed Matty ?” he said. “Why?”
    “Are
you paying attention?” I asked. “He was driving, knowing full well you would be
shooting a semi-automatic weapon out in public, putting the lives of countless
innocent people at risk. Sylvie Theriault and her
twins are gone because of Matty , and because of you,
of course.”
    “But
–” he started to say.
    “But
nothing,” I interrupted. “Don’t try to deny it because Matty told me everything. Telling me you didn’t do it will piss me off even more than
your swearing or your attitude. ”
    He
was silent for a moment then said, “It was an accident, man. We weren’t gunning
for her.”
    “True,”
I agreed, “But she’s still dead, right? You still shot her with an illegal
weapon on a busy street in broad daylight, right?”
    “Aw,
fuck man,” he whined, “So now you’re gonna kill me?”
    “Now,
I want some information from you,” I replied.
    “What
kind of information?” he asked, a hint of hope in his tone.
    “The
gun you used,” I said, “Where is it?”
    “I
got rid of it,” Birks replied. “I couldn’t take no chance of the cops finding
it. I didn’t think Matty would