Mind Games

  Mind Games

  A novel by

  Claude Bouchard

  MIND GAMES

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © 1997 by Claude Bouchard

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.

  Published by Claude Bouchard

  Kindle Edition

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 - Friday, May 23, 1997

  Chapter 2 - Saturday, May 24, 1997

  Chapter 3 - Sunday, May 25, 1997

  Chapter 4 - Monday, May 26, 1997

  Chapter 5 - Tuesday, May 27, 1997

  Chapter 6 - Friday, May 30, 1997

  Chapter 7 - Saturday, May 31, 1997

  Chapter 8 - Sunday, June 1, 1997

  Chapter 9 - Monday, June 2, 1997

  Chapter 10 - Wednesday, June 4, 1997

  Chapter 11 - Thursday, June 5, 1997

  Chapter 12 - Friday, June 6, 1997

  Chapter 13 - Saturday, June 7, 1997

  Chapter 14 - Monday, June 9, 1997

  Chapter 15 - Tuesday, June 10, 1997

  Chapter 16 - Wednesday, June 11, 1997

  Chapter 17 - Thursday, June 12, 1997

  Chapter 18 - Friday, June 13, 1997

  Chapter 19 - Saturday, June 14, 1997

  Chapter 20 - Sunday, June 15, 1997

  Chapter 21 - Tuesday, June 17, 1997

  Chapter 22 - Wednesday, June 18, 1997

  Chapter 23 - Thursday, June 19, 1997

  Chapter 24 - Saturday, June 21, 1997

  Chapter 25 - Sunday, June 22, 1997

  Books by Claude Bouchard

  Chapter 1 - Friday, May 23, 1997

  Randi unlocked the door to the hotel room and turned to the timid man who had accompanied him.

  “Welcome to paradise,” he exclaimed with a sultry smile, gesturing his guest into the room.

  The man glanced nervously up and down the small hotel’s narrow corridor, ensuring no witnesses were present then quickly entered the room.

  “I-I’ve never done this before,” he confessed with a slight stammer as Randi securely locked the door behind them.

  “Well, relax sweetheart,” Randi purred, flashing a tantalising grin. “I’m gonna take wonderful care of you. Why don’t you get yourself out of those clothes, make yourself comfortable.”

  “Uh, alright,” the man hesitantly agreed and slowly started undressing.

  “W-what about you?” he asked as Randi leaned against a small rickety table in one corner and watched.

  “Well, hon. Since it’s your first time, you probably want me to stay dressed, at least for a while,” Randi explained knowingly, smoothing his tight mini-skirt over his rump as he spoke. “Maybe, once you’re warmed up, we can go all the way if you like.”

  “S-sure, if y-you think it’s best,” the man mumbled shyly, hesitantly removing his shorts. Looking down at himself, he whispered in shame, “I d-don’t know if this is gonna work.”

  “Leave that up to me, gorgeous,” Randi cooed in a husky voice. “Lie down on the bed. Let Randi get you ready for heaven.”

  Silently, the man complied as his host swayed across the room to an old beaten dresser. From the top drawer, he produced a handful of silk neckties with which he returned to the old metal framed bed.

  “W-what are y-you doing?” his naked guest enquired uneasily.

  “Shhh, relax,” whispered Randi soothingly. “Trust me, baby. Just lie back and let me take care of you.”

  Falling silent, the man obeyed as Randi proceeded to bind his wrists and ankles to the heavy bed-frame.

  As his host finished securing him, the man spoke again. “I’m n-not really sure if I l-like this.”

  Toying with a remaining tie, Randi gazed at his spread-eagled prisoner for a moment, licking his grinning lips before replying. “No wonder you’re not getting into this. You talk too much, sweetheart. Let’s fix that so that we can concentrate on what’s going on.”

  That said he suddenly moved in on the other man, quickly gagging him with the last tie. Standing back with his hands on his hips, he admired his handy-work while his captive struggled against his restraints in vain.

  “I think that you might be a screamer,” Randi stated in a matter-of-fact fashion as he pulled a roll of wide adhesive tape from the dresser drawer. “Now, we wouldn’t want to bother the neighbours so, let’s fix the problem before it starts.”

  As his prisoner stared at him, his eyes now wide with fear, Randi cut a six inch strip of tape using his teeth and firmly applied it to the restrained man’s mouth, over the gag.

  “There we go,” Randi squealed with satisfaction. “Let the games begin.”

  Reaching into the dresser drawer one last time, he extracted a large carving knife, its eight inch blade glinting in the dim light, and turned towards his terrorized guest.

  “It might hurt a little at first,” he explained as he approached, “But you’ll see, the pain goes away soon enough. And don’t worry about the blood. I brought a change of clothes.”

  Chapter 2 - Saturday, May 24, 1997

  “...so the second golfer says, ‘he was unconscious when I found him so I started giving him mouth to mouth; then, one thing led to another’.”

  “Frankly, Dave,” playfully objected Cathy, his wife, amidst the laughter of their two guests. “Is that what you cops do when you’re supposedly hard at work? Tell dirty jokes?”

  “Only sometimes,” Dave McCall grinned.

  “The rest of the time,” suggested Chris Barry, his good friend, “They eat doughnuts.”

  “Not this fella,” retorted Dave, assuming a muscle-man pose and patting his flat stomach.

  “You’re a great looking cop, Dave,” comforted Sandy, Chris’ wife as she winked at Cathy, “As far as cops go.”

  “What is this?” exclaimed Dave, feigning a pout. “Beat up on McCall night?”

  As head of Montreal’s Special Homicide Task Force, Captain Dave McCall had met Chris Barry just a little under a year ago while working on a serial murder case. By tracing messages which had been sent through Eazy-Com, a computerized communications network, Barry, executive vice-president of a computer security firm at the time and a genius in the field, had assisted the police in tracking down the infamous Vigilante, whose victims were criminals of the worst kind. His efforts had led the authorities to one Carl Denver, employed by Chris, who had promptly committed suicide when confronted. The Vigilante case was solved; or so it seemed.

  Unbeknownst to Dave and the police, Chris Barry was the true Vigilante. A victim of domestic violence as a child, he had grown up with vengeance in his heart and, for a while, taking the lives of pushers, rapists and the like, had been his therapy. The culmination of his activities had been twofold; first the murdering of his step-father, who had caused terror and pain to himself, his mother and his sister many years earlier; second, the suicide of Carl Denver, guilty of embezzlement but framed by Chris as the Vigilante. Carl had merited his death, not because of his theft of funds but rather due to his involvement in the death of Sandy’s father, a year before Chris had even met his charming spouse.

  While working on the Vigilante case together, a genuine friendship had developed between Dave and Chris and the two had become quite close since, as had their wives. Chris felt guilty on occasion, although definitely not for th
e violent acts which he had committed. All those bastards had deserved to pay for their crimes and time and time again the system did not work properly, ultimately failing to deliver fitting punishment. The guilt he felt was towards Dave, a true friend, whom Chris felt he had used, albeit not planned. He knew the day would eventually come when he would have to divulge his secret, regardless of the consequences which might follow. Dave was a good man and deserved nothing less.

  “Sit, sit,” Dave insisted, waving Cathy and Sandy back to their seats as he rose. “You girls relax while Chris and I get rid of these dishes. You made dinner, let us do our share.”

  “Don’t let him fool you, Sandy,” commented Cathy with a smirk. “Dave’s idea of getting the dishes done consists of piling everything into the sink so that I can wash them in the morning.”

  Before Dave could utter one of his famous witty replies, they were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

  “Let me get that, hon,” offered Cathy, winking at their guests. “You’re busy enough as it is.”

  She scurried from the dining room before her husband could respond, returning shortly with the cordless in hand.

  “Dave, Tim’s on the line for you,” she announced, a glum expression on her face.

  Tim Harris was one of Dave’s homicide detectives. He rarely called on his boss’ day off with good news.

  “Yeah, Tim, what’s up?” enquired Dave while Cathy quietly continued to clear the dining table.

  “Sorry to bother you, boss,” apologized Harris, his tone grim. “We’ve got a real messy one downtown, Dave. I think you’d want to get down here.”

  “What are we looking at?” asked Dave, knowing that his quiet evening with friends was shot.

  “Looks like a kinky sex game that went bad,” replied Harris. “Victim is one Richard Savois, twenty-nine. We checked him for priors but the guy is clean. Manager at the Chancellor Hotel found him, tied up to a bed. The guy’s got multiple stab wounds and I mean multiple. There’s blood all over the place. Now, here’s the really sick part; there’s a part of him missing.”

  “You want to be more specific, Tim?” insisted Dave, already visualizing the macabre scene.

  “The wacko who did this cut off his genitals,” stated Harris with a shudder, “And, so far, we haven’t found them.”

  “Alright,” Dave sighed. “I’m on my way. Where exactly is this place?”

  “Sherbrooke, near St-Laurent,” responded Tim. “You can’t miss it, Dave; real classy place.”

  The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable.

  * * * *

  Traffic was relatively light for a Saturday evening, allowing Dave to make it downtown from his Dorval home in just under half an hour. The Chancellor Hotel, a rather poorly kept, non-descript building, was easy to find due to the handful of patrol cars double-parked in front of it on Sherbrooke. A growing number of curious onlookers had assembled and were keeping the half-dozen uniformed officers present busy at crowd control.

  Dave pushed through the assembly of scandal-seekers and made his way into the plain little lobby of the small hotel. Inside, he found Harris at the reception desk, chatting with a cigar chomping balloon of a man clad in faded jeans and a stained t-shirt. The gentleman, fiftyish, was obviously a keen supporter of water conservation for he looked, and smelled as if he had not showered in a week.

  “Captain McCall,” greeted Tim. “This is Scott Wilson. He owns and runs this place.”

  “Welcome to my castle,” muttered the obese man, obviously bothered by the undue attention his establishment was attracting.

  “Mr. Wilson’s the one who found the body,” continued Harris, bringing Dave up to speed.

  “That must have been a terrible shock for you,” offered Dave sympathetically.

  “Yeah, yeah, terrible,” the cigar growled, fat shoulders shrugging, “Who’s gonna pay to clean up the goddamn room?”

  “Uh, we’ll have it cleaned once we’ve finished collecting evidence,” replied McCall, throwing a rueful glance at a smirking Harris.

  “Yeah, well, alright,” grumbled Wilson. “I hope you guys don’t take too much time. Time is money, ya know.”

  “We’ll get out of your hair as soon as we can,” Dave reassured him.

  “Good, cuz, no offence,” replied the fat man, “Having your kind around ain’t good for business.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Wilson,” said Dave soothingly. “We’ll be gone before you know it.”

  “OK,” Wilson grudgingly accepted. Then, in an attempt to be gracious, he added, “Anything I can do to help the city’s finest?”

  “I’d have a few questions for you if you have the time?” suggested Dave.

  “Well, I guess I’ll work it into my busy schedule,” responded the hotel owner, his oversized belly shaking as he chuckled at his own attempt at humour.

  “Thanks,” said Dave, smiling at the sorry being before him. “Had the victim rented the room?”

  “Nope, I had never seen the guy till I found him.”

  “OK then, who had rented the room?”

  “Big red-headed girl,” replied Wilson, chewing thoughtfully on his stogie. “Big girl. I figured mebbe she was a guy. Not bad looking but, ya know, built strong.”

  “Had you ever seen her before?” enquired Dave.

  “Nope,” was the manager’s response. “I’ve got some regulars that I see more often but this one was a new one; first time.”

  “Think you’d recognize her if you saw her again?”

  “Mebbe,” the fat shoulders shrugged once more. “Can’t guarantee it. Around here, they all pretty much look alike.”

  McCall continued while Harris scanned the notes he had already taken. “Can you give me the name she registered under, an address maybe?”

  “Registered?” guffawed the fat man. “I ain’t got the time to bother with registers, Mister McCoy.”

  “McCall,” corrected Dave. “Don’t you keep any records of who stays here? Credit card slips maybe?”

  “Credit cards,” chortled Wilson. “That’s a kicker. This place and the Ritz. Listen, Captain, lemme explain something to you and save us a lot of time. People who come here aren’t here to sleep over.”

  Pointing to a rate chart scrawled on a chalk board behind him, he went on. “$20 for an hour, $35 for two, $50 all night; cash, on the way in. I keep track of what rooms are rented and for how long. When the time’s up, I go knock on the door to get em out or collect for the extra time. All-nighters I don’t bother till business starts picking up the next day. That’s what happened with your friend there. I checked the room around seven and found him. End of story.”

  “Alright, Mr. Wilson,” said McCall, pulling a card from his jacket pocket. “That’s all I needed for now. Here’s my number, just in case you think of anything else.”

  “Sure, no problem,” agreed the fat man, tossing the card amidst a jumble of paper in a mail basket on the counter. “I’ll let you know. If I see her again, I’ll call you for sure. I don’t need this kinda crap in my place.”

  “Great, thanks. I’d really appreciate it,” Dave replied before turning to address Harris. “I’d like to take a look at the room.”

  “Hey, Captain,” a smirking Wilson called as they started walking away. “I hope ya didn’t just have dinner. It’s messy enough up there as it is. I wouldn’t want ya to puke on my carpet.”

  Chapter 3 - Sunday, May 25, 1997

  Still yawning, Sandy padded into the study, or ‘the office’, as they called it, where her husband was busy at the computer.

  “Dave cancelled golf on you?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

  “Yeah, he was up late last night, checking out that murder,” Chris replied, smiling at his wife. “You’re just gonna have to endure me this morning.”

  “Damn,” she responded with a pout before wrapping her arms around his chest from behind and kissing the top of his head. “What are you working on?” she asked, scanning the computer screen
.

  “Finishing up my research for that project Jonathan gave me,” Chris answered, turning his attention back to the data on the monitor.

  “And what conclusions have you drawn, Mister Consultant?” Sandy asked, leaning her chin on his shoulder as she read off the screen.

  “Oh, they’re guilty as hell,” Chris assured her. “That was clear when Jon came to me with this. What I’ve been working on is more the tracking of their activities, to establish their schedule and locate their headquarters. Thanks to some legwork and a little bit of luck, I’ve been successful on both counts.”

  “When do you plan to wrap this up?” his lovely wife asked, her usual touch of worry in her voice.

  “They’ve got a meeting planned for tonight,” Chris replied. “Ronald Tremblay, their founder and president if you will, owns a farmhouse near Laplaine. That’s the headquarters. Jon and I are going there this afternoon to set up the place for the meeting.”

  “You gonna be careful, Barry?” Sandy asked with playful sternness, although her concern was real.

  Reaching up behind him, he pulled her tightly against his back as he replied, “All the time, sweetheart, all the time.”

  Until the end of the preceding year, Chris Barry had been Executive Vice-President, Chief Operating Officer and twenty percent owner of CSS Inc., a leader in the field of computer security. Late in the year, Walter Olsen, the company’s founder and CEO had decided to retire and had put CSS on the market. This had more or less coincided with the cessation of Chris’ secret ‘Vigilante’ activities and he had felt that the time was right to make some other major changes in his life. Therefore, to Walter’s surprise, Chris had announced that he was also retiring, at the ripe old age of thirty-four. His share of the firm’s sale was more, millions more, than he and Sandy would ever need to maintain an extremely comfortable lifestyle. It was time to take a break and take advantage of the good things in life.