The Merry Pranked (18 page)

It had crossed Leslie’s mind that the newspaper was the perfect place to spend the afternoon; at home he’d be too lost in his thoughts, but at the newspaper he’d also be in the loop of information. Walter was a crime reporter and would be all over this story; he also had other friends on the City Desk covering the crime beat and police, and they’d be digging for information. Just by hanging around and talking to the right people, he could keep as on top of the investigation as was possible without actually being a Detective on the case.

“I heard on the radio this morning about some triple homicide,” he said, sitting down across from Walter.

“Haven’t got all the details yet,” said Walter. “The Police are keeping a real tight lid on this one. I’m working my usual contacts and a few who are a little bit more unusual, but so far nothing of note.”

Walter got up from his seat and moved to a small bar area he kept in his office. “Drink?” asked Walter.

“Yeah, sure.”

“How come every time you darken my door these days you’re looking a little bit more the worst for wear?” asked Walter as he set about pouring a couple of bourbons, straight up. Leslie didn’t know what to say. Walter approached him and handed him the drink.

“I can’t be sure, but if I had to make an educated guess, there are newer bruises on top of the older bruises, kid,” said Walter as he moved back around his desk with his drink and sat back down.

“Either you’ve met an extremely aggressive woman whose idea of foreplay is the equivalent of the
Rumble in the Jungle
, or...hell, I don’t know what else,” said Walter. “I’ll tell you one thing, kid, if it’s some new broad in your life, I definitely don’t want to meet her sister. Couldn’t afford the health care.”

“Are you done?” asked Leslie.

“Let me see,” said Walter. “Good friend with an unhealthy obsession keeps showing up at my office door looking like he doubled for a punching bag at a boxing ring, and you’re asking me if I’m done? What the hell is going on, kid?”

“What do you know about the Financial District murders?” asked Leslie.

“Change of topic. Nice strategy. You’ve been reading my columns?”

Leslie nodded his head,
Yes
.

“Then you know what I know about the Financial District murders.”
“You expect me to believe that?”

“Much the same as we’ll pretend that you’ve met a new girl in your life and she likes rough sex to explain all those bruises.”

“They’re out there, Walter, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” said Leslie with a smile. “C’mon, Walter, you’ve been around a long time. You’ve got more contacts than God. What’s the inside scoop?”

“Inside scoop,” said Walter with a laugh. “I’ll get you one of those fedoras with a ‘Press’ card in the hat band, if you keep talking like that.”

Leslie just gave his friend one of his patented annoyed looks.

“The inside scoop, as you so datedly put it, is that the cops are sitting tight on these murders,” said Walter. “They’re not letting much out, and based on the fact my usual sources aren’t getting anything more to me, tells me this has been mandated from the top down. Haven’t seen this kind of a wall of silence in a long time.”

“And what does that mean?”

“They’re either sitting on something of significance they don’t want leaked, or they’re completely stymied. At a dead end and don’t want it to be common knowledge.”

“So, what do
you
know?” asked Leslie.

Walter took a moment to take a swig of his bourbon; he was eyeing Leslie closely. Every fiber of his being was on high alert, telling him that not all was as it seemed; he hadn’t been a reporter for this long without trusting his instincts.

“What’s with this sudden interest in those murders, kid?”

“Research. A book I’m working on.”

“I highly doubt that, but if you’re going to bullshit a bullshitter, I’ll tell you what, I’ll give you some professional courtesy and not call you out on it.” Walter paused to take another drink. “There isn’t much I know that hasn’t all ready been printed, however, about an hour ago; a source of mine indicated that the triple homicide last night might somehow be related to the Financial District murders. Said something about a possible similar M.O. in one of the murders.”

“How so?”

“Probably a mutilated corpse,” said Walter. “That would probably tie it in. But I’m just guessing, haven’t confirmed anything as of yet. You know kid that bourbon ain’t getting any younger.”

Leslie looked down at his drink; he’d been absently holding it, lost in his attempt to get Walter to give him some solid information.

“I like it a little aged,” said Leslie, before taking a sip.

“Stick to the entertainment section and your books, kid, it’s a much better life than delving into all this madness.”

“I guess,” said Leslie as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I was wondering if you could also help me out with something.”

Leslie unfolded the piece of paper and tossed it on Walter’s desk. Walter reached over and picked it up; on the piece of paper was a picture of a rather attractive young woman and a Press Release bio introducing her as Gail Russell. Walter put it back down.

“This the bruiser?” Walter asked.

“I was wondering if you could talk to your contacts and see if you can find out anything about this woman; her past,” said Leslie. “I’m having some difficulty finding anything myself.”

“An artist? Need it for a Profile piece?”

“Something like that.”

“Why don’t you just get an interview; seems like a nice enough broad to sit down with.”

“All ready have,” said Leslie. “Mysterious type; doesn’t like to say much unless she’s going on and on about her art, you know the type. I think there might be something interesting there that will help with the profile. I’ve hit a dead end, that’s why I’m here, asking the expert.”

Walter smiled and downed the rest of his bourbon.

“As I was saying,” said Walter, “the bullshit and the bullshitter.”

“Can you help me?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks,” said Leslie as he stood up.

“There is one thing you can start doing for me, kid, if you don’t mind,” said Walter.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“You might start ducking,” said Walter, as he got up from his desk and moved back over to the bar. “You weren’t all that good looking before you started coming in here all beaten up; none of this is going to improve anything. You want to live to be an old reporter like me, kid,” said Walter, sounding a little more serious. “You better start using your head for something other than a punching bag.”

“I’ll take that into consideration,” said Leslie. “Thanks, Walter.”

Leslie made his way out of Walter’s office as Walter poured himself another drink. His reporter senses were still on fire, but he knew Leslie well, and if he wasn’t about to confide in him, no amount of poking and prodding would change that. He just hoped the kid didn’t get himself killed embarking on some sort of foolishness. He hoped it wouldn’t happen, but from what he’d been witnessing of late, he wasn’t going to bet against it.

Gail stared out at the city; life was going about its daily routine. The art gallery had left a message saying a collector had committed to buying three pieces at full price; that coupled with about five other sales, was making the Lakeview showing a grand success. In the long run she didn’t care. Money mattered to others. Not her.

Her Daddy had taught her well, but would he approve of her latest course of action. Last night’s killing had been as well thought out as her usual kills; that was what had kept her free all these years, her ability to be careful; her Daddy wasn’t always careful, sometimes he planned out his kills, and other times he acted on emotion, and that had been his eventual downfall. She hadn’t known Leslie was following Harry...or her...but it had been lucky that he was, or that big brute of a guy would have choked the life out of her. She hadn’t expected the two she saw Harry talking with at the bar would show up; it was only now she realized that Harry had been setting her up for something terrible; he had a surprise for her and hadn’t expected she had one for him first. Her Daddy could forgive her the poor planning; as they say, every now and then shit happens. What her Daddy probably wouldn’t approve of was Leslie.

Gail knew Leslie wouldn’t exactly be the kind of man her Daddy would approve of; he was too refined and upper class; her Daddy would have probably considered him a pansy. She’d always been warned that she couldn’t trust anyone; it was her and her Daddy against the world. Those had been good times and she dearly missed him, but he was gone. Why shouldn’t she find someone? Why did she have to be alone in life, when her Daddy hadn’t been? He wouldn’t be able to understand how it felt to be alone; she’d been lonely for a long time and it felt good to have someone with whom she didn’t have to pretend.

Another thing her Daddy probably wouldn’t have approved of was the fact she had let Leslie into her pleasure palace; that was something special only the two of them had shared. Her Daddy had often told her it was off limits to anyone else. Well Daddy was gone and his Daddy juice had failed to put a baby in her, even though they had tried for years. It had been frustrating; finally her Daddy had simply explained that her pleasure palace must be broken or defective. That had hurt, although she had kept that hurt to herself. She knew her Daddy didn’t mean it in a bad way; he was just pointing out the facts. Maybe her pleasure palace was broken; she had no idea. If it was, it still didn’t stop her Daddy from trying to make it work; she didn’t mind, there had always been something reassuring about the weight of her Daddy on top of her and the feel of his thingy sliding in and out of her and depositing his stuff in her, some of it always leaking out and making her sticky as it slowly dried; that was her Daddy’s special gift to her, but he was gone, and had been for some time. So why couldn’t she find someone else she could care about to give her that same gift? Fucking Leslie had been different; he didn’t have the same animalistic way of making love that her Daddy did, but his weight on her body and the feel of him sliding in and out of her, was still somehow familiar and reassuring; maybe if her pleasure palace had enough time to rest, it might have fixed itself, and Leslie could put a baby in her. Daddy might not approve, but she had to take command of her life, seeing how he was gone.

As Gail looked out at the city, a small smile crossed her face. Enough time had passed. If Leslie was going to call the Police and report her, he would have done it by now; instead of enjoying the view, she would have been in handcuffs, the Police having kicked in her hotel door a long time ago.

He hadn’t reported her. Her Daddy would have been wrong about him. Maybe Leslie understood; maybe she had found the escape from loneliness she had hoped for all these years.

Gail moved to the table in her hotel suite and poured herself a civilized cup of tea; it had been delivered ten minutes ago and was still piping hot, just the way she liked it. She sat down on a chair and allowed herself the opportunity to remember.

It had been time for her to participate; for far too long she had only witnessed her Daddy taking care of the evil ones; the ones that needed discipline and removal from the realm of the living. She was sixteen-years-old, a young woman. Her Daddy didn’t want to push her before she was ready; he was kind that way, but she was sure she was ready and had told him so. She could still remember the broad smile that played across his face when she had told him that; he was so damned proud of her.

Gail didn’t remember the name of the town they were in, just that it was larger than most, but not yet quite a city; they’d been living there after having moved on after her Daddy’s last kill in some other city. He’d always punish enough women and then move on, so as not to get caught. Her Daddy was working in construction or contracting at that time; he was good with his hands and with tools, and that kind of work always seemed to be available wherever they went; in the cities he could find work with non-union construction crews and in the small towns, well, everyone was always looking for a good handyman to repair something or the other. Her Daddy had found a good job, a decent enough place for them to hole up, and had picked out his next victim, a woman he had seen in a grocery store they had randomly gone into while out.

As to how and why her Daddy picked specific victims she was unsure; she never asked him. She just figured that like she had found a way to see the evil that resided in people, he had also found a way, and picked his victims based on the evil he saw.

This particular victim was posing as a young mother with what they figured was a two-year-old little boy; the perfect cover for evil. Her Daddy, having picked her, went about following her and doing his research; it was only by doing his research that he’d find the right time to punish her; doing the right thing took a lot of patience and work.

He watched the woman for a week before he’d decided it was time to make his move; it appeared she was a stay-at-home mom, alone all day with just her baby. Her husband left the house each weekday at 8:15 a.m. like clockwork. Her Daddy proposed they take care of her one morning after her husband had left; they could take their time with her and the boy, as he never seemed to get home until well after seven in the evening. They had a nice place, so it would also provide them with a nice place to hang out all day.