The Merry Pranked (22 page)

Carlos filed into the cafeteria with all the others and found a table in the corner, with a few of his buddies. They liked to play a couple of quick hands of poker during break, and chat, but he didn’t feel like it today. Instead, he snatched up a copy of the Lakeview Sun, a tabloid newspaper that had been sitting at one of the tables, and began flipping through it. He was looking for more information regarding the murders that took place on his street. Having witnessed the killers making their getaway, and having known at least one of the victims, he felt like he was part of the story. He hadn’t told anyone at work he had seen the killers leave; for fear they might say something to someone who might pass the information along to the police. He’d approached Morgan with that information and didn’t think he’d understand if he found out he was also telling the same information to the police, even though there really wasn’t much to what he had to say.

As far as news coverage of the murders was concerned, there didn’t seem like much new that was worth reporting. A disappointment, but then again Morgan would probably get to the bottom of it long before the authorities. It was time to move to the Sports pages, but on the way, a journey through the Entertainment pages. Maybe there’d be some sexy shots of actresses, short on talent but big on sex appeal, to tease his mind along the way.

Carlos flipped the pages, finding nothing of interest, until on the W
hat To Do Around Town
page he saw it; he couldn’t believe it. There she was! Carlos took a closer look at the photograph, sure that his mind was playing tricks on him. It was an advertisement for an exhibition at the Sylvia Cumming’s Art Gallery, featuring the work of one Gail Russell. Smiling at him from the black and white newsprint page was Gail herself, the woman who had left Harry Madwin’s place with the duffel bag the night of the murders.

Carlos couldn’t believe his eyes.

Carlos stood on the street opposite the Raven Club. He was staring at the place weighing his options. His supervisor, who knew him well, let him take the rest of the day off; one of the benefits of being a good worker who very rarely called in sick. He had information Morgan would want; he also had information that was going to get Gail Russell killed. This bothered him; he could fool himself into believing he had no part in that, he was just telling Morgan what he knew, but based on that information Gail Russell was going to die. At the same time, in giving Morgan this information, he’d gain favor with Morgan and his crew; they’d owe him one; sure, Morgan all ready owed him, but giving him the actual killer of Harry would make that favor worth a lot more.

Carlos stepped off the curb and walked across the street, pausing once again on the side of the street with the Raven Club. One more tinge of consciousness. He took a deep breath and headed for the front door of the club.
Family first,
he thought, thinking of his daughters and their safety.

It would have surprised him if he had turned his head to the right and looked across the street into the coffee shop, because sitting there in the window, pretending to look at a newspaper was Gail Russell, the woman whose death warrant he was about to sign. If he had of seen her, realized she was a real human being and more than just a black and white photo in the newspaper, he might have changed his mind, but he hadn’t.

Instead, Carlos entered the Raven Club.

chapter
TWENTY

gail
CHECKED
her watch; it was getting late. Sylvia, the owner of the art gallery had called her late this afternoon and told her she needed to see her tonight. An important buyer had called and wanted to purchase some of her paintings. Apparently the filthy rich didn’t like slumming with the merely rich and always wanted the personal touch. If they wanted to buy some of her paintings, just sell the damned things, she had things to do. The way she figured it, they needed a dog and pony show to cater to their egos. So, like she had done before, despite having other matters she wanted to focus on, she’d put herself out and go, flirt and schmooze with whatever rich asshole who wanted to buy her art.

Actually, she was glad Sylvia had called; she wanted one of the paintings pulled from the viewing; she gave Sylvia the address where she wanted it sent and told her to get it out today. As for the rich buyer, she’d be by tonight and charm whoever the hell he or she was; she planned to make it quick, so she could get back to the streets and the Raven Club.

Standing outside the Raven Club all day had been Sal Lunkin, one of the men circled in Leslie’s computer chart; he seemed to be in charge of controlling who went in and out of the place. He was a big tough-looking guy; didn’t look all that bright, but she knew from experience it was folly to underestimate anyone. He was always an option as the next target, if she didn’t feel Morgan was approachable. She had a lot to think about, as she drove away. She’d originally thought of calling Leslie and meeting up with him later in the evening, but decided not to; she wanted to continue doing him favors and in the frame of mind he was in, he’d be giving her a hard time about doing so. She really didn’t want to spend the evening listening to him trying to change her. She was comfortable with who she was – even happy, because she had purpose in life.

Gail returned to her hotel room and ordered dinner. Throughout it and the process of touching up her make-up and deciding what to wear to meet this buyer, she ignored several calls from Leslie. If they were going to pursue a relationship, she wanted to be in control and would have to condition him to that reality.

Ready to head for the gallery, Gail checked herself in the mirror; she was, as others were apt to say, dressed to kill; that thought always brought a small smile to her face.

“So, where’s the money?” Gail asked as she made her way to the back of the art gallery and Sylvia, who was seated at her tastefully stylish glass desk. She wanted to get this over with and be on her way.

“You’re early,” said Sylvia.

“Would you prefer late?”

“No, no, of course not,” said Sylvia getting up from the desk. Gail watched her closely; something seemed off. Sylvia was usually more composed, but tonight, she seemed just a little nervous and on edge.

“Did you send off that painting I asked you to?”

“Yes, of course,” said Sylvia.

Sylvia still looked nervous. She should have known something was wrong, but she was in too much of a hurry to get things done here and get to the real business of the evening.

“So who is this buyer we’re supposed to be meeting?” asked Gail.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“I really don’t like games, Sylvia.”

“Sylvia’s not one for playing games,” said the male voice behind Gail. Gail could literally see the nervousness on Sylvia’s face increase tenfold. “Gail Russell, I presume?”

Gail turned; it took everything within her to maintain her composure as she stared into the face of Morgan Neil. With him was Sal Lunkin, along with three other thugs who she didn’t know.

“And you’re?” asked Gail, maintaining her composure.

“Neil. Morgan Neil,” he said with a smile.

“I take it you’re interested in a couple of pieces?”

“I’m interested in you,” said Morgan, before turning his attention to Sylvia. “I suggest you leave, and lock up behind you, we wouldn’t want anyone stumbling in here while I’m discussing art with the young lady, now, would we.”

Sylvia, who looked suitably nervous and frightened, immediately rushed past Gail, Morgan, Sal and the others towards the front of the art gallery; they could hear her exiting and locking the door behind her.

“What is it you want, Mr. Neil?”

She needed a way out. As she was using everything within her to control her anxiety at this unexpected turn of events, her mind frantically searched for a way out; it was too much of a coincidence to imagine the man she was stalking, with the intention of killing, was actually an art lover and truly interested in her work. Things weren’t supposed to work out this way; she was careful, but then again, had she been? Her interest in Leslie had made her change her plans; in many ways, for the last couple of days, she had been working without a plan. She’d never done that before.

“Information,” he said, starring her intently in the eyes; he was challenging her and she met the challenge, starring back at him. Until her mind came up with a plan, there was no way in hell she was going to let this killer know he was intimidating her in any way.

“I can’t imagine that I have anything to say to you, Mr. Neil,” she said starting forward, until he put his hand out to halt her. “I’m not quite comfortable being with you here alone, Mr. Neil. I think we should leave.”

“Alone,” he laughed, “what do you call these other guys? We’re definitely not alone, Ms. Russell.”

“I don’t understand, Mr. Neil?”

“Oh, I think you do,” he said. “A couple of nights ago you went slumming on my side of the tracks. It was a memorable evening, at least for those who survived it. I’d say it’s only fair that I return the favor and discuss matters that are bothering me on your side of the tracks.”

“I really have to go,” she said.

It was weak and she knew it, but still, her mind had come up with nothing viable to escape this situation. She started forward once again with confidence, the only way she knew how to play it, and hadn’t been prepared when Morgan stepped in front of her and grabbed her quickly by the throat with his one hand. Before she could react, she could feel the strength of his grip tightening around her throat, threatening to crush her windpipe. Both of her hands shot up and grabbed a hold of his hand, but he had an iron grip on her.

“You play with the big dogs, you’re bound to get bitten, bitch,” said Morgan, a crazed look in his eyes; the last thing she heard before she passed out was the laughing and snickering from his men.

Gail didn’t know how many times he had hit her, but once again, Sal’s fist connected solidly with her face, threatening to send her and the chair she was tied to falling to the ground. He obviously didn’t know his strength and didn’t realize if he was going to put his shoulder into it, based on her weight of about one hundred pounds, each punch was always going to threaten to send her and the chair flying. Luckily he was a gentleman and stopped the chair from falling over, jamming his foot down on it.

Darkness was her friend; it threatened to engulf her and she wished that it would. Her one eye was swollen, shut to the point she couldn’t see out of it any more. Her nose was bleeding, probably broken, and so was her mouth; all she could taste was the salty sweetness of her own blood. Her mind was also a bit of a haze, desperately trying to process and deal with the pain that was racing to it from not only her head, but her stomach; an equal opportunity beater, Sal had given her head a break from time to time and concentrated on punching her hard in the gut; she couldn’t be sure, but she might actually have a few broken ribs. Because of all this, she welcomed darkness and the relief it would bring, but, unfortunately, no such luck.

“You’re one tough broad,” Sal said, as he stepped back and looked her over. “I’ll give you that.”

Gail tried to focus on him with her one good eye; her vision was slightly blurred.

“Tough only gets you so far in life, however,” said Sal. “I’ve seen some of the meanest bastards on this planet crumble and beg for mercy before we were done with ‘em. Now before I accidentally beat you to death, who is your partner?”

In her mind, she said,
Fuck you
, but in reality it came out more than a little slurred and with a lot less force than she’d hoped. To Morgan, Sal and the others standing around, it sounded like a foreign language.

“This broad ain’t too bright,” said Morgan, stepping into her line of vision.

“Bigger balls than some of the hoods we’ve dealt with. You’ve got to give her that,” said Sal.

“What? You her fucking fan club?” asked Morgan.

Sal turned his attention back to Gail. “Why’d you go after Harry?” he asked.

“Again, fuck you,” she managed to slur; this time it came out a little more intelligible. What was the worst that could happen? He’d haul off and slug her again; sooner or later one of those punches was going to render her unconscious, and that seemed like an ideal place to be.

Sal just laughed.

“You coming after us, lady?” he asked. “I saw you this afternoon, drinking a shitload of coffee. You think a broad as sexy as you, or anyone else for that matter is gonna come into our neighborhood and start eyeballin’ our club and we’re not going to notice? We know everything goin’ on in our neighborhood, lady. You seemed to be eyeballin’ me pretty good. Think maybe I was your next slice ‘n’ dice victim? Or maybe you like your fuck buddies husky.”

She had nothing to say to him; it seemed to take too much effort. That was his cue. Sal took a step towards her, and like many times before, he hauled off and punched her in the face, this time straight on and hard enough to almost send the chair and her falling backwards.

Oh Jesus,
she thought, as she felt his foot slam down on the chair between her legs, righting it and keeping it from falling over. The punch, although effective, still hadn’t rendered her unconscious. She couldn’t catch a break.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” said Sal, obviously frustrated. She could only imagine he was looking bad in front of his boss. He was a big brute of a fellow and it appeared he couldn’t break a one hundred pound woman.

“You’ve always had a way with women,” said Morgan, laughing at Sal’s frustration.

Morgan moved to Gail and lifted her head, which was presently slumped down. She wasn’t unconscious, but she was teetering on something close to it; one more hit should do the job, she just had to be patient. Instead, she suddenly smelt something fierce; something that made her snap her head back and away from it, even despite the considerable pain that caused her. She looked through her one good eye to see Morgan smiling at her and tossing something to the side; the best she could figure, he’d used smelling salts on her to keep her from getting to the promised land of darkness. He’d foiled her escape! Morgan grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head.

“Jesus, Sal, you ruined her make-up,” said Morgan.

His men laughed.

“The predator has become the prey, bitch,” he said to her. “It’s time to accept that. Do you believe in fate?’

She just stared at him; conversation at this point wasn’t going to be her strong suit.

“You’re
a dead woman,” he said. “There’s no way around that. Fucking dead. And you know what? From what I’ve heard, you’re one fucking sick puppy. I heard about what you did at Harry’s. Some other shit in the news lately; I figure you know something about that as well. You’re one fucked up lady, and believe it or not, for the first time in my life I’m gonna do the world a favor by killing someone and putting you out of its misery. You’re dead, bitch, but not before you tell me what I want to know. What you have control over is how much suffering you have to go through before it’s lights out. Do we understand each other?”

He talked a lot
; that was all she could think. He talked a lot and her battered mind was having a hard time processing what he was saying. Despite the smelling salts, it was losing its ability to stay conscious, and she sure as hell wasn’t fighting for it to do so. The last thing she heard before darkness overtook her was one of his henchmen saying, “Boss, I think I might have something.”

Leslie checked his phone once again. He had left Gail at least five messages and she hadn’t responded to any of them. He thought they were making some headway, but maybe he was wrong; or maybe she just wanted to deal with him on her own terms, when and if she wanted to. He had to be careful, he was beginning to obsess about his woman and that wasn’t a good thing. Progress based on his last few relationships, but not healthy progress.

It wasn’t until he reached the front doors of his apartment building and said “Hello” to the Doorman that the familiar ring of his cell phone broke the silence of the night. He quickly reached into his coat pocket and pulled it out, checking the caller I.D. It was a text, from Gail. He couldn’t help it, a smile spread across his face, as he pushed the button on his phone to access the text message. It read:
MEET ME AT THE ART GALLERY. GAIL.

Leslie smiled that stupid grin that only fools who thought they were falling in love grinned.

“Shall I get the elevator for you, Mr. Marshall?” the Doorman asked.

“Looks like I’ve got a date,” he said as he turned and rushed out of the apartment building; not even giving the Doorman a chance to do his job and open the doors for him.