by Rusk, Day
Her Daddy looked over at her.
“Gail, concentrate on your stabbing now dear,” he said, as he continued poking the woman. She went back to work poking the man with the end of her knife. She was tired, but she did want to make her Daddy proud.
Gail stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Leslie was waiting for her back at the table. He was different; suddenly things she hadn’t thought of for a long time were coming back to her. She had wanted him to remember his past, but it had backfired.
The two of them made their way along the city street. It was late, but like any major city, there were still a few people out and about. Gail had returned to the table, and they had finished their meal in peace, mainly because both of them had dropped their previous topic. She needed time to regroup and re-evaluate Leslie.
“You’re different,” she finally said.
“Pardon me?”
“From most of the men I meet,” she said. “They’re usually easier to control. Their desires are primitive, no matter what their station in life.”
“Is that so?”
“They find you attractive, even a little bit, and all they want is sex.”
“If you recall, you’re the one who suggested sex, not me.”
“And I enjoyed it. You seemed different. We shared a dark past. It seemed right.”
They continued walking in silence. Leslie couldn’t help thinking that that was the first and only time his past had gotten him laid. He could use it for sympathy, but never sex, or so he thought. Somehow it just didn’t seem right.
“Have you ever taken LSD?” she asked him.
“Not much of a drug guy,” he said.
“Would you care to try,” she asked. “It has the ability to reveal truths in this world. It’s opened my eyes.”
“I don’t know,” he said. He never had been much of a druggie, even in his teen years when it was expected he’d experiment, at least with pot; it just hadn’t appealed to him. What did appeal to him, however, were these ‘truths’ she spoke about. Were they imagined or real?
“What truths are you talking about?” he asked.
“You’d have to try it to know,” said Gail.
Men were stupid; he knew that. If she wasn’t an attractive woman who had all ready slept with him, and who might just do so again, he wouldn’t even be contemplating taking LSD. But she was and so was he.
“Should we go back to my place?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “There’s a park near here. Let’s go there. It’s a safe place and it’ll give you a chance to observe the world. It’s only by doing that that you’ll discover the truths.”
“I must be nuts,” he said, not really to her. She chose to ignore that remark.
Leslie looked at the city; the motion of the city, as it seemed to flow effortlessly as if in sync with the beauty of the night; he always enjoyed the night, it seemed calm and tranquil. With the drug interacting with his brain, it all seemed better; he was seeing beauty that had escaped him before. Beside him Gail sat on the bench seeing her own world. Where she saw darkness and evil, Leslie’s trip introduced him to light and goodness.
Leslie woke up to sunshine streaming through his bedroom window. A lot about the previous night was hazy to him. After Gail had introduced him to her drug of choice, they had sat on the park bench for a couple of hours, just taking in the city. It had been interesting, but definitely not something he planned on doing again. Life was too short to waste clouding one’s mind. Gail seemed to think LSD revealed the truth to her, but she was fooling herself. It did what it was meant to do – warp her perspective. Other than an occasional drink, he had lived his life in reality, painful or otherwise, and wanted to keep it that way, beautiful woman or not.
Gail had been disappointed. Her experiment hadn’t yielded the results she was hoping for. Her father had introduced her to drugs; he explained that not only could they help her escape the everyday pain of life, but if she opened her mind, they could also open her eyes to the hidden reality of life; the hidden reality that drove him to punish the women he did and kill the men he did. He’d sometimes had the opportunity to read the newspaper coverage of his deeds – especially if after a kill they hadn’t immediately moved on – and it always amazed him how blind the Press were to the truth, he had told her. They treated his victims as innocent, because they were unable to see the evil within them; they were unable to perceive their true nature and the fact they deserved being punished. He had told her this was a unique talent, the ability to see the truth, and if she wanted to live a fulfilling life, it was up to her to figure out how to embrace it.
There was a lot her Daddy had told her and she had tried to take it all in. After all, if he was able to put a baby inside her, it would be up to her to help educate their child. She loved and respected her Daddy, but it wasn’t until she had become a young woman, that she started to really think about what he said and incorporate it into her life. He would be so proud of her, if he could see her now; knowing she had embraced his philosophies and had found a way to see that truth; she knew she hadn’t failed him.
For some reason, which she didn’t understand, she wanted to share her awareness with Leslie. He was damaged goods. She was damaged goods. They were kindred spirits. She wanted him to see what she saw. She’d tried to introduce him to the true nature of the city, but he just hadn’t seen it; his mind still saw the facade. They had sat there for a couple of hours and then returned to his apartment, where once again they made love. Both of them were still feeling the effects of the drug, and as they made love, she stared intently at his face, as it alternated between angelic and evil; she could clearly see the struggle within him, the good fighting the bad. It was obvious to her that for the longest time the good had ruled the roost, but the bad, it no longer wanted to be ignored. She could see that, but he couldn’t. He’d been suppressing something important within him that needed to be set free, but she wasn’t sure she could set it free. She could try helping him; use her unique talents to do what his true nature wanted, but wasn’t sure she could get through to him; the goodness would just get in the way. But maybe she could help him in another way; take care of some of those demons for him.
As Leslie’s eyes adjusted to the morning light, he looked to the side to see Gail getting dressed. She was unaware of him watching her.
“Where you going?” he asked. “I was going to make us breakfast.”
“No thanks,” she said. “It’s time to leave.”
“As you know, I make one hell of a breakfast.”
She continued dressing, ignoring him. Leslie watched her. She seemed distant, which didn’t make any sense. They’d made love – sorry, fucked – once again last night. As far as he could tell, all had gone well; they were getting along.
“Can I call you later?” he asked.
Gail looked at him. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “It’s time to leave. Time to say good-bye.”
“I don’t understand?”
“I’m bored,” she said, now fully clothed. “Time to move on. We had our fun. What’s done is done.”
“Really?” he said.
Once again she ignored him. This was an interesting turn of events; totally unexpected. She hadn’t even been around long enough for him to pull his distant act. He just watched her. What was there to say? They’d shared a good time together and now she wanted to move on; it wasn’t like he’d thought she was the one; he actually really didn’t know all that much about her. In the long run, if she wanted to walk away, it really wasn’t all that big a deal.
“You know,” she said, pausing as she made her way towards the bedroom door, “you have it in you.”
He had no idea what she was talking about.
“The anger,” she said. “The evil. The desire.”
Again, he just looked at her.
“You have it within you to exact revenge,” she said. “It’s there; you just have to find a way to nurture it. Use it. Find a way to remed
y your own past. It’s yours for the taking, if you want it. If you have the balls to recognize it.”
That was it. She’d said her piece and without saying anything more, she exited the bedroom. She was a nutcase; it was as simple as that. Leslie lied back down and took in the morning light, a small smile playing across his face. He’d heard it said somewhere, and even though it was a little cruder than he liked, it somehow seemed fitting here: Bitches be crazy.
Life had been so simple. Leslie had his pain. He was ignorant about a lot of things, but it was simple. Why Gail bothered him and resonated in his mind, he couldn’t understand. He’d only known her for a short period of time, and as intense as it had been, it really shouldn’t have mattered. There was something about her, however, that bothered him; a nagging feeling that she was more than what she pretended to be.
Never in a real hurry, Leslie finally made his way to the Examiner. He had a few pieces to write for the upcoming weekend edition of the paper. Unlike a lot of other sections of the newspaper, there really wasn’t anything urgent happening in the Entertainment Section; no celebrity deaths that quickly needed to be fit into the section or anything like that.
He googled Gail Russell and checked her name against the newspaper’s data bank. She had entered and exited his life like a tornado, and despite knowing he should just forget about her, he wanted to know more. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a lot out there about her, except some news stories and a few interviews after her first art collection, a series of paintings featuring famous killers throughout the decades, entitled Blood Red that caught the eye of the viewing public. Actually, from what he could tell, based on the articles, it wasn’t so much the paintings that drew attention to her collection, although from what he could see they were more than competent enough, it was her sympathetic interpretation of the killers, men like Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, John Wayne Gacy, and more, that seemed to garner the publicity; in early interviews she seemed to discuss these men as if they were victims of a public that just didn’t know better – who misunderstood them and as such ostracized them. She made comments that enraged the public, brought her attention, and despite having encouraged rage, helped make her work valuable. Leslie noted that the interviews had stopped; Gail had probably realized the shit storm she’d created and had shied away from doing any more. At the same time, the exhibit had been cancelled in many of the cities it was expected to be displayed, although it never mentioned if Lakeview was originally on that itinerary. These cancellations brought about even more publicity, and as a result, collectors snatched up the artwork at top price. You could say that that first exhibit failed to get Gail’s work in front of the viewing public, based on all the cancellations, but it did put her on the map as an up-and-coming artist to watch and it did make her independently wealthy.
Aside from the controversy of her first collection, there wasn’t much else regarding Gail Russell (the Internet had a lot more information on an actress from the 1940’s, which was of no help to him). There was absolutely no personal information, either online or in the press kit provided to him by the publicist for her latest showing. These press kits usually contained all the biographical information a reporter would need to help craft a story on the artist, but not so in this case. Gail was a mystery.
“So what do you think?” said Walter, startling Leslie and snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see Walter standing in the doorway.
“Do you have everything you need? Is it better knowing?” asked Walter.
“I appreciate the information.”
Walter moved into his office and took a seat.
“Who knows what makes any of us who we are,” said Walter. “What the hell drove me to become a reporter and spend a lifetime writing about murder? I’d imagine there’s a better way to spend one’s time.”
“Ah, but you do it so well,” said Leslie.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, kid,” said Walter. “We’ve talked a lot about the night your parents and siblings were murdered. I know it’s hard for you. I really haven’t lived through anything overly traumatic or intense, so I don’t know how vividly it and the emotions that go with it stay with you. We’ve talked a lot about it, but there’s one thing that has always remained unspoken or unclear, and that is other than finding your family murdered, did you or didn’t you actually witness the murders?”
“Does it matter?” asked Leslie.
“I always assumed you hadn’t. I mean Morgan’s still walking around out there a free man, so I figured you were hiding, heard the crime being committed and then witnessed the state their bodies were left in, a traumatic enough experience for any young boy.”
“And if I had witnessed the killings?”
“There’s no statute of limitations on murder, kid,” said Walter. “You’ve often alluded to the concept of revenge. If you did witness the murders, I’d imagine remembering them today would be as vivid as the moment you watched them taking place. And if Morgan was one of the men there that night, you’d be the star witness at a murder trial; could have been the star witness at a murder trial when you were just a young boy.”
“Then that answers your question, I didn’t witness anything.”
“I’ve talked to my various contacts in the police force and with the Feds, and it appears to me they are also unsure about what you saw or didn’t see that night. Said at the time, back then, they didn’t think you were stable enough to testify even if you did witness the killings; a tough decision, because believe me, if they thought they had a solid opportunity to put Morgan away for life they would have taken it.”
“Taken a killer off the street,” said Leslie.
“Yes, a killer off the street.”
“You’ve been covering the crime beat for a long time, haven’t you Walter?”
Walter shook his head. He knew Leslie knew he had been.
“When is it ever over?”
“I don’t get you.”
“I testify against Morgan and he’s put away. How does that help?”
“It’s been a long time, kid,” said Walter. “How many individuals have died at his hands since your parents?”
“You tell me,” said Leslie. “Actually, I’m sure it’s quite a few. I could have testified and saved those lives, is that what you’re saying?”
Walter nodded his head.
“And this is where it’s never over; where it doesn’t help. Morgan goes to jail and what happens after that? A power vacuum in his organization? You and I both know someone else is going to step up to the plate and fill that vacancy; some other psychotic street thug who is going to be responsible for countless deaths on his own. We send him off to prison and another steps into his place, and still innocent and not so innocent people end up dead. I testify against Morgan back when I’m ten and all I’ve done is shuffled the identities of the people who’ve been murdered; there’s still blood on the streets, and a criminal organization running drugs, guns, prostitution and God knows what else in our fair city.”
“So, did you witness the murders?” asked Walter. “I’ve shared information with you. All I ask is that you humor an old man.”
“I saw nothing; heard everything, but saw nothing.”
Leslie didn’t like lying to his friend, but it seemed like the best course of action at this moment. Leslie watched as Walter got out of the chair; his friend had that look in his eye, the one that clearly stated, at least for those who knew him, that he didn’t exactly believe you.
“I’m just saying, now that you know more, maybe it’s time to close the chapter on this book,” said Walter. “A long time has passed, and I’m sure the prosecutors will tell you that if you were to agree to testify the defense attorneys will have a field day with you challenging your memory after all these years, but it’s worth a try. As I said, there’s no statute of limitations, so rather than dream of revenge, why not consider testifying. There may also be someone waiting in the wings to fill Morgan’s shoes, but who cares, let
’s just take them on one psycho at a time. Just food for thought my friend.”
Walter was out the door. He had a point, Leslie couldn’t argue with that. What Walter didn’t realize was that deep down, in his heart of hearts, testifying and locking up Morgan wasn’t good enough. He was the son of Mad Dog Marshall and he knew that wouldn’t be good enough for him as well.
chapter FOURTEEN
you HAVE it in you.
That’s what she’d said.
You have it in you.
Mad Dog Marshall had it in him, but not Baby Dog Marshall, he thought
Leslie couldn’t help thinking about his last conversation with Gail; he had the time, seeing as he was once again sitting in the city parking lot across from Duffy’s. The place seemed to be drawing him to it, like a moth to a flame – or would that be lemmings to a cliff’s side?
Once again, he could feel the reassuring weight of the gun in his coat pocket. As he’d found several opportunities to make it to the gun range, its presence had less of an impact on his thoughts than it had the first time. It was still not something to be taken lightly, just not as intimidating as before.
From everything he’d read about his Father, it was easy to surmise his Dad was a man of action - violent, homicidal action, but action nonetheless. He really wanted to be a man of action.
You have it in you.
If she was right, it was time for it to make itself known. The last time he was here he’d nearly gotten himself killed; he’d made the mistake of assuming he was craftier than he really was. Harry Madwin had survived on the mean streets of the city for several decades; he’d survived many upheavals in the ranks of the Morgan gang, and based on his close relationship with Morgan, had also survived competitors targeting Morgan’s gang, with their sights set on taking over the gang’s lucrative rackets. Harry was a survivor and Harry was a predator. Many had not survived on these mean streets because Harry had decided it was time for them to go. Having figured all of this out, he couldn’t believe how stupid he was the last time, when he, a white collar worker with manicured nails, came down here to the cesspool of the city and thought he could eliminate one of the city’s deadliest denizens.