Free The Merry Pranked by Day Rusk Page A

you’re my man.”
    “Wouldn’t hurt you to get a little culture yourself.”
    “That ship has sailed my friend. So, what do you say?”
    What he really wanted to say was, no . Socializing with the city’s elite always seemed a lot more exciting than it actually was, but then again so did a lobotomy. To them Leslie was ‘new money,’ which didn’t always endear him to the inheritors of ‘old money,’ as if inheriting money was some greater feat than earning it yourself. He hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth, and although he liked the fact he now had money, he really didn’t fit in with the snob-set. But, whereas he was ‘new money,’ most of those around him were working class and qualified as ‘no money,’ so he was still the most logical choice to mingle on Thursday night; he knew he could say no , but from time to time it felt good to pull his weight and do a favor for his Editor.
    “Fuck it, I’ll do it,” he said.
    “Great,” Fred said, looking relieved. “Oh, and a word of advice, don’t buy anything on impulse; artist’s relatively young, will be a long time before she kicks the bucket and her work appreciates. Best thing artists can do for their careers – die. Now get home, you’re making us all look bad working late every night.”
    Without another word, Fred was gone. He had a natural habit of breezing into and out of a place; a smart move as far as Leslie was concerned. Hit with a vengeance, get what you came for, and get the hell out of there before anyone could change their mind.
    Leslie looked at his watch. It was getting late. He got up from his desk and looked out into the night. It was the same as usual, although based on what he was contemplating; he knew it should look just a little more sinister than usual.
    You’re nuts, he thought as he took in the city’s lights; he loved how they brought the night to life, and hid the ugliness, even though he knew the ugliness was still lurking out there. He didn’t know if he could go through with his plan, or if he even should go through with his plan. It’d been a long time coming. Maybe it was time. Maybe it was the answer to all of his problems. Maybe he was just being a damned fool.
    Leslie continued to look out at the night. Donna had been good to him; there was no reason why he had let her go; why he had driven her away. It was a sickness with him, and unless he finally did something about that sickness, he was destined to repeat it again and again and again. How long was he going to do so? He’d been hurt, and the reality was he’d been led down a path where whether he accepted it or not, he was continuing to hurt.
    Leslie took a deep breath.
    The time for thinking was over. It was time for him to take action; take control of his life.
    Just because you’re there, doesn’t mean you have to do anything, he thought. Consider it a scouting expedition.
    Was it?
    Leslie grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulled out the metal lock box and opened it. There it was the gun he’d bought illegally a while back on the streets. Ernie had led him to the seller when Leslie had snowed him about a background story he was doing on a documentary filmmaker who was covering the city’s gun problem. Ernie always did have the best information, and was always willing to share it with fellow reporters. He’d put Leslie on the right path and Leslie had purchased the forty-five for several hundred bucks. It’d been sitting in the metal box for quite some time, waiting for its new owner to decide what to do with it.
    He felt the weight of the gun in his hands. He knew its potential to wreak havoc, which in some ways frightened and intimidated him. He’d never been a big fan of guns, considering what he had witnessed as a 10-year-old; while fellow students had enjoyed playing first-shooter games, he always had an aversion to them. Guns represented death and blood – a hell of