The Merry Pranked (15 page)

Disappointed by his actions once again, he was about to start the engine and get the hell out of there when the front door of the bar opened and out walked Gail, arm in arm with Harry. They seemed to be laughing and having a good time, as if they were on a date.

What the Hell?!
was all his mind could register.

He watched as Harry escorted Gail to her car and opened the driver’s side door for her to get in. As she started the car, he ran back towards Duffy’s and climbed onto one of the motorcycles parked out front. He started its engine and drove up the street past Gail, who immediately pulled out from her spot and followed him.

Leslie started his car and set off in pursuit.

Harry didn’t exactly keep a tidy house;
Home and Gardens
wouldn’t be calling anytime soon. Gail sat on the natty couch and took in her surroundings, which consisted of a lot of worn out, mismatched furniture, a well worn and stained carpet; a coffee table whose cup and bottle ring marks seemed to have ring marks of their own, and a TV, obviously the most expensive item in the living room, that could use a good dusting (she fought the urge to go over to it and write ‘Wash Me’ with her finger in the dust on the screen). She couldn’t help wondering why someone went to all the trouble to buy a hi-def TV just to let enough dust collect on it that you couldn’t see anything. There were a few knick knacks around on shelves here and there; they seemed out of place; Gail figured they’d been put there by various ex-girlfriends over time and Harry just hadn’t bothered getting rid of them or dusting them as the years went by.

She hadn’t been surprised when Harry had asked her back to his place; she’d put out the vibe and was sure he thought she’d be an easy lay.

Harry returned from the kitchen carrying two beers, the cap off of both of them.
Classy,
she thought,
no glasses.
He sat down and placed a beer in front of her.

“No glass?” she asked.

Harry just looked at her a little bit puzzled and annoyed.

“You can’t expect a lady to be swigging from the bottle,” she said.

“Who says I’m lookin’ for a lady, lady?” he said

“Humor me.”

He looked more annoyed now than puzzled.

“Sure thing Princess.”

He got up from the couch and headed back into the kitchen; she could only imagine how hard it was going to be for him to find a clean glass, assuming the kitchen was kept as tidy as the living room. Taking advantage of being alone, Gail reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out one of her pills, quickly dropping it into Harry’s beer bottle. She really did prefer to drink out of a glass, but it also gave her the opportunity to make sure she got the upper hand in this little soiree. He returned with a glass, cleaner than she would have bet.

“Here you go your Highness,” he said as he sat back down.

“Thank you,” she said, as she picked up her beer and began pouring it into the glass. Harry, leering at her and anticipating his conquest, picked up his beer and began drinking. It wouldn’t be long now.

Leslie sat in his car, parked at the curb a few houses down from Harry Madwin’s. Harry lived in the city on a street with homes that at one time must have looked grand, but now just looked a little run down. It was a quiet street. Anywhere more affluent and no doubt the neighbors would have called the police by now to report a suspicious car parked on their street. Seeing how this was still one of the rougher parts of town, he didn’t think he’d have to worry.

It was 11:37 p.m., and he’d been watching the place for about thirty minutes when Gail appeared at the front door. He watched as she made her way to the trunk of her car, opened it and pulled out a large duffel bag. She headed back into the house.

He had no idea what she was up to, and seeing how that was Harry’s house he wouldn’t do anything rash like knocking on the front door to find out. He shifted in his seat, trying to get comfortable again, and figured he’d wait a little bit longer. Hopefully he could catch Gail when she left and find out just what the hell she was up to.

It was the roar of the motorcycles that woke him up. He had fallen asleep. He turned the key in the ignition just enough to turn on the digital clock on his car’s dashboard. It was 12:43 a.m. He looked to Harry’s house, and watched as the two hoodlums on motorbikes parked behind Gail’s car in his driveway, got off their bikes and made their way to the front door of the house.

This can’t be good,
he thought.

It was bad enough Gail was in there with Harry, but now two more hoodlums? Was she in trouble? Should he even give a damn?

FUCK,
he thought.

Sure, she’d dumped him, but he had really liked her. Could he really just sit around if she were in trouble; that was assuming she was in trouble? Maybe this was one of her things; a kinky three-way with lowlifes. Who was he to judge?

Leslie got out of his car and took a couple of seconds to look around; as far as he could tell no one was paying attention to what was happening on the street. The majority of the homes were cloaked in darkness. There was no way he was going to walk up to Harry’s house, knock on the door and ask if Gail was all right, but maybe he could snoop around a little, get an idea of what was taking place inside; if it was something kinky she was into he could get in his car and get the hell out of there; if she was in trouble, he’d have to do something. Turning around and fleeing at that point would be unacceptable.

But what if you get caught snooping?
he asked himself.

If he got caught snooping there was only one answer – RUN LIKE HELL!

Leslie made it to the driveway and crouched down beside Gail’s car. It was definitely a shitbox, not something he’d expect she’d be driving.
Maybe she borrowed it off the poor bastard who had been living in it,
he thought. He took a deep breath; it was time to get on the move.

Slowly, being cautious with every step, Leslie made his way up the porch steps and approached the front door. Off to the side of it was the living room window. The drapes were pulled closed, but maybe he’d be lucky enough to find a crack to peek through. He was just about to move off to the side when he heard her scream. It wasn’t a scream of ecstasy, but seemed like a genuine scream of fear and hurt. Gail was in trouble.

This was one of those defining moments in life; action was required, or inaction needed to be accepted; you’re either a hero or a coward. Leslie reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his gun; once again he heard Gail scream out. He quickly checked to make sure the safety was off, moved to the front door, steeled himself and with one kick broke the lock, sending the front door swinging inward. He raced through it, not knowing what to expect.

Leslie quickly scanned the scene, trying to take in where everyone was and what exactly was going on. He knew he didn’t have much time to do so, but needed to get his bearings if he planned to be in any way effective. Off to the side, Corrigan had Gail by the throat and pressed up against a wall, slowly choking the life out of her. Harry was on the couch, but was definitely not going to be any trouble. Leslie couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Harry’s body had been cut into pieces and strewn about the couch, which had previously been an ugly green, but now was also stained red with his blood. On the floor beside the couch lay Gail’s duffel bag and beside that a small bloodied chainsaw. It was almost too much to take in, and as such he spent too long looking at the corpse on the couch – too long for his own good.

Standing in the kitchen doorway was the other hoodlum, Lou. While Leslie seemed surprised by Harry’s remains, Lou seemed surprised that anyone had burst through the front door. He recovered quickly and charged at Leslie. Leslie didn’t even have time to properly react, before he saw Lou rushing towards him. Startled, he didn’t take aim, but just fired the gun twice, hoping it was pointed in the right direction. It was. Both bullets caught Lou square in the chest, sending him falling backwards, knocked off his feet, to the carpet, dead. Later on Leslie would consider this, and realize he was lucky; lucky that Lou hadn’t given him enough time to think about what he needed to do and aim; if he had, he’d probably still be alive, the bullets having missed him.

Lou’s death did not go unnoticed. Distracted by the two shots, Corrigan looked over to the front door, at the same time releasing his grip from around Gail’s neck. She crumpled to the ground as Corrigan turned to face Leslie.

Jesus, he’s big,
thought Leslie.

Corrigan started for him. Leslie raised the gun and fired twice, both bullets hitting Corrigan, one in the shoulder and the other to the side of his stomach; unlike Lou, however, Corrigan didn’t hit the floor, but just keep on coming. Leslie, panicked, tried to fire again, but didn’t have time, as Corrigan was on him. Leslie took a swing at him, and connected on the side of Corrigan’s face, but it really didn’t seem to do anything but hurt his fist. Corrigan was a big bull of a man, who didn’t seem to feel any pain.

Corrigan head butted Leslie, which immediately made Leslie’s knees weak. He didn’t go down because he didn’t have a chance to as Corrigan picked him up in a classic wrestling move, turned around and proceeded to throw him down on the coffee table, which broke apart with the weight of his body. Leslie crashed through it feeling a few pieces of wood – big ass splinters – cutting into him. He knew he had to worry about Corrigan, but right now he was in pain, glorious, mind-consuming pain – it wanted his attention and it had it.

Corrigan was pissed. He got that way often, and when he did, look out. He knew he’d been shot twice, but that didn’t matter. When he got really mad and adrenaline was coursing through his body, he just didn’t feel pain; and today, right now at this moment, he was mad. Two of his friends were dead and someone had to pay. He started for Leslie, wondering where he was going to throw him next, when the bitch he’d been choking jumped on his back, her hands around his face, her perfectly manicured nails looking for his eyes to poke at. He screamed and started twirling around, trying to shake her off. She had a good grip.

Leslie regained his senses; while pain wanted his attention, he needed to pull himself together and get back into the fight, or there’d probably be a lot more pain followed by a lot of nothing...or the Pearly Gates. With whatever strength he could muster, Leslie pulled himself to his feet and surveyed the scene.

God his head hurt.

Corrigan was in the middle of the room, trying to shake Gail off his back. The scene almost looked like something out of a bad comedy, especially when Corrigan finally got his way and managed to send Gail flying to the carpet. She almost landed on top of Lou. Leslie knew if he was going to do something, he had to do it now, while Corrigan was still a little discombobulated from Gail’s attack. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen where his gun had gone flying when Corrigan introduced him to the coffee table, so what he had to do would have to be more organic and personal. Leslie rushed Corrigan, hitting him square in the gut, as if the two of them were football players. Leslie wasn’t exactly a small guy, so normally this move should have served to send them both falling to the ground, maybe even knock the wind out of Corrigan, especially considering he was sporting two bullet wounds, but instead Leslie felt like he’d hit a brick wall. Corrigan didn’t move, just stopped Leslie dead in his tracks.

Fuck me,
Leslie thought, just before Corrigan grabbed him, pulling him face to face with him, and wrapping one bear-like hand around Leslie’s neck, the other taking the opportunity of its freedom to punch Leslie hard in the side of the head. Once again, Leslie’s knees felt like pudding. This wasn’t good; he’d shot the man twice and hit him hard in the mid-drift and he was still on his feet ready to fight. Leslie knew he was definitely in trouble; Corrigan was going to kill him. Maybe as he took the time to kill Leslie, Gail would take the opportunity to escape - he hoped so.

The hand around his throat was pressing hard, choking the life out of him; it wouldn’t be long now. Leslie could feel his mind moving closer and closer to unconsciousness. At that moment he kind of welcomed it. Then the silence of the night was disrupted – a loud noise, although in his mind’s cloudy state, he couldn’t make out from what.

Gail approached Corrigan from behind and brought the chainsaw down into his back, following the highway of his spine. Corrigan let out a scream, as his body tensed, arching backward. If she hadn’t been concentrating on trying to kill this brute, she would have noticed that when he arched backwards, he actually lifted Leslie off the floor, holding him only by his throat. Gail, blood splashing back on her, held firm, cutting into Corrigan’s back. She was afraid if she let go or stopped, somehow he’d just turn around and throttle her. She watched as he released his hold on Leslie’s throat and Leslie fell to the ground like a rag doll. She watched as Corrigan, taking more punishment than a man should be able to take, slowly sunk to his knees, the fight slowly leaving him. Once on his knees, she pulled the chainsaw out of his back.

Corrigan wasn’t quite ready to die yet. There wasn’t a lot he could do, but he wasn’t dead. Gail stood there for a second, listening to the gurgling and moaning of the big man, not quite sure if he was going to get up and turn around and kill her, or fall to the ground dead. The problem with most horror films she had seen growing up is, when the good guys get the opportunity to kill the monster or bad guy, they never make sure he or it is really dead. They might shoot him once or twice and look at him on the ground, but they never make sure, like emptying the rest of their gun into the killer’s head until it’s mulch and there’s no mistaking him or it is dead. They never make sure and always pay the price for that. Gail wasn’t going to make that same mistake. With one quick movement she dug the chainsaw into the side of Corrigan’s neck; his body jerked as she did so and even more blood covered the living room floor, but she kept going until his head rolled off the body and hit the ground, rolling away. She turned off the chainsaw, knowing that unlike her cinematic counterparts, she had made sure the monster was dead.