The Merry Pranked Read Online Free Page B

Anastasia, after Albert Anastasia, the Lord High Executioner for the Mob in its glory days. No matter what Anastasia did, Brannigan couldn’t bring him to justice; no one in his books could. Of late he’d been toying with the idea of making his protagonist simply kill Anastasia; sure, he’d be making him a killer, but maybe that’s what was required. He’d been patient long enough; maybe it was time to take justice into his own hands. Possibly it was the only way to resolve some problems.
    Leslie leaned back in his chair and contemplated that thought again. Is it really Brannigan I’m thinking about? he wondered. Sometimes the lines between fiction and reality blurred. Was this one of those times?
    “Hey Jude,” said Leslie, as his five-year-old, snow white cat and companion, Jude, jumped on his desk. Leslie picked her up and began patting her. It was their routine. She’d allow him to pat her for about a minute before she’d have enough and then retire to the corner of his desk and snuggle in as he turned his attention to writing.
    He hit the space bar on his laptop and the computer screen came to life. It was open on a word document, the cursor blinking at the end of the last word he had written, taunting him. Did he have anything more to offer the world of literature, or was he played out?
    Leslie watched it blinking. The Supremes and Love Child seemed to be keeping the stress at a manageable level.
    He’d faced this taunt many times in the past. In many of those cases he’d succeeded, but not tonight. His mind was elsewhere, as it always was when relationship failure reared its ugly head. He knew why he was a failure at it; he was aware of his demons, yet despite that knowledge, he couldn’t let go; had never been able to.
    There’d be no writing tonight; the cursor would stay still. His mind just couldn’t take any more fiction. Instead, he clicked onto a JPEG file and waited for his computer screen to fill with the image of his primary demon. He took a sip from his scotch and stared intently at the man on the screen; it had been so long ago, but it had been a wound that had never healed. He leaned back in his chair, listening to the sounds of his past and allowing his mind to embrace the memories that were in fact his longest relationship and his downfall where personal growth was concerned.
     

 
    chapter THREE
     
    the SUN rose over the city, offering the promise of yet another day. The denizens of the night - the troublemakers who brought about fear, trouble, and sometimes death - had retired to their lairs to await their time, for they knew night always came back around. Daytime, although promising hope, hid enough horrors of its own, but also served as a filter for the night, cleaning up the ugliness that night embraced and wrought.
    Detective Ray Michaels pulled up at Grant’s Grocery, one store in a relatively small chain of independent grocery stores that fought for their market share in Lakeview’s hustling metropolis. He was met with the usual scene, any number of curious onlookers trying to see past the police tape and officers acting as guards, for a glimpse at the mayhem that had brought those in an official capacity here this morning. Some had probably been heading for Grant’s, maybe to pick up something for lunch on the way to work, had run short on half-and-half for their morning coffee, or had just figured out morning was a good time to shop if they didn’t like crowds. Others were probably the curious who were simply passing by on their way to work and just couldn’t resist standing around gawking, like the police were going to eventually fill them in on what had happened, or tear down the yellow tape and give them a guided tour of the crime scene, complete with commentary and speculation. Ray had never understood the appeal of standing outside the yellow tape and staring at nothing; he figured that in some small way, it must make certain people feel like they’re part of