I remember sitting at my desk, pouring a couple of drinks (no more than a third of a bottle), and trying to clear my head. All the time with the poor bastard right there, blubbering for help. God knows what he must have thought of me.
When I did notice him it shocked me. I can blame my gray hair on that. How was I going to explain this? And then I realized how the shooting had to turn out. The way it was going to become, for if he was dead, why wouldn’t it be that way?
I got up and blew the top of his head off.
I was lucky. No one heard the first shot, the one to the belly. Otherwise the police would have been called long before I called them, and well, you know how all this turned out.
So you see why I couldn’t afford to let Mary meet with Rose. She might just end up guessing the truth and I couldn’t take that chance. Even if it was only a one in a thousand chance, how could I risk it?
Anyway, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mary would figure out what happened. Maybe she would have her doubts at first, but as soon as she saw me, she would know the truth. She’d see right into me. It somehow didn’t seem right to have to live dreading a thing like that. I just didn’t see how I could.
* * * * *
I sat back and gave the matter some thought. When I was through thinking, I called Jerry Bry and told him where to meet me.
Chapter 10
Jerry Bry was a real sweetheart of a guy, the type who’d give you a nickel for a dollar any day of the week. That’s what I liked about him— the size of his heart, which was a shade smaller than an ice cube.
Over the years I have had quite a few dealings with Bry. Well, to be more specific, I have always been hired by his wife, but Bry and I somehow always ended up doing business.
* * * * *
He was waiting at a back table in Goldie’s Bar. It had been almost two years since I’d seen him last and from what I could tell, he hadn’t changed much. Maybe a little grayer around the eyes and maybe his hairline had receded another inch. And he still had that soft whining look that always made me want to erase it with my fists.
I gave him a nod. He acknowledged me with a dull stare before dropping his eyes to the beer he was nursing. I sat across from him.
Keeping his eyes on his drink, he muttered, “I have to hand it to her, Joyce had me fooled this time. I had no idea she suspected anything.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, that’s so. Just hand them over to me, okay?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shook his head slowly. “A real clown. Just hand me your goddamned pictures and let me pay you and get the hell out of here. Your stench is beginning to get to me.”
“I hate to disappoint you,” I said, “but I don’t have any pictures.”
He gave me a blank stare for a moment before his face sagged into an expression of bewilderment. “What the hell are you trying to pull?”
His mouth had dropped open, and he fell back into his chair. Looking at him, with his eyes just about popping out of his head, I couldn’t keep from grinning.
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Just a favor,” I said.
“You can take your favor and shove it!” He started to get out of his chair, and as he did so I leaned forward and shoved him hard back into it. He went down hard enough for the force to drive the chair’s front legs off the ground, leaving him frantically flapping his arms to keep from toppling backwards. Just like Humpty Dumpty, except Bry avoided the great fall. He got his balance back and forced the chair forward.
For a good ten-count he couldn’t speak. He was breathing hard, his face purpling with rage. It was funny how he felt he could treat me with contempt. Maybe he thought it was just business, that it was something he paid for. And maybe I did always laugh it off, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t keeping score.
Finally he caught his breath and clamped down hard enough on his teeth that I thought they were going to break. “I’d give anything to get you alone for five minutes.”
“No reason we couldn’t step out back,” I said, trying to be agreeable.
I wished he’d take me up on it, but I knew he wouldn’t. He was a big man, probably outweighed me by fifty pounds—and I weigh a solid one hundred and ninety. When he was younger he was a hotshot for his college football team and probably still thought he was something. But even at his peak, I would have taken him apart. The way he was now, the time it took him to hit the pavement would have been all I needed.
He didn’t say anything. We both sat and stared at each other. “Is this any way to act after all I’ve done for you?” I asked after a while.
“All you’ve done for me?” His laugh caught in his sinuses and came out more as a snort.
“That’s right.” I nodded. “Kept your marriage together best I could and—”
“Yeah? I always thought you were just blackmailing me like the cheap punk you are.”
“That’s where you’re showing your ignorance,” I said. “Whenever Joyce hires me and I catch you banging away without her, deciding what to do with the pictures is always a struggle. If I thought she’d use them to divorce you, I’d give them to her gladly. But I don’t suppose that’s what she’d do.”
I waited for him to say something, but he just breathed hard and ground his teeth.
“If Joyce were to see them,” I continued, “there’s no doubt in my mind she’d kill you first chance she got.”
Whenever his wife had hired me, she would act casual about it. But it was a poor act. The skin around her mouth would be pulled so tight you’d think it was going to rip. And when she laughed, it was edged with a shrill hysteria. Kind of like nails on a blackboard. I never took her jokes about how she would cut his balls off and use them as a car ornament if he really cheated on her as anything but what she truly intended.
“Now I’m not saying this world wouldn’t be a better place without you,” I said. “Probably would be, but it just doesn’t seem fair if your wife ended up going to jail for a thing like that.”
“So that’s how you justify blackmailing me,” he said.
I looked at him sadly. He still didn’t get it. I was only trying to do what was best for my client. If I thought showing him the pictures would make him stop, I’d never have asked for money. But he wouldn’t have stopped. And what his wife was paying for, deep inside, was to make him stop.
“Now,” I said, trying to make him understand. And what the hell was so hard to understand? “That’s not how I see it. I’m just trying to teach you a lesson. Get you back on the straight and narrow. But it seems I’ve been failing you, cause no matter how hard I try you keep straying. Maybe if it hurt a little more, you’d straighten out.”
“You son of a bitch. If only this city knew that the great Johnny Lane was nothing more than a cheap blackmailing punk.”
I ignored him. “To be honest,” I said, “I never understood why your wife cares a damn about you. With that cute little figure she’s got and with all that emotion she puts out in the sack, she should be able to get herself something that stands on two legs. At least something with brains enough not to risk losing a gal who can moan the way she can.”
Of course, I was lying. Not about her having a nice figure, because she certainly had that. The one time Joyce and I ended up horizontally, she was deader than a stick of wood. I think she gave me a splinter. I could understand why he was always sniffing around. But then again, he was probably the one who had made her that way.
He was livid. For a second I thought he was going to lunge at me and maybe that was what I was after. Usually, I didn’t twist the knife that deep into him, but this time I was getting my hands all bloody. Maybe I was after some payback, which was crazy, since I needed him now and would have all the time in the world for that later.
Luke, who was working the bar, sauntered over, carrying a beer bottle. He asked if everything was okay.
“Couldn’t be better,” I told him. “Want you
to meet an old friend of mine. We go back almost fifteen years. Luke, Jerry Bry.”
Bry didn’t say anything. Luke nodded and told him he was glad to meet him. “If you need anything, Johnny,” he said, giving Bry a long stare, “just give a yell. Here’s something on the house.” He handed me the beer. As he walked back to the bar, he turned and gave Bry another look.
Under his breath, Bry asked, “How many other people have you been blackmailing?”
I studied him hard, wondering if he was the one sending the anonymous letters. I decided it wasn’t him. He couldn’t risk Joyce finding out about his cheating. I said, “If you don’t like the way I’ve been handling things, we can go right now and have a talk with your wife. Would you like to do that?”
“Fuck you.”
“I asked you a question.”
“You damn well know the answer.”
“Okay, then,” I said. “I need a favor and I know you wouldn’t mind helping me out. At least not after all I’ve done for you over the years. Right?”
He clamped his jaw shut, but his head bobbed up and down.
“I need you to pretend to be a little gal’s daddy.”
“Wha—” he spat out, almost choking.
“I have a college gal who’s searching for her father. You’re going to tell her that you’re him.”
“And what am I supposed to say to Joyce?” he asked.
I explained what I needed him to do. He would meet with Mary and tell her if his wife ever found out he had a daughter it would destroy his marriage. He would feel bad about not being able to see her again, but it would have to be that way. Mary would understand, and that would be it.
It seemed simple enough. Everything was going to work out. Mary would have her faith restored in me, and, just as important, she would never have any reason to meet up with Rose. I could breathe easy again.
Comprehension was beginning to work its way into Bry’s face. His lips turned up into an ugly smile, and he snickered. “You really are a lowlife, aren’t you?”
I don’t think I ever wanted to rip him apart any more than I did right then. It was pretty clear what was going on behind his dull stupid smile. The way he was looking at it, I was giving him a knife he could hold against my throat. Anytime in the future he could threaten to go talk to Mary. Well, whether he wanted to believe me or not, I always did what was in the best interest of his marriage. Now, as far as I was concerned, he was a lost cause. He was no better than a rutting pig, and nothing I could do would change that.
Somehow the thought of him trying to blackmail me didn’t bother me. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, sort of something tickling the back of my mind, but I knew when the time was right I would know how to take care of things.
Understanding that gave me a warm feeling.
“If I got any lower,” I said, “the two of us could shake hands.”
Chapter 11
The next two days were rough ones. I couldn’t just go and tell Mary I’d found her daddy. Coming right after her ultimatum, she was bound to be suspicious. I had to drop a few hints first. Every time she called—and she wasn’t shy about it—I let on that something new had broken.
Even though I knew everything was going to work itself out, I couldn’t help feeling as if I were walking around on eggshells. But I guess it was normal to be anxious. I couldn’t help worrying Bry would screw up, and none of us could afford that.
* * * * *
After my meeting with Bry, I went back to the office and tried getting some work done. After a while I gave up. As I was getting ready to leave, Eddie Braggs called.
“Tell me it’s true,” he said.
“Tell you what’s true?”
“That you were hired by Ekleberg’s lawyer.”
“You heard about that, huh?”
“It is true, then? Damn, that’s good news. You got anything yet?”
“No, not yet, but I should have something for next month’s column.”
“This is good, Johnny, real good. I knew I could count on you for another big story. And don’t worry about this month’s ‘Fast Lane’. It’s already been taken care of.”
“How’s that?”
“You can read it Sunday like everyone else. When are you going to get yourself on the radio and help me sell a few papers?”
I told him it was under control and hung up. Morton must’ve called Braggs. I could tell from his tone that he already knew I had the Ekleberg case, but I guess he wanted to make sure I was going to use it for my column. Knowing that Braggs was on my side again should have helped my state of mind, but it didn’t. For a long moment I thought about Bry and Mary and what was going to happen next. After a few shots of rye, I called the general manager of a local radio station. We talked a little, and arranged an hour spot on one of his talk shows. He wanted me on air that afternoon, but I was feeling too jumpy to agree. We settled for Thursday afternoon and he promised he’d run promos for it.
I tried again to get some work done. I took out my business receipts and tried balancing the books, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to play with the numbers. I put the receipts down and picked up some outstanding case reports. After a while it was like I was staring into thin air.
The phone started ringing. I reached for it, stopped myself, got up and walked out the door.
Outside it was as if the world had been slightly twisted out of its norm. As if folks passing by were, well, were able to look inside me. I knew the problem was I was strung out from worry. I knew they weren’t really staring at me. I knew they weren’t whispering those things about me. But, I’ll tell you, it sure seemed as if they were.
I stopped at a used bookstore. An uncomfortable feeling had been working its way from my stomach to my chest and I needed to give it a chance to pass. As I was thumbing through a stack of paperbacks I found one from an author I liked. On the inside cover, scribbled in pen, was the inscription:
Dear Mark, I hope you enjoy this book—good, late night reading to scare the pants off ya!! Happy Birthday! Lots of love, Tricia
There were a bunch of hearts drawn around the inscription, and, well, I just started laughing. I don’t know why, because it wasn’t funny, at least, not exactly. But it sure was something. All that hope and expectation traded away for half a buck at a used bookstore. As good as that writer was, nothing in any of his stories could have been more tragic.
I took some loose change from my pocket and bought the book.
Chapter 12
That night Marge called me. I told her I had a toothache and hung up on her. About an hour later the doorbell rang, and there she was.
“Look,” I growled at her. “I told you—”
“Shuddup,” she snapped, and she slipped under my arm and squeezed past me. In the middle of the room she undid the belt of her overcoat, letting it slip off. As it slid to the floor, I realized that was all she was wearing, unless you wanted to count her cowboy boots.
Her glistening eyes challenged me to say something. Then she stuck her tongue out at me and marched into the bedroom.
When we were finished, she climbed on top of me and asked which tooth was bothering me. I pointed to a corner of my mouth, and she reached down and gave me a hard peck where I pointed.
She beamed. “There. I kissed it and made it better.”
Even though we both knew I didn’t have a toothache it was still a dirty trick. I had to carry on as if I was in agony. I said, “I should put you on my knee and paddle your ass off.”
I wanted to do more than that. As she looked at me, her eyes widened in an exaggerated display of terror. She said, “Oh, you look like you want to kill your poor little Margo.” Then she giggled and moved down a little. “I bet you wouldn’t want to do that if I kissed you over here.” And then she moved down a little more. “Or here.” And after a while she was right.
When she was done, she propped herself up on her elbow and asked for a drink. I brought her the whole bottle. By the time she
passed out, it was half empty. I took the bottle with me and went back downstairs. I knew I had no chance of getting her to go home but that didn’t mean I had to stay with her. I settled down on the sofa with the bottle and a glass in front of me. I had too much nervous energy to sleep, and neither the booze nor my tumble with Marge had helped any. I poured myself drinks until the bottle was empty. Then I found another bottle.
* * * * *
The next day started off bad and only got worse. It wasn’t that anything really terrible happened, it was just the way I was feeling.
Marge woke me early that morning and yelled at me for falling asleep downstairs. I was feeling too low to argue with her so I just sat there and took it. After a while she calmed down and tried pouring on the sweet stuff again. That was worse than the bawling out she gave me (as I said, things only got worse). Well, eventually she pulled herself together and headed home, but not without first putting me through the wringer.
Right before she left, she reached over and planted a big kiss on me. “There,” she said, pulling away, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve put my mark on you. You’re mine forever. And lover, you better not forget it.”
After she’d gone, I looked in the mirror and saw that the kiss had left a red blotch of lipstick on my forehead. I washed it off.
Not much else happened that day. Other than the fact my stomach was doing somersaults and my nerves were screaming bloody murder, the only thing worth writing about was that I talked with Mary a few times, hinting to her that I was close to a discovery. After the last call I went out shopping. When I returned home, I brought a couple of bottles of booze to the sofa and waited for the darkness.
Fast Lane Page 9
