Fast Lane

by Dave Zeltserman

  “Can we sit together for a few minutes? I-I don’t feel I can be alone right now.”

  She moved over to the sofa with me, and we sat there together, neither us saying a word. She curled up into a ball, her head lying flat against my chest. After a while, she looked up at me, her eyes half closed but shining with expectation.

  “I’d better get that room ready for you,” I said.

  I put some fresh sheets on the bed and got her a robe and a pair of old pajamas. I noticed she was standing quietly watching me. As I headed for the door, she touched my arm and was about to say something. I put my finger against her lips. Then I left her alone.

  As I was lying on my bed the door opened. Mary walked in, and as she did, her robe fell open. Framed by the hallway light she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But she was so young that I felt ashamed. I tried looking away.

  “Mary—” I started to say.

  She hushed me. In an instant she’d moved across the room. Her naked body was up against me. I could feel her shivering.

  “Mary, this isn’t right,” I said, gently pushing her away.

  “Yes it is.” She once again wrapped her limbs around me.

  I felt myself weakening. I pushed her away again, this time being rougher. “Trust me, it isn’t. Please—”

  She looked at me, puzzled, her brown eyes moistening with tears. Her body shook. “First my father tries to rape me, and now this. What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing,” I said softly. I was holding her, smoothing her hair. “Nothing at all,” I whispered.

  I whispered a lot of other stuff, trying my best to comfort her. Somehow we ended up with me lying on top of her. At first, I was just holding her. And it felt nice, nicer than anything I could remember. I wished it could go on like that forever.

  Mary, though, was all eager and unashamed underneath me. She shifted her body around and worked some of my clothing loose, and it wasn’t long before we weren’t just holding each other. I tried not to think of what we were doing. I tried my best to think of Marge and of others. I silently begged for forgiveness.

  The doorbell rang, then it rang again. A minute later it started ringing continuously.

  Mary asked if I should see who was there.

  I wanted to stop what we were doing, but I also had a good idea who was at the door. I told Mary I always had clients bothering me at home and I wasn’t going to let them interfere with me now.

  I didn’t. We didn’t. And the doorbell eventually stopped ringing.

  After what seemed like an eternity, we were finished. We lay together in a heap, neither of us saying a word. The last thing I remembered was her curled up in my arms, sleeping like a baby.

  When I woke the next morning, I reached over for Mary, and with kind of a knee-jerk reaction jumped up when I saw she was gone. I called out but there was no answer. Looking in the guest room, I saw her clothes were gone too.

  I shaved, showered, and dressed. When I opened the front door, I found a note waiting for me. The note was written in red lipstick, and read—

  HEY YOU CREEP, WHY WOULDN’T YOU ANSWER YOUR DOORBELL—WHO WERE YOU SCREWING AROUND WITH? YOUR LOVER, MARGO.

  It hadn’t rained the other night but there were stains on the paper as if someone had been crying over it. I was pretty sure it hadn’t been Marge.

  Chapter 16

  Max Roth showed up at nine o’clock on the dot and we shook hands and sat ourselves down. He looked out of place, shaved, with his hair combed back and clothes in decent order. He mumbled something about being sorry about the other day and being glad we could work things out.

  I leaned back and gave him a friendly smile. “I’m even sorrier, Max,” I said. “I tried to phone you before you got here but I guess I just missed you. I wanted to save you the trip.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The job I was planning for you fell through. Happened only ten minutes ago.”

  The color in Max’s face dropped but he didn’t say a word or move a muscle. I continued, “You see, two days ago Mulrooney Construction called me. They were having problems with some materials disappearing. I know you favor that type of work, and hell, they can be good clients for repeat jobs. So while we were having our talk last night I couldn’t help thinking it would be only fair to give it to you.”

  I was giving it to him alright.

  “What”—his voice cracked and he cleared his throat—”what happened?”

  “Just before you showed up I got a call from the old man over there that the situation had cleared itself up. One of their workers had himself an accident. Fell and broke both his legs. Lying there, he had some sort of revelation. Made a guess on where the stuff was. And he must have been psychic because he was right on the mark.”

  “So that’s it, huh? You don’t have anything else?”

  I shook my head, disappointed in him. Here Max hears about a fellow human being breaking both legs, and all he can think about is his own situation. Of course, this other person didn’t exist since I made up the story, but Max didn’t know that.

  “It’s slow right now,” I said. “The only other job I have is some cop work, and I’d feel kind of bad offering you that. Narcotics department needs some help finding an informant.”

  He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t, at least not knowing how things really stood. So we sat there staring at each other, him looking sick to his stomach and me smiling as if nothing were wrong. All he could do was guess whether I was leveling or stringing him along, but guessing just wasn’t good enough. After a long silence he asked, “So that’s the way it’s going to be. Fifty percent on that, right?”

  I shrugged. “If we’re going to be more like partners then it’s only fair you take some of the bad with the good.”

  There are times when the Denver police need help on a case and I take it on as a kind of public service to the community. They can’t pay more than a hundred and sixty dollars a day—part of some bureaucratic red tape—and I take the loss personally. I pay the full amount to whoever I subcontract to. Hell, it’s the only decent thing to do and I guess I make sure they all know it. But it’s the least I can do for the community that has done so much for me. Also it doesn’t hurt none to have some friendly officers on the force.

  Max must have wanted to tell me to go to hell. But what if I were on the level? With our new arrangement he’d end up making only fifty percent on the hundred and sixty dollar fee. So he would end up a good eighty dollars worse off than before. And, even if he were able to get them as permanent clients, you just don’t want that type of work. Worse for your health than smoking. If he took the job and I weren’t on the level then I would be giving him the royal horselaugh. But if I were on the level—then maybe next time . . . .

  It was a hell of a choice to make. And I could tell by his face that he wasn’t having a good time with it. The color slowly came back, mottling his cheeks.

  He shrugged without much enthusiasm. “I guess it’s only fair and it’s better than nothing. Sure, why not?”

  I gave him the information and after he left I gave him the royal horselaugh. Silently. Deep in the gut. You see, I’m the type of guy who would give anyone in the world the shirt off my back. I’d do it without expecting a thing in return except being treated fairly.

  I don’t see that as expecting anything more than what’s right. And if someone is going to try to give me a hard time, he’d better cover himself because I’m going to stick it right back at him. In spades. And—

  And the phone rang. It was Mary.

  “I was going to call you,” I said. “Why were you in such a hurry this morning?”

  “It was better that way.”

  “Now, honey. What’s wrong?”

  “Why should anything be wrong?”

  “Well,” I sighed. “There isn’t any reason I can think of. Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you.”

  There was a long silence. Then, “Who was at your door last n
ight?”

  “No one. I’ve already told you that.”

  “Who’s Margo?”

  “Ahh, Mary,” I groaned. I wanted to kick Marge for leaving that letter. “She’s someone who doesn’t matter. Trust me.”

  “Something that does matter. That man isn’t my father.”

  I didn’t know what to say. She broke the silence by telling me she wanted to see me.

  She didn’t want to come to my office. I tried asking her why, but she wouldn’t say. We arranged to meet at a diner a couple of blocks away.

  * * * * *

  Mary sat at the table as rigid as a three-day-old corpse.

  I reached for her hand. She pulled it away.

  “Mary,” I said, “I’m a little confused about what’s happening. Why’d you leave this morning without saying a word?”

  Her eyes blazed, and if there had been an open can of gasoline sitting on the table we both would’ve been cooked.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “What differ—” I said, shaking my head. “Mary, I care about you.”

  “I don’t care about you!” The four-alarm blaze going on in her eyes flared and then flickered out, leaving her looking a little pale around the gills. “Anyway, you don’t really care,” she added. “If you did, you’d have been with me last night.”

  I asked, incredulously, “Where do you think I was?”

  “You weren’t with me. Not really. While we were making—having sex, you were thinking of her.”

  “Mary, I—” I stumbled a little, tongue-tied. “That’s just not so. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. That man isn’t my father. My real father would never have tried to do that to me.”

  “I know it’s unpleasant, but these things happen.”

  “No!” she said, shaking her head, as if that would settle the issue. “I want you to tell me why you thought he was my father. Because he isn’t!”

  Before getting Mary’s phone call, I was hungry enough to empty a refrigerator. Now though, I wasn’t sure if my stomach could even hold down a cup of coffee. When the waitress came over, I ordered the coffee anyway, and as she walked away, I heard her muttering something about big spenders.

  “Like I already told you,” I said, after the waitress was out of earshot, “after your mother died you were given up for adoption. I dug around and found out who her boyfriend was. And he—Jerry Bry—admitted he was your father. He also confirmed you were given to an Oklahoma City adoption agency, and that the Williamses ended up adopting—”

  “Did you show him my picture?”

  “What?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Did you show him my picture before you started asking him questions?”

  “Well, I guess I did.” I saw where she was heading and I almost laughed, it was so farfetched. I played along, though. “I don’t understand—”

  “Don’t you see?” she cut in. “He saw what I looked like before he told you anything.”

  “I still don’t see what you’re getting at,” I mumbled, scratching my head.

  “Johnny, he’s a pervert!” she shouted, almost jumping out of her seat. “He was lying to you. Don’t you see that?”

  I let my mouth drop open.

  “What do you know,” I murmured. As I’d already said, once Mary made her mind up about something, that was it. As crazy as it was, I had no choice but to go along with her. It’s funny, though. This probably would be the kind of stunt Bry would pull if given the opportunity. Quietly, I swore to myself I’d keep my promise about his neck, first chance I got.

  “So he was just lying to me,” I said, as if I was in a daze.

  “Yes!” Mary practically shouted at me, her eyes shining like diamonds. “He’s sick. He probably figured he’d get me alone, and that I’d have confused feelings about him, and he’d be able to take advantage—”

  Anger flashed through her, choking her words. Since there was nothing else for me to do but agree with her, that’s what I did. “That’d be a hell of a thing to do,” I said, nodding. “But it would explain things.”

  “Don’t you see what it means?” she asked. “The only reason you were sure that woman was my mother was because of what he’d told you. But if he was lying, then you still haven’t found her. She might still be alive.”

  I could’ve kicked myself for not giving her a better story. “Yeah,” I nodded. “It’s possible. He might have been telling the truth, though.”

  “No, my real mother’s alive. I can feel it. Trust me, Johnny.”

  Well, what could I say? I told her I trusted her. “Mary,” I asked, “have you thought about filing attempted rape charges against him?”

  “I thought about it, but I’m not going to.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe you should. I can take you down to the police station.”

  “No!” she insisted. “I just want to forget about him. Besides, I don’t want my parents finding out about it.”

  Of course I didn’t want her filing charges, either—I couldn’t afford to let her—but I needed to know what she was planning.

  “Yeah, well, if that’s the way you feel. Probably best just to forget about it,” I agreed. “So you haven’t told your parents about this?”

  “No, I’ve already hurt them enough with this.”

  “Did you tell anyone else about Jerry Bry?” I asked.

  “No.” She gave me an odd look, like the other time in my office. “Why?”

  It was a damn good question, one which I didn’t want to admit the answer to. “I feel a little ashamed about making such a dumb-assed mistake. I’m awful sorry about it.”

  “I guess it’s understandable.” She lowered her eyes, hesitating. “Johnny, I think I should find another detective.”

  The waitress came back with my coffee and kind of dumped it down with disgust. I took a sip, burning my mouth. “I sure wish you wouldn’t do that,” I said, trying my damndest to keep from smashing the coffee cup against the wall.

  “It’s best that I do. We haven’t had much luck together.”

  “I’d feel lousy about it,” I said. “I’d hate to think I let you down.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “Don’t. I know you’ve done everything you could.”

  “Mary,” I said, “I’ll work on it for free. If I don’t find your birth parents for you in two weeks I’ll give you back everything you’ve already paid me. Then you can hire yourself another detective if you need to.”

  “I don’t know.” Doubt creased her brow, making her at that instant more beautiful than ever. I wanted to reach over and kiss her, but I didn’t think she’d understand the reason for it.

  “It will all be over in two weeks. I promise.”

  “I think it would be better if—” Indecision slowed her. Almost involuntarily, she nodded. “Okay.”

  It was said so softly I almost didn’t hear it. She tried working a weak smile onto her face, but it just wouldn’t stick. “Johnny,” she said, “I’m sorry if I—”

  I held up my hand to stop her. “You’ve got every right to be angry with me. There’s just no excuse for the mistake I made. But, darling, I promise it won’t happen again.”

  The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “I believe you.” She fumbled a little with her pocketbook. “I’ve got to go to class. I’m late as it is.”

  Keeping her eyes glued to the ground, she headed towards the door. When she got there, she glanced over at me. For a second I thought she was going to say something, and I think she did too, but she left without saying a word.

  At first I couldn’t think of anything, and then all of a sudden I started daydreaming about fishing. It’s funny. Fishing is something I’ve never done but always wanted to. I wondered how it would feel to do nothing more than float on a crystal clear lake, the only struggle being the one with your fishing pole. No worries trying to pull your nerves apart. I wondered if the last was
possible.

  Even though I tried to keep my thoughts on fishing, they drifted back to my childhood. To my momma, and poppa. And then to people I met later in my life. Walt Murphy. Rose.

  The waitress planted herself in front of me, hands on hips, and snarled, “Hey, look. You bought some coffee, not the table. You gonna stay here all day?”

  I looked up at her. I tried to smile, I really did, but the way she jumped back, I doubt if it came out that way. She mumbled something, but her words died before they got to me. She looked as if she’d fall over if I so much as snapped my fingers. For the hell of it I snapped them, but all she did was stumble as she walked away.

  It didn’t look as if I had any choice but to talk with Rose, and I wasn’t looking forward to it. Last time I met with her she promised to give me a shotgun enema if she ever saw me again. Maybe those weren’t her exact words, but that was the gist of it.

  And I had no reason to doubt she meant it.

  Chapter 17

  I took the first plane I could to Oklahoma City. It was almost twenty years since I’d last talked with Rose, and I tried to play that occasion back in my mind.

  It all seemed pretty distant at first, but slowly I began to remember how it was that time when Rose came to see me. It was about a month after her husband died. I had tried explaining how things stood but she wouldn’t listen.

  “Rosie, you know we can’t keep seeing each other. Don’t you think it would look damn funny after what happened? How long do you think it would take them to put a rope around my neck?”

  “Why can’t we just pack up and leave Denver? We can start over someplace else, Johnny, someplace no one knows us. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  I had tried telling her over the phone how things had changed. I had talked myself blue in the face telling her what the situation was. She should have been able to see how it had to be. She should have thanked her maker I didn’t crack her thick skull open that day. How difficult was it to understand? The press had eaten up the whole crazy business and I was a hero, and people want to hire heroes.