Fast Lane

by Dave Zeltserman

  As I was reaching for my overcoat I noticed my glove was stained with blood. Looking over my clothes I realized I was soaked in it. I guess I’d been aware of the wet stickiness, but thought it was sweat.

  I pulled a sheet from the cot and wiped myself off. Providence must’ve been looking out for me; I had worn my overcoat to keep from being recognized. I didn’t count on needing it to hide my soiled clothing.

  I put it on and listened by the door and heard only dead silence. I opened the door a crack and made sure the hallway was clear. After nodding farewell to Marge, I out of the room and closed the door behind me. At the end of the hallway was a common bathroom. I gave a quick look inside, saw it was empty and walked in.

  I guess I let loose with sort of a giggle when I saw my reflection. I looked like hell. My hair was matted with dirt and sweat, and was pulled every which way like a clown’s wig. Red speckles dotted my face, as if I’d spent the day painting.

  I bent over the sink and scrubbed the blood off my face. After wetting my hair, I combed it back. With the overcoat off, it looked like I had slipped and rolled about the floor of a slaughterhouse. With it buttoned up, though, I could’ve been heading to the opera.

  Of course, I wasn’t going to any opera. I opened a window and got onto the fire escape, and then climbed down to the alley below.

  Chapter 27

  I keep a change of clothing in my office. As soon as I got there I used it. I crumpled my soiled clothing into a ball and shoved it behind one of the file cabinets. When I had time I’d dispose of the clothing, but for now it would be safe where it was.

  It was six o’clock, and I didn’t have long before I had to find Mary. If I hurried I could grab a quick dinner. I slipped the overcoat back on and put my hand against its inside pocket, feeling the weight of the thirty-two caliber revolver.

  * * * * *

  Mary was working at the convenience store. From across the street I could see her plainly. She looked a little haggard, which was understandable considering the load she was carrying.

  A kid in the store was thumbing through magazines and scratching his armpits. I waited outside until he left—until Mary was alone.

  “Hello, Mary,” I said to greet her as I walked into the store.

  “Johnny, what are you doing here?”

  “I need to talk with you.”

  Her brow furrowed and her bottom lip pushed out as she tried to make up her mind about something. I don’t think she ever looked more beautiful.

  “I tried calling you but you weren’t in,” she said. “We do need to talk, Johnny, I think—”

  “I’ve got good news,” I said, cutting her off. “I found them. Both your momma and daddy.”

  “My mother really is alive?”

  “That’s right, darling. She is.”

  “Tell me all about her.”

  “I will. I’ll tell you everything after we get in the car. Why don’t you get your things together.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve arranged for you to meet your daddy tonight.”

  “But I’m working until midnight.” She shook her head slowly. “I can’t just leave.”

  “Sure you can. Lock up, and we’ll leave right now. I don’t see too many folks dying to come in here.”

  “I have a responsibility, and—”

  “Mary.” I smiled, and it was a smile that would’ve warmed the cockles of any dead man’s heart. “We’ll be back in a few hours. No one will care.”

  “But—”

  “No, darling,” I said. “This is more important, isn’t it?”

  “I guess so.”

  “And besides, I’ve been up almost every night beating my head in trying to figure this thing out. You know why?”

  She bit her lip, and moved her head slightly from side to side. “Because, darling,” I said, smiling again, “I made you a promise. I don’t want to lose your respect. It would hurt too much.”

  “I do respect you.”

  “No you don’t.” I laughed softly. “And no one can blame you for that. I screwed up pretty bad before. I want to make it up to you, though.”

  “That’s wrong about my not respecting you. I—”

  “Darling, what were you needing to talk to me about?”

  “Nothing.” She blushed. “It’s not important now.”

  “You were going to fire me. I saw it in your eyes when I walked in here. And you’d have had every right in the world.”

  “It was only—”

  “You don’t have to explain,” I said. “Why don’t we get going?”

  She froze, unsure of what to do. Mostly, she wanted to go with me, but part of her was still holding back, clinging to her responsibilities.

  “Can’t we go tomorrow?”

  “Mary,” I said, “your daddy’s expecting us now.”

  Her eyes started misting up. “And my mother?”

  “She’s living in Oklahoma City. We’ll see her later, but tonight you get to meet your daddy.”

  That did it. I was offering her something she’d been waiting too long for. Whatever fence she was sitting on gave way. “Okay,” she agreed, wiping some wetness from her eyes. “Just give me a minute to lock up.” As she turned away she did a double take.

  “Johnny,” she said, “what happened to your forehead?”

  “Cut myself shaving. By the way, you’re going to have to drive. My car’s at the mechanics—engine problems. I had to take a taxi here.”

  Actually, I had walked—the full five miles from my office. I couldn’t take the chance of a cabbie remembering me. As far as the world was concerned, Mary and I never crossed paths tonight.

  “Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll be right with you.”

  She locked up the cash register, and did all the other necessary chores before setting the alarm and turning out the lights. I followed her out the door.

  “I hope I don’t get fired for this,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” I assured her.

  We got into her car, a rusted out Chevy Nova almost as old as she was. It took three tries before she got it started, and the sick gurgling it made started me worrying. One thing I hadn’t considered was her car breaking down. If that were to happen I’d be sunk. Everything would blow up in my face. I decided not to worry about it; I had gone too far already.

  “Where are we going?” Mary asked.

  “Now don’t get upset, but we need to stop off at Jerry Bry’s house first.”

  She stared, rigid, gaping at me. “He’s not my father!”

  “I know he’s not, but I have to talk with him.”

  “I’m not going there! I refuse!”

  “You don’t have to see him, darling. You can sit in the car and wait for me, but I need to verify some of my facts. I’m about ninety-nine percent sure I know who your parents are, but I think he can make it a hundred. And I don’t want to risk screwing up again. Trust me on this, please.”

  “Johnny, I’m not going in his house!”

  “You won’t have to. I only need to talk to him for five minutes and then we’ll go see your real daddy.”

  She made a face, but she put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. I could tell she wasn’t happy with the idea of driving to Bry’s house. Her knuckles were squeezed white from gripping the wheel, and her face looked just as pinched. And she was too mad to talk, at least right away.

  After a couple of miles, her body loosened up and she broke into a smile.

  “He’s a rotten bastard,” she said. “Could you do me a favor and punch him for me? After you get your information from him, of course.”

  I laughed. “For you darling, anything. Where do you want him to get it?”

  “Smack in the nose!”

  “As good as done.”

  She drove for about a minute thinking about it, and then smiled again. A nervous smile. “Johnny,” she said, “I was only kidding. You wouldn’t really do something like that?�
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  “No,” I said. “I’m afraid not. But I’d sure like to. More than you could guess.” And I would too, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave those types of marks. I guess it was tearing me up a little knowing I couldn’t deal with him the way I wanted to. I would have to settle for what I had planned.

  “Johnny, tell me about my parents.”

  “I will, baby. But after I talk with Bry.”

  “Please! I’ll pull over until you tell me!”

  “Won’t do you any good. This time there’ll be no screw ups, I promise.”

  “But—”

  “Please, Mary. It’ll just be a few minutes and then we’ll have a nice long talk. It will all be over soon enough.”

  We drove in silence the rest of the way. Mary was busting a gut to ask me questions, but she held them in. I guess she figured it wouldn’t do her any good, and she was right. I wasn’t going to budge. When the time was right I’d tell her everything she needed to know.

  We pulled in front of Bry’s house a little after eight. Mary sat rigid in her seat, her eyes staring straight ahead.

  “Can you hurry up?” she asked. “I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can. Just relax, okay?”

  I gave her a glance before turning away. Her face was wrecked with worry. In the shadow of the car it looked so white. So serious. So fragile.

  It tugged at my heart to see her like that. After all, she was my own flesh and blood, and I was proud of her. She was so damn beautiful, so damn determined. There was so damn much life in her.

  I took a step towards the car. I decided the hell with it—I’d tell her everything and let the chips fall where they will. Anyway, that’s what I was going to do and I probably would’ve if Bry hadn’t stumbled out of his house.

  “Hello, sweetheart!” he shouted as he weaved towards us. He was twenty feet away and I could smell the booze on him.

  “Johnny!” Mary screamed, her eyes flooded with murder. “Keep him away from me! I’ll drive away if he tries to come near me!” She turned the engine back on and floored the gas.

  Bry waved at us as he came closer. I ran up to meet him.

  “I’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart,” he shouted. “Come on—oof.”

  I had put my fist in his stomach and the color drained from his face. Before he could get his breath back, I had him by the elbow and was turning him around, walking him towards his house.

  “You stupid bastard,” he gasped. “What you do that for?”

  “I’ll tell you inside,” I said through clenched teeth. I gave him a push, and he lost his balance and tumbled over. I caught him by his collar and kept him on his feet.

  “What you hit me for?” he demanded. “I was just trying to do what you asked. Take your stinking hands off me!”

  “Shut up.” I tightened my grip on his collar. “I’ll explain when we get inside. I’m trying to save your goddamn neck.”

  We were a few feet from the door. I shoved him inside and followed him, closing the door behind me.

  “I oughta beat the crap outa you for doing that to me,” he said, a pout on his lips. Oh brother, I thought, you better flush that look off your face before it’s too late. That damn soft whining whimpering . . . .

  “I’m trying to do you a favor.” My voice sounded as if it was coming from an echo chamber. I closed my eyes, trying to shut off the red glaze coating my vision. It didn’t help. I prayed he’d shut up before it was too late. If he’d only keep his mouth shut—if he’d only keep me from seeing his face—there was still a chance. I could still walk out of there. Mary would be okay. If he’d just keep his damn mouth shut and not say a word and—

  “What the hell’s going on!” he demanded. “Why’s she sitting out there?” He pushed aside the curtains and peered out. “What a sweet looking girl. I could chew on her like a piece of candy.”

  He made a loud smacking noise with his lips. “What flavor candy you think she’d be? I bet she’d be cherry. Or have you been doing this to her?”

  Using his thumb and forefinger on one hand and the middle finger of his other, he made an obscene gesture and then broke out laughing.

  “Why don’t you go bring her in?” he asked. “You can leave the two of us alone. Maybe she can satisfy my sweet tooth.”

  I could still see him through the red haze. His dull fleshy face leering at me. Egging me on. Begging me for it. I took my gun out and showed it to him.

  “What’s going on?” he asked uneasily. He took a step away.

  “Shut up.” This time the words came out.

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “No?” I laughed. “I think it’s a gut buster. At least it’s going to be.”

  “You’re crazy—what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Me?” I shrugged. “Nothing. I’m not even here. What Mary’s going to do is another story. You two got into a little lover’s spat—over something stupid like what flavor horse manure you are. In a fit of disgust, she shot you dead.”

  “Are you nuts? You won’t get away with this.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “One of your neighbors will probably remember seeing Mary sitting in a car outside your house. And if she commits suicide later—over remorse for killing her lover—why would anyone argue with it? And hell, what else are the police going to think?”

  “My w-wife won’t believe—”

  “No? After sending her out of the house? Come on, she’ll know damn well you sent her out so you could screw Mary behind her back.”

  I laughed—a long hard one—and it triggered something inside him. His mouth twisted and there it was, his soft whining look.

  “You dirty bastard.” The words exploded from him. “Stinking filthy motherscrew—”

  I fired, hitting him below the hip. It spun him around like a top and he collapsed on all fours.

  For a second, he seemed paralyzed. Then, still on his hands and knees, he tried crawling away. I took aim and fired again, clearing away any hemorrhoids he might’ve had. His knees gave way under him and he fell flat on his stomach.

  He tilted his head to me. “Because,” I said. “Because the world’s just not fair. Because after all I’ve done for you, you had to thumb your nose at me—and think you were better than me. Because it was meant to be. It’s payback, and hell, who’s going to complain?”

  My second shot must’ve caused some internal damage. His head rolled to the side and he lay limp on the carpeted floor. I stood frozen over him, my hands squeezed into fists. I wanted to tear him apart. I wanted to pull him up and slap him until he was raw and bloody. I wanted to rip his guts out and stomp them down his throat. I wanted to . . . .

  I couldn’t do any of it. It had to look like a lover’s quarrel that turned tragic. A tiny thing like Mary couldn’t do the damage I wanted to do, and I knew if I started I wouldn’t be able to stop. I started sobbing because of the unfairness of it all.

  I remembered my promise. The one about his neck. I wiped the tears away, and took a step back. I aimed the gun and fired, and his head swung sideways, resting at a funny angle—the type only a broken neck could explain. I turned out the lights before I left.

  Mary was looking as if she’d seen a ghost. Her face was whiter than the half moon shining overhead and her eyes were blazing. I climbed in next to her.

  “It’s all taken care of,” I said. “I’m a hundred percent sure now.”

  “Johnny, what happened in there?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought I heard noises. Like gun shots.”

  I laughed. “The damn dope wouldn’t turn his television set off. He had some cop show on. But he gave me what I needed.”

  “Your eyes look red, as if you’ve been crying.”

  I laughed again. “Allergies. I got a bad reaction to something in there.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. “I want to talk to him.”

 
I was speechless. All I could do was stare at her.

  “While I was waiting for you, I did a lot of thinking. I want to know why he tried to—did that to me. Could you go in with me?”

  I couldn’t tell if she suspected something or if she genuinely wanted to talk to him. I shook my head. “No, baby. It’s a waste of time. Forget it.”

  “Well, anyway,” she mumbled. “I’ll be just a minute.” She started to get out of the car, and I reached for her and held her back.

  “You already know the answer, Mary. He’s a sick person. A cold, stinking son of a bitch. You won’t get anything out of talking to him. Let’s go do something positive. Let’s go see your daddy.”

  She hesitated, studying me out of the corner of her eye.

  I turned my smile up a notch. “He’s not worth the effort. Trust me.” She wavered a little, but sat back and turned the key in the ignition.

  I held my breath, waiting to see if it would start. Praying it wouldn’t. Because if it didn’t, I would have to walk away. I would have no choice.

  The engine revved right up.

  She gave me a weak smile. “I trust you, Johnny.”

  We drove for about an hour, with me giving directions. Along the way I told her about her parents. At least for the most part. I left out things she wouldn’t have understood, things that would’ve upset her. I didn’t tell her about Walt Murphy, or about my last visit with Rose. Or that I was her daddy.

  After a while I saw what I was looking for. I asked her to pull over. She gave me a puzzled look but didn’t argue. As she was parking the car, I slipped my hand into my overcoat. “Darling,” I said softly, “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” In the blink of an eye, the gun barrel was up against her temple, and then there was a dull pop—like a champagne cork being released. It all happened so fast, I almost didn’t realize it myself. I’m sure she never knew what hit her.

  She was slumped over, her head resting against the door. I took out a handkerchief and wiped off the gun. Still holding the gun with the handkerchief, I pressed it into her right hand, and let it dangle from her fingertips. I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then got out of the car, wiping off any fingerprints I might’ve left.