“Why would you help me?”
“Because I want to find out the truth of what happened. Why’d you kill her? Was it because of me?”
“You? No. I didn’t even know you.”
He looked down.
“I don’t want to tell.”
“Take another slug of the whiskey, Bill. Otherwise you’ll be talking to a cop. They don’t like people like you. They don’t like killers. You put those two together and the cops will make you bloody before you even get to the station. If you make it to the station.”
“I didn’t mean it, Mr. Ryder. You’ve got to believe me. I…”
He put his head down and started crying. I thought of a line the comedian George Burns used. “Sincerity is everything. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made.”
Wild Bill was either sincere or he did the best imitation of it I’d ever seen.
“Don’t shoot me, Mr. Ryder. I saw your wife around. She was beautiful. You know that.”
“So what?”
“So sometimes I came to that building. Maybe it was to deliver a package or to talk to Mr. Peters, the tenant upstairs in the back. He made bets with Frankie. He didn’t always pay. So while I was in the building I’d see here. I…Sometimes I waited outside waiting for her to come out. Sometimes I followed her when she went shopping. Like I say, I saw your wife a lot.”
The head went down again for a second. Then he raised it and said, “I just wanted to kiss her. I never kissed a beautiful woman. That’s it. I swear. I just wanted one little kiss from her. She wasn’t in Hollywood. She was close. So one day I bought a bouquet of roses. Okay, I stole them. Then I knocked on the door of your apartment. She opened it. I said I had a delivery for her and showed her the roses.
“I walked inside, and she said I should leave. I got really mad, Mr. Ryder. I got that close. I had roses for her and everything. So I left, and I took the roses with me. I gave them to some woman I passed on the street.”
“And then you went to get a shotgun?”
“My head was crazy, Mr. Ryder. I wasn’t thinking good. If she wouldn’t kiss me she didn’t deserve to live. That’s what my crazy mind thought. I got a shotgun from a guy I knew and I returned. I was still burning hot with anger. I know how to pick locks. It’s sometimes part of my job. I picked the lock and went inside. She was standing there. It was all over in a second. I shot her. Then I panicked. I dropped the shotgun next to her and just ran. I’ve never stopped running. I guess you’re going to shoot me now.”
“You turn yourself into the cops in the next hour or you’re going to wish you had never been born. I know how to hurt people, Bill.”
“I know you do, Mr. Ryder.”
“I’m walking you to the station. I want to watch you go inside.”
We didn’t talk as we walked.
We got there and Wild Bill went inside. I stayed outside to make sure he didn’t walk right back out when he thought I would be gone.
I saw a reporter I knew. I gave him a tip. He asked for a long interview about my career. I told him no, but if a story came up I’d give it to him exclusively. I told him to go inside and check about Wild Bill.
He was at the station for a half hour. Then he came out and said Bill had confessed and they were waiting for homicide to show up.
I thanked the reporter and started walking.
I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go or why I wanted to go anywhere.
It was just starting to get dark. The dusk drew me in, as though it was some shroud covering whatever remained of my soul.
I thought of Maggie watching that shotgun explode at her. I thought of the life we would never have.
I thought of two places to go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I went to the house where Mrs. Rosenbloom had lived. A man opened the door. He looked like his mother. Or at least his mother if she had a beard.
“Yes,” he said. I heard a tone of kindness in his voice.
“Hello, sir. I lived in the orphanage two blocks down when I was a boy. I knew the woman who used to live in this house, Mrs. Rosenbloom.”
The man nodded.
“I’m her son. How did you know her?”
“I fell off my bike. She brought me inside and made me feel better. Then I came back and she taught me. And she helped a lot of other people who were in trouble.”
“That was my mother all right.”
“I just wanted to tell you what a great mother you had,” I said. “I was an orphan, and she was almost a mother to me. You should know that.”
I saw a tear in his eye.
“Thank you. I think of my mother every single day.”
“You were so lucky that you had her as a mom.”
“I know.” He hesitated. “Would you like to come inside?”
“No thank you.”
I gave him a card with my last name and the diner’s number.
“If you need help of any kind, call this number and leave a message for me. Listen. I mean whatever you need, I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
We shook hands.
Then I walked the few blocks until I got to the orphanage.
I sat down on the step where I had found.
There was a streetlight not far away. The fog rolling in made the light shining through look eerie.
I just sat there thinking of the ways my life might have gone if the person who had left me on this step had decided to keep me instead.
I thought again of Maggie.
I felt no peace.
I felt nothing.
Then I got up to see if there were any people I could help.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lawrence J. Epstein served as an Advisor for two members of the United States Congress and two additional Congressional candidates. He is also a former English professor and the author of more than twenty books.
See his list of books on his Amazon Author Central Page:
https://authorcentral.amazon.com/gp/books
You can contact the author at: [email protected]. Please sign up for Lawrence J. Epstein’s mailing list to be among the first to know when his next book will be published: http://www.lawrencejepstein.com/list.
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