I took a shower, dressed, put my overcoat on, and was out the door by seven. I stopped at a diner and had myself a breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes and potatoes. The waitress seemed surprised at how much I was putting away, and when I asked for another plate of pancakes she shook her head in amazement.
“How can you eat so much and not show it?” she asked.
“You know what they say,” I said between bites. “Breakfast’s the most important meal of the day, and if you got a lot to do you better start it off right.”
“I guess you’re planning on being busy all day long,” she said, laughing. “And probably all night too.”
I wasn’t about to disagree with her. After lingering a little over my third coffee refill, I hit the road, driving towards the mountains. It was almost an hour before I found what I was looking for. Off the side of the road was a large rock, large enough to hide a bus. I maneuvered the car behind it, and then walked back to the road to see how good a job I’d done.
There was no sign of the car. The only way someone would see it was if they left the road and searched for it.
I set off on foot down the mountain, keeping my thumb out. After an hour, a pickup truck stopped and gave me a ride. I explained that my car had broken down and I needed to get to Denver for an important business meeting.
“That’s funny,” the driver said, giving me a puzzled look. “I don’t remember seeing a car broken down on the road.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Well,” he hesitated, “in any case I’d be glad to help you out. I’m going there anyway.”
I settled into the passenger seat. At first my mind just drifted along with the road. Eventually I started thinking about Mary. To be honest, I must’ve known from the start she was my own flesh and blood. Maybe it took a while for me to admit it to myself, but I must have known. That had to be why I was willing to take her case for just about nothing—and fifty dollars a day plus paying for my own expenses is as close to nothing as you can get. No matter how much I’d tried kidding myself, there was only one way to make sure Mary never found out about Rose.
I never had any choice.
My poppa, Walt Murphy, the others—I never had any choice about any of it.
About any of them.
As we drove, my companion couldn’t keep from chattering about this and that, and his small talk pricked me worse than needles. I looked at him and wondered if one more would make any difference. It would be easy enough. If I carried his body a few hundred yards from the road, it would probably be months before they found him. If they ever found him at all.
I gave him a hard look. He was an annoying, dull-eyed man who didn’t know enough to shut up and leave a guy in peace. But I guess I didn’t feel like moving. Even blinking my eyes seemed too big an effort. Both the passenger and driver windows were open, and the wind was hitting me hard in the face. All I wanted to do was sit back and think about Mary.
I closed my eyes and felt like I was falling. For miles and miles. As if I’d jumped from an airplane. And it was a long way before I was going to hit the ground. I couldn’t see it, and I couldn’t see any reason to worry about it. No reason to do anything but sit back and enjoy the ride.
And I had a hell of a time.
Chapter 26
Bert Debbles’ room was more of an oversized closet than anything else, but I guess you can’t expect much for seven bucks a night. A narrow cot was wedged up against a windowless wall. The only other furniture was a small stained wooden chair and a tiny three-drawer dresser. The walls were bare, unless you wanted to count the water stains or the cracks. A single bulb hung from the ceiling.
I had been wrong about the lock, though; you probably could’ve picked up a dozen of them for five dollars. And I was also wrong about needing a screwdriver; a breadstick would’ve done the trick. Anyway, as it was, I had gotten into the room without breaking stride from my walk down the hallway.
I took my overcoat off, folded it on the chair and got to work. Aside from the furniture, there was a quart-sized bottle of gin beside the bed, and dirty clothing scattered about the floor. I went through the dresser drawers and found nothing but a bible and some clothes. Under the bed was a tattered cloth suitcase.
I pulled it out and opened it. Tucked under a pile of socks was an envelope, which had scribbled on the outside—
If anything happens to me give this to the police—Bertram Debbles. I ripped the envelope open and a key fell out.
It was a locker key from the Denver Bus Terminal. No more than what I was expecting. The old man was too greedy to risk sharing his secret with anyone, and was too cheap to spend any money on a real safety deposit box. I knew the old man because I knew my poppa, and there wasn’t much difference between them.
I held the key in my hand, and started laughing. It was just so damn pitiful. A bus terminal locker key was how he’d planned to protect his miserable existence. He should’ve sprung for the real thing.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and sat down. It was twelve thirty, and by now Bert Debbles would be working himself into a fit. He’d be sitting in Charlie’s Silver Dollar Bar, probably facing the door, and thinking every evil thought imaginable about me. He’d be wanting to get up and leave, but too afraid he’d miss me.
I imagined what his face looked like—all chalky white with rage and his eyes dumb with indecision. His jowls were probably quivering—half from indignation and the other half from the shakes that were sure to be running through him. I started laughing again. Well Bert, I thought, just be a little patient and you’ll be finding me. Thinking about what he’d find made me laugh even harder.
The doorknob turned. I wasn’t expecting him to give up on me for another few hours, and wondered how badly I’d misjudged him.
Still, I reached for the bottle of gin. Holding it by the neck, I slapped it against my open palm. It would do for what I had planned. I stood up and forced a smile, all ready to greet Bert Debbles. Except it wasn’t Bert Debbles. No, that would’ve been too damn easy. Fate wasn’t about to be that kind. Standing in the open doorway was Marge.
My head was reeling. “What are you doing—”
“Where is she, you crumb?”
I walked past her and closed the door. “What are you talking about?”
She looked surprised that I was alone. “I thought you had a girl in here.” Standing in the middle of the room, she looked unsure of herself and it made her seem so small. “That was a rotten thing you did to me. Why did you do it, Johnny?”
I had turned away from her and had my forehead resting against the door, trying somehow to keep my head from spinning off my neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She laughed. I guess she had to laugh or cry, and she was probably sick of crying. “I waited at the restaurant for three hours. I had to wire my mom for money to pay the hotel bill and get a ticket home.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know if I can ever forgive you,” she said. “Look at me!”
I faced her. “The hotel didn’t give you my message?”
She shook her head, confused. “What message?”
“I don’t believe this!” I said. “There was an emergency with a case I’m working on and I had to fly home. I left your plane ticket at the front desk. I also paid for the room for the rest of the week and left you spending money. The hotel clerk assured me you’d get my message.”
“No one told me anything. I-I thought—”
“I should’ve known better,” I said, compressing my lips into a tight frown. “I guess I should’ve went back to the restaurant but I had only twenty minutes to catch my plane, and a man’s life was at stake.”
It was a pretty sappy story and you would’ve needed rocks in your head to buy it. Marge certainly wasn’t lacking anything between her ears, but I guess if you want to believe something bad enough you’ll find a way.
“I-I didn’t realize, Johnny. I guess it’s
all pretty funny if you think about it, huh?”
She tried smiling, and it was the saddest effort I’d ever seen. “We’ll look back and laugh someday,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was going to your office to see you, and I saw you leaving. I guess I followed you.”
“You just happened to be there when I was leaving?”
“Maybe not,” she smiled, guiltily. “I guess I was waiting across the street. I thought you dumped me in Mexico for another woman and I wanted to see who she was. Don’t be mad at me. I had a right to think like that after what I’d been through.”
“No, honey. I’m not mad and there’s no other woman.” I laughed, and kept it up until my stomach ached. She joined me.
“I stood outside this door for over ten minutes trying to decide what to do,” she said, her laughter giving way to tears. “I was about to walk away, but when I heard you start laughing I was sure you were in here with another woman. I had to open the door.”
“I’m glad you did, honey. It gave us the chance to clear the air.” I don’t know why I was kidding her. I had no choice about what I had to do. I had to take care of Bert Debbles today while he was still in Colorado. Once he was back in Nevada he’d be off-limits. I couldn’t risk going back home to Carson City to deal with him.
I wished Marge had never followed me. I’d have given just about anything to have her still stranded in Mexico. At least she’d be safe. But I guess if she had to have followed me here, I should be thankful she’d opened the door instead of walking away. Otherwise she’d be able to make the connection between me and Bert Debbles when she read about him in the papers tomorrow. Now though, she was not going to have that chance.
Marge took an awkward step towards me. “I’ve been feeling so bad, Johnny. Please hold me.” She buried her head into my chest and started bawling like a baby.
I lifted her head and gave her a long hard kiss. A kiss goodbye. During it she sobbed and laughed and held me as tight as she could.
“I love you, Johnny.”
“I know you do, baby.”
“It probably sounds crazy after all the grief you gave me in Mexico, but I’m miserable without you.”
“It doesn’t sound crazy at all.”
“I don’t want to live without you, Johnny. Let me spend the rest of my life with you. Promise me that, please.”
“You’ve got a promise, baby.”
She buried her head hard into my chest again, and I stood silently holding her, feeling the warmth of her small body. She pulled away from me weakly, and gave me a sad smile. “Let’s get out of here and go someplace nice. Okay, Johnny?”
“Soon. Not right now, baby. Let’s just hold each other a little bit longer.”
She pushed herself back into me. “Johnny, this might sound funny, but when I first came into this room you had such a strange look on your face. Like you were going to kill someone. It scared me.”
“You’re right, baby. It does sound funny.
She chewed on that for a minute. “Johnny?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Is anything wrong?”
“Now why should anything be wrong?”
“I don’t know. It’s just that when I was following you here, you seemed kind of odd. Are you sure you’re not in any trouble?”
“No trouble at all.”
“Why are you wearing those gloves?”
“Well you see, darling,” I said, “I put them on before entering the building so I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints.”
“Come on,” she sort of laughed. “What are you doing here?”
“I have to kill someone. I’m going to bash his brains out with that gin bottle.”
“Quit kidding me. Really, why are you here?”
“Okay, baby,” I said, stepping back. “It’s kind of like this.” I cocked my arm and threw my weight forward, catching her smack in the middle of her face. Her head snapped back and she hit the floor hard. She sat there blinking her eyes stupidly. Somehow she got to her feet and stood wobbling in front of me.
“Sorry, baby,” I said. “But I got to do what I got to do.”
“Joddy,” she said—and I’m not trying to make fun of her. Anyone with a flattened nose and a mouthful of blood would sound like that, and well, that’s the way she sounded and that’s the way I’m telling it. “Please Joddy, I g-gluv you. Dod J-Joddy.”
She took a step towards me. “Oh baby,” I said. “I love you too, honey.” I reached back and gave her an uppercut to the chin, lifting her feet off the ground. Before they came down, I followed up with a one-two combination, catching one eye with a left jab and the other with a haymaker. The haymaker drove her to the floor.
She was lying on her stomach. Somehow she lifted her head. Both her eyes, almost swollen shut, were open to cracks and pleading with me. Her mouth was moving, as if she were trying to say something. I knew what it was—”love you always.” Something inside me must’ve snapped because I started laughing like a crazy man.
“Don’t you never stop.” I bent down over her. “Remember our first night how your neck got so stiff? Let me fix it for you.” I grabbed her head with both hands and twisted, putting my shoulder into it.
CR-RACK
“Sorry darling,” I said, falling down beside her. “Must’ve twisted a little too hard.”
I sat there laughing until I was empty inside, until there was nothing more to let out. Marge didn’t look too good anymore. Her head resembled a battered pumpkin more than anything else. And even though she was on her stomach, she was nearly facing the ceiling.
“You can see them coming and going, can’t you baby?” I stood up and sat on the bed. “I kept my promise. You can’t say you didn’t get to spend the rest of your life with me.”
I talked with her a little longer, explaining how I did the only thing I could to keep my promise. She couldn’t hear me but I was sure she understood. I closed my eyes and tried to think things through.
It was supposed to be just an old gin rummy who got rolled a little too hard for his pocket change. In flophouses like this, broken-down drunks like Bert Debbles regularly get conked over the head for nothing more than a bottle of cheap hooch. The cops wouldn’t be too concerned about it. Just another body for the pauper’s grave, and another drunk off the streets. Bert Debbles wouldn’t be worth their effort.
Marge changed things, though. A beautiful girl like her found dead with Bert Debbles’ corpse would cause a stir.
I tried to think how it could be explained, how it could make sense. I racked my brains, and all I could come up with was it didn’t make any sense at all. I guess there are things in this world that are unexplainable, and her death would be one of them. The cops would have to accept it.
Marge kept me company while I waited for Bert Debbles. It turned out I had him sized up pretty well. At three thirty I heard a key turn in the door. Whoever it was stopped, wondering why the door was already unlocked. That’s right old man, I thought. You must’ve forgot to lock it. Come on in and say hello.
The door opened and Bert Debbles stepped in. I smiled to greet him, swinging the gin bottle against my leg.
Debbles jumped when he saw me, and then his face folded into an ugly frown. “You think I’m afraid of the likes of you? You don’t scare me none you little—” And then he caught sight of Marge.
It took a few seconds for him to comprehend why her head was facing the way it was, and when it hit him his mouth formed a tiny circle and he started making the most godawful noise. Like he was imitating a train.
He turned and headed towards the door, still making his wooing noise. I jumped over Marge’s body and reached past him, shoving the door shut. I spun him around and showed him his gin bottle.
“You shouldn’t be drinking this stuff, old man,” I said. “It will kill you.”
I brought the bottle down against the side of his head and he hit the floor like a sack of guts.
He was still conscious. I
prodded him with my boot, and he curled into a ball, his eyes rolling with terror as they stared at me. I crouched next to him and could hear he was still making that wooing noise. It now sounded more like a broken-down garbage disposal than a train. Or maybe it still sounded like a train, but one that was running out of steam.
I started telling him about my poppa. I told him everything, and after a while the two of us started feeling close ourselves. Kind of like father and son. Maybe I got mixed up, and at times confused him for my real poppa. I asked him some awful crazy things, like why he had treated me so poorly, and why couldn’t he have been proud of me. Well, it was only natural, him being so much like Poppa, and anyways, he didn’t complain. Saying all those things out loud made me think about them. And thinking about them—thinking about what I’d suffered through as a child, well, it just didn’t seem possible. At least it didn’t seem possible they could’ve happened to me. Because no one could’ve lived through that and grown up normal. No one could’ve . . . .
The old man closed his eyes tight and moaned like a dog in heat. I stood up and looked down at him.
“What’s the matter, old man?” I asked. “The booze go to your head?”
I smashed his skull in.
After that I unscrewed the top from the gin bottle and took a swallow. I almost spat it out; straight kerosene would’ve tasted better.
“Old man,” I told him. “If I didn’t do it this cow piss of yours would’ve.” I took another swig and put the bottle down. It was supposed to look like a robbery, the way I’d planned it. Marge made it something else, but I couldn’t worry about it now. I emptied out his pockets and came up with twelve crumpled dollars and some loose change. No wonder he was so anxious to wrap things up; another day and he would’ve had to find cheaper lodgings.
Since it was supposed to be a robbery, I emptied Marge’s pocketbook, and along with some money, found an envelope addressed to me. I shoved it into my pocket. I felt kind of uneasy leaving her alone with a man like Bert Debbles, but I didn’t figure any harm could come of it. I moved his leg so it wasn’t touching her.
Fast Lane Page 17