Fast Lane

by Dave Zeltserman

  “So that’s it, huh?” I asked.

  “So that’s what?” he asked right back, playing dumb.

  “You went behind my back and . . . .” And if he didn’t wipe that grin off his face I was going to do it for him!

  “I still don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he said, still playing dumb, still grinning from ear to ear.

  “I think you do. I’m disappointed in you, Max. I thought we were friends. I thought you appreciated all I’ve done for you, making you just about a partner and all. But, well, if you’re going to show it by sneaking behind my back, well, I’m just disappointed.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s much you could say, after what you’ve done.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Johnny. I didn’t sneak behind your back, though. Mary wasn’t happy with the way you were doing the job so she hired me.”

  “I got to disagree with you.” I stared at him, my eyes starting to water from the unfairness of it. From the underhandedness and disloyalty and treachery. I turned away from him, choking back the pain. “I don’t think we can do business anymore. I think you better leave while you still can.”

  “If that’s the way you feel, okay. I still need to talk with you.”

  “About what?”

  “I’d like to know what you found out about Mary’s case. I’m still working for her, and maybe you have some information that can help me.”

  I shook my head. “Max,” I said, sadly. “You shouldn’t have treated me like that, because you didn’t get anything from it. Or maybe you got exactly what you deserved. You don’t have a case anymore. Your client’s dead.”

  “Is that so?”

  “She committed suicide. She put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. Eddie Braggs, the editor at the Examiner, just told me.”

  “I didn’t know she was dead, though,” he said. “I just came back from Denver Memorial and she was doing fine. I think you must have misunderstood.”

  I sat back in my chair. A coolness made me lightheaded. “She’s in a coma,” he said, pursing his lips. “But the doctors think she’ll be coming out of it any day now. It’s remarkable, it really is, Johnny. She was shot in the head, right by the temple, and the doctors think she’ll make a full recovery. She’ll be able to tell us what happened.”

  I could hardly believe it. It did something to me—took kind of a weight off my heart. Because, after all, she was my own flesh and blood, and she was going to have a second chance. I was so choked up hearing it, I almost started bawling. “That’s wonderful,” I gushed, fighting to keep the tears held back. “She’s such a sweet kid. I hated to think of her dead.”

  He stopped grinning, completely. There was something in the way he was looking at me, like he was disappointed. Disappointed that I’d feel glad for Mary. That I’d want her to be okay. But, how could she be? I saw the hole in her head. I saw her brains leaking from it. At least, I was pretty sure I did.

  Anyway, having Max look at me that way made me sore. I realized why he’d been grinning before. I understood what he was trying to do. I felt the blood pushing into my head. I could feel the hotness of it. I shoved my hands in my pockets, hoping they’d stay there. Hoping I could keep from tearing that heartless son of a bitch apart.

  “She’ll be okay.” He nodded, still staring at me. “The doctors think she’ll be coming out of the coma any time now. Well, I—”

  “What did you come here for?”

  He tried bringing back his grin, but couldn’t. “I-I th-thought you could help me. According to her adoption records, she came from an Oklahoma City hospital. Mary told me you went out there and didn’t find anything?”

  “Yes sir,” I said. “Why don’t you give it a try and see if you have any better luck.”

  I almost laughed out loud thinking about it, because there was nothing for him to find. Even if he met up with Rose, she wasn’t going to say anything to him. How could she? She’d have a tough time saying much of anything the way her tongue had swollen up. When I left her, it was thicker than one of those store-bought salamis. Anyway, he’d have to dig her up to find her, and six feet is a lot of digging.

  “I guess I’ll have to,” he muttered. “I should probably wait until I can talk to her before going. I don’t know if it would be right charging up expenses otherwise.”

  “I guess that’s reasonable.” I could see how he’d feel that way. If she didn’t pull through, he’d have to eat the expenses himself.

  He tried smiling. “There’s really no reason for you to be mad at me, Johnny. Anyone else would’ve done the same.”

  “I don’t know if I see it that way,” I said. “You let me down, Max. I really don’t see how I could forgive you. But it’s nice to hear you’re able to get cases on your own. You know you’re not going to get any more from me.”

  “Johnny, I’m sorry, I’d be will—”

  “Don’t even bother saying it,” I cut him off. “Have yourself a nice life. Say hello to the wife and boys for me.”

  He stood up, holding his stomach and looking like he was going to let out with a belch. “Well, er . . . .” He started to reach out his hand to me, had enough sense to realize how ridiculous it looked, and pulled his hand back.

  I turned away from him and started studying an old case report. I heard a loud belching noise, and then the door closed shut. I put the report down and tried to think things through.

  It didn’t make any sense for Mary to be alive. I saw what the bullet did to her. I saw the hole in her skull. I saw her brains. She shouldn’t have been able to survive that. But, well, the world’s an awful funny place. Things just don’t always make sense. Anyway, Mary was alive. When I first heard the news, I hadn’t realized what it meant. I hadn’t realized what I was going to have to do.

  Of course it’s possible she wouldn’t remember a thing when she came out of her coma, but how could I risk it? What if she remembered everything? Even if I fled to South America, I would have to live knowing she knew and I just didn’t see how I could do that. I couldn’t live with my only daughter thinking ill of me. Thinking I’d try to hurt her.

  Oh Lord, I knew what I had to do—and it was so hard killing her the first time. Why are you making me do it again?

  Chapter 32

  When I called Denver Memorial to find out which room Mary was in, the receptionist seemed taken aback, as if I was asking something unusual. She left me hanging for five minutes before she returned and gave me the room number. Well, there was nothing unusual about my call (but why did she sound so nervous?). If you want to send someone flowers, you want to know what room to send them to, right? (If your only daughter’s lying critically wounded in a hospital, wouldn’t you at least send flowers?) Anyway, I had to find out her room number and I couldn’t go there and ask.

  I didn’t want to head over to the hospital right away. I wasn’t ready yet, so to kill time I walked over to the Corner Diner. Before going in, I peered through the window and saw that Carol was working the counter. I walked in and gave her a wink.

  She tried smiling, but couldn’t hold onto it. She came over and gave me a timid look. “Hi there, Johnny. I want to apologize for some of the things I said the other day.”

  “I guess I should too,” I said. “Why don’t we just forget it?”

  She dawdled with her dishrag, spending more time than she needed mopping up in front of me. “You know”—she hesitated—”you take me for granted.”

  “I guess sometimes I do. I apologize for that too.”

  “You always come in here expecting me to cheer you up.”

  “You almost always do a good job of it.”

  “I don’t mind doing it, Johnny. I like making a fuss over you. Sometimes though, I wish you’d feel a little more about me like I feel about you.”

  I gave her a slow look, up and down. Carol was nothing to sneeze at. A cute little thing, all fit snug and tight into he
r size four uniform. She was blushing a bright red, which offset her blue eyes and blond bobbed hair nicely. Looking at her made me smile, my first genuine smile in days.

  “You want to make a guess how I feel about you?”

  She pouted. “You always treat me like I’m your sister!”

  “It could be that I’m just shy.” Or that I really did like her and was afraid it would end up the way it always ends up. The way it always has to end up.

  “I never took you as the shy type.”

  She was still blushing and it still looked nice on her. I wondered how bright she’d blush if we were alone together. Or whether she would be blushing all over her body. We chatted some more, and I asked what time she got off. Well, not until eleven. Did she have any plans? Not really, just going on home to bed. Would she like to go out for a drink? Well . . . sure!

  We arranged for me to pick her up after work. I held her hand while she was standing across from me. It was really just a school kid type of thing to do, but it felt nice. It made me start thinking that maybe this time could be different. And it was funny, but during it all I had forgotten about Mary. About what needed to be done. And then I remembered.

  “Ow!” She tried to jerk her hand away.

  I stared up at her dumbly, and then realized I had her hand in mine. And my knuckles were squeezed white. I let go.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” I tried explaining, the words rushing out of me. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Please believe me.” And then I stared up, confused, because it took me a while before I realized she wasn’t Mary.

  “I guess I’m okay,” She had her hand up against her mouth, sucking where I’d hurt her. “You just surprised me. What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I started thinking about a case that I’ve been struggling with. I guess sometimes I get too caught up in my work.”

  She reached over and rested her hand on mine, giving me a little squeeze. And then she gave me one of the prettiest smiles I ever saw. “I’ll just have to keep your mind off work then.”

  We talked some more and she made sure I knew that the incident was forgotten. Hell, as far as she was concerned, it never happened. I didn’t want to leave her, but I had no choice. I told her I’d be back later to pick her up, and she brushed her lips against my cheek before she turned away, blushing.

  I was whistling to myself when I got in my car. She’d had her chance to stick the old needle in and she passed it up. It looked like my string of hard luck with the gals was changing. I guess that’s all I ever had before. I guess I always ended up with the wrong type—the type who never left me any choice about how things had to be.

  None of the others could ever pass up the needle. That’s why it always ended up the way it did. They couldn’t keep from saying those things to me. Or looking at me that way. You must know that look. The one where they drop their jaw, and as they’re gaping at you, their lips twist just enough into a sneer to make you feel lower than a chicken turd. And you’d do anything to stop it.

  Some of you are probably thinking that Marge never did those things. Well, maybe not, but if I’d given her enough time, she would’ve been like all the rest. Even my own daughter . . . .

  Mary gave me that look the split second before I pulled the trigger. I could still see it. I-I couldn’t keep from seeing it.

  I stopped the car. I had to do something before the shaking made me crash. I went into a bar across the street, hoping a few drinks would calm me down and stop the pounding in my head.

  I tried thinking about Max and Eddie (anything to block out Mary and that look). I tried figuring why they’d acted so screwy. I guess I understood. Eddie probably was just ribbing me more than anything else. Max spoon-fed him a bunch of stories, and well, maybe none of them made any sense but that wouldn’t stop Eddie from jerking me around. He had nothing to lose, and besides, he was just having fun.

  Max was about as easy to understand. He must have figured I was stringing him along. He wanted to get back at me any way he could. It didn’t have to make any sense—he’d find a way of believing it. That was all of it.

  The drinks helped clear my head. I paid the bartender and headed out. I drove to the hospital and parked a block away.

  * * * * *

  When I got to Mary’s room, I opened the door and peered in. It was dark, but I could make out her outline. She was hooked up to about a half-dozen machines, all of them blinking and humming along. I stepped into the room, closing the door quickly behind me. I left the lights off.

  Seeing her lying there did something to me. It brought back all those memories I’d had as a child when I was in the hospital. About being safe. And I knew right then I couldn’t hurt her. I don’t know why they had to say I was going to smother her, because I wasn’t. I was just going to kiss her, and I guess my hands must’ve slipped and maybe it looked like I was grabbing that pillow, but all I was doing was reaching down to kiss her goodbye when the lights turned on.

  I froze. There was no one in the bed. What I thought was Mary was only some pillows stuck under a blanket. I spun around and saw Max Roth and Bill Haggerty standing by the doorway. Max was grinning like a cat, and Bill had his service revolver out, pointed at me.

  Max said, “Hello, Johnny. I don’t know if you’ve met Bill Haggerty. He’s been working out of homicide.”

  Bill shook his head grimly. “That’s all right, we know each other.”

  “It looks like you’re too late, Johnny,” Max said. “She’s already dead. She died after you blew her brains out. When she hired me she told me about Jerry Bry.”

  All I could do was stare.

  “When the police found Mary,” he explained, “they found my business card in her pocketbook. After they talked with me, I went straight to Eddie Braggs. I told him everything. About how you told Mary that Jerry Bry was her father, about how he tried raping her, and how you blackmail your clients—”

  “That’s a damn lie!”

  “Maybe it is.” He stroked his chin, thinking. “In any case, how you blackmail their spouses.”

  “I have to disagree with you—”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is when I was talking with Eddie, he got a story over the wire about Jerry Bry. About how the gun was the same one that killed Mary. At first I thought maybe it was a murder-suicide. Maybe she tried seeing Bry again and things got out of hand. But Mary wouldn’t have done that. She had her head screwed on straighter than any kid I ever met. She knew Bry wasn’t her father and she didn’t care about him. She wouldn’t have gone to see him. And there was no reason for her to have a gun.”

  He waited for me to say something, but I couldn’t. There had to be an explanation. I just had to think hard enough . . . .

  He got tired of waiting. “Eddie got on the phone and called Joyce Bry and guess what? Joyce was a regular client of yours. Always hiring you to find out if her husband was cheating on her. And he never did, did he, Johnny?”

  I shook my head slowly. I couldn’t keep from doing it.

  “If you ask me,” he continued, “it sounded funny, you thinking Bry was her father, but you always telling Joyce Bry that her husband was clean as a whistle. Eddie Braggs found it all pretty funny too. He agreed to hold the stories for a few days. I guess you don’t read any other paper except the Examiner. If you did you’d know Mary was dead. You wouldn’t have come here, would you? Bill, would you mind if I use the phone?”

  Bill shook his head. Max got on the phone and he looked happier than a kid locked in a candy store. “That’s right, happened just as we planned . . . .Yep, he’s right here, looking pretty sick if you ask me . . . . So you’re going to run the headline? . . . . Mind if I show it to him? . . . . Talk to you later, Eddie.”

  He hung up the phone. He reached into his jacket pocket and unfolded part of a newspaper. “I’ve got an advance copy of tomorrow’s Examiner,” he said. “You might like to see it.”

 
; He handed me the paper, and on the front page was my picture alongside one of Mary and one of Bry. The headline was ‘JOHNNY LANE CAUGHT RED-HANDED IN DOUBLE MURDER’. Everything Max had told me was in it. They didn’t know how I did it, though. Nor was there any evidence, no real evidence that is. Just a bunch of wild guesses. I handed the paper back to Max, smiling as I did. They didn’t have a damn thing. Nothing they could prove.

  “It really is better for you that you came here, Johnny,” Max said, hesitating a little. “This way it will be faster for you. If you hadn’t come, the Examiner would have started running stories about you blackmailing your clients, and—”

  I cut him off. “Max.” I shook my head like I was talking to a child. “You don’t really believe any of this, do you?”

  “Every word of it.” But there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

  Bill was standing quietly, soaking everything in. I guess he’d had enough. “Alright, Max,” he said softly. “Move aside. Sorry, Johnny, but I’m going to have to put the cuffs on. Would you mind facing the wall?”

  “Bill,” I tried explaining, “they don’t have anything. Just hearsay and wild stories. There’s not one damn bit of evidence. I’m going to sue the hell out of the Examiner. They’ll be paying for my retirement. He”—I jerked a thumb towards Max—”doesn’t have a damn thing to lose. But you got a pension coming up. You don’t want to lose that, do you? Not over something this crazy?”

  “I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.” He spun me around and pushed me against the wall. “Anyway, it just don’t seem all that crazy to me, not after you coming here the way you did. Sneaking in the dark and picking up the pillow like you were going to smother someone. Be a nice fellow and put your hands behind your back.”

  I had to get him to understand the mistake he was making. “I didn’t turn on the lights because Roth told me Mary was lying here sick and I didn’t want the bright lights to disturb her. I was just reaching down to feel her forehead, you know, see if she was okay. I-I g-guess I slipped, and maybe it looked like I was grabbing the pillow. But I wasn’t. You don’t believe any of this nonsense, do you?”