Dave Zeltserman - Fast Lane

When I got there, Mary was already waiting. She jumped up and fired a dozen questions at me.

I held out my hands. “Whoa. Take a seat and I’ll tell you everything.” We sat down. Or at least I did. Mary’s rear barely touched her chair. “I’m so nervous,” she said. “I want to know everything.”

“I know, Mary.” I smiled, or at least tried to. My head felt like an overripe melon, and a pain shot through it, jerking the smile right off my face.

“You really found my parents?”

I nodded. “Your mother died two months after you were born. That’s what made it so hard to find your records. You weren’t adopted as a newborn baby. Your daddy’s alive, though. Living right here in Denver.”

For a moment I thought she was going to break down, but she got a stiff upper lip and choked back the tears. “I always thought my mother was alive,” she said. “It’s hard to believe she isn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

She swallowed back whatever emotion was fighting its way loose and asked me to tell her about her father.

I told her about Jerry Bry. I told her he had a wife now who didn’t know about this. “He knows you want to contact him, but he’s afraid his wife will divorce him if she finds out about you.” I handed her one of his business cards. “He’d like you to call him at his office.”

She bit her lip. “How did you find him?”

“Well-” I said, and spun her quite a yarn. By the time I finished, I believed it myself. She sat there quietly, soaking it all in. All of a sudden, she reached over and kissed me on the cheek.

She looked at me for a few seconds, frowning slightly. “Johnny, you look terrible. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ve been working hard on this the last few days. Haven’t slept much.”

“Oh.” Concern was deepening her frown. She kissed me again. “Can I see you after I talk with my father?”

“Sure. Anytime.”

As she was leaving, she stopped at the door. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Don’t worry about me, honey. A little sleep and I’ll be as good as new.”

“Well, then-” She ran over to me and gave me a third kiss. This one on the mouth. “’Bye Johnny. Thank you for everything.”

I sat back, feeling better about things, although I still had to worry about Bry lousing things up. I swore to myself I’d break his neck if he did.

* * * * *

Later that morning Debra Singer called. She wanted to let me know that things were getting better with her. She was eating properly, and even claimed she was getting a little chubby. She was having trouble sleeping but thanks to the money I gave her she was seeing a therapist. She hadn’t seen her father and was debating whether or not to file charges against him. I got the idea her mother was making things difficult for her. I told her when my schedule wasn’t so crazy I’d take her to lunch.

I spent the rest of the morning making phone calls and updating some of the outstanding case reports lying on my desk. By the time I headed out for lunch, I was feeling pretty good, and hungry enough to make up for the last few days. I went full out: steak, baked potato, half a basket of garlic bread, a couple of beers, and two pieces of peach cobbler. The despair and distress I’d been feeling had become nothing more than a bad memory. After Mary met with Bry, it would all be over.

At two thirty I left for the radio station. The station was only a ten-minute walk from my office, and on the way a few people stopped me to ask for my autograph. By the time I got to the station the last few days weren’t even a bad memory.

I’d worked with the talk show host, Alan Glick, the last time I’d done a radio show. When he saw me, he waved and signaled for me to wait for the next commercial.

“Johnny Lane,” he exclaimed after taking his headset off. “I’ve got to get you up here more often. A year’s just too long. After this commercial I’ll introduce you. I figure we’ll have you tell stories for the first half hour and then open up the line for calls. Sound good to you?”

“Sure, sounds fine.”

“Great. Commercial’s almost over. Put that headset on and get ready.”

He slipped his own headset back on. “Welcome back to KDCK, Denver’s own talk radio. I have a special treat for you this afternoon. Denver’s own tough guy, private eye Johnny Lane, is here in the studio with me. Glad to have you, Johnny.”

“Glad to be here,” I said. And I meant it. It’s funny how relaxed I always feel when I’m making a radio or television appearance. Never bothers me at all. I guess I was born for the spotlight.

Most of it went as well as I could have hoped for. I told stories I thought I’d forgotten over the years. When we got to taking phone calls, folks were more interested in telling me how much they enjoyed my stories than in asking questions. Near the end, someone asked something so quietly I couldn’t hear.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I don’t think I caught that.”

In a voice that wasn’t much louder but that echoed right through me, a woman asked, “Why don’t you tell us how you blackmail your clients?”

Glick flipped a switch and cut the caller off. “Come on boys and girls,” he admonished, “it’s a little too early in the afternoon to be hitting the hard stuff. They’re out there, Johnny. Let’s hear a word from the big guy paying our bills and then we’ll be right back with more of Johnny Lane.”

He cut off his mike and shook me. “If that vein in your neck pushes out any further, you’re going to have a stroke.”

I mumbled something.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man,” he said. “It’s just a crank call. This is radio, you know. You okay to take another call?”

When I could, I nodded.

He waited for the commercial to end. “We have time for one more phone call. And this time, please, no nuts. Yes ma’am, you’re on the air.”

“Since you wouldn’t answer my last question,” the same voice quietly ripped into me, “would you mind telling us how you killed Walter Murphy?”

“That’s it,” Glick interrupted. “Sorry about that Johnny, but they’re out there, alright. We’ll be back after the news with more talk, but if you’re a nut please save your dime.”

He cut his mike off again and gave me a tap on the shoulder. “Great show, Johnny. And it’s great to see you got your sense of humor back. You can’t let those nuts out there upset you.”

I was smiling, but he misunderstood the reason behind it. During the second call I recognized the woman’s voice. And there wasn’t a chance in hell I could’ve kept that smile off my face.

I waited until dark before looking for Max Roth. From what I’d heard Max had gotten into the habit of spending his nights drinking his money away. I started out searching the bars on Denver’s south end and after two hours I found Max’s car parked alongside a little hole in the wall bar. I walked around the outside, checking out the layout. The parking lot was behind the building and away from traffic. For the hell of it, I measured the distance from the side door to the front of the building.

I was disappointed there was a full moon, but it would probably still be dark enough for what I was planning. I went through it forwards and backwards. I even play-acted it out and couldn’t see any problems. Apart from the full moon, the setup was as good as I could have hoped for.

I headed back to the bar’s entrance and stopped in the shadows of its doorway. I looked in and saw Max hunched over the bar with his back to me. I made my way to a table in the rear, making sure he didn’t see me. By now the booze and self-pity would be working on him, dulling his senses and leaving him with nothing but contempt.