Dave Zeltserman - Fast Lane

I looked at her incredulously. I knew it was a stupid question-it just kind of slipped from me, but I asked her what she meant.

She shook her head, confirming what she told me. “I called him this afternoon,” she said, “and we made plans to meet at his home tonight. His wife had gone to see friends so we were alone. He started hugging me, and then he asked how much I loved him. And then-”

“You don’t have to tell me any more.”

“No, I want to tell you.” She’d distanced herself from the event and was talking about it more matter-of-factly, as if it had happened to someone else.

“He put his hands on my breasts. When I pulled away from him he asked what was wrong with me, didn’t I want to show my father how much I loved him? He threw me to the floor and when he was trying to take my pants off I kneed him. Then I ran away and came here.”

“Oh, Mary.” I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted to break Bry apart. I wanted to turn him into the same queasy mush my stomach had become. I held my breath and let it out slowly. At least I could be thankful this whole business with Mary was coming to a close.

“All I wanted was to see who my real father was.”

“I know, honey.”

“I guess you were right.” She smiled sadly at me. “Finding my father didn’t do me any good. What next?”

“You’ll just have to forget it. You do have parents that love you.”

“I know, I know. Boy, look at me. Have you ever seen such a mess?” She let out a brittle laugh. “I was supposed to work tonight, but I don’t think I’m up to it.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“I don’t think I’m up to that either. Do you think I could stay here tonight?”

“Sure. I’ll make up the guest room for you.”

“Can we sit together for a few minutes? I-I don’t feel I can be alone right now.”

She moved over to the sofa with me, and we sat there together, neither us saying a word. She curled up into a ball, her head lying flat against my chest. After a while, she looked up at me, her eyes half closed but shining with expectation.

“I’d better get that room ready for you,” I said.

I put some fresh sheets on the bed and got her a robe and a pair of old pajamas. I noticed she was standing quietly watching me. As I headed for the door, she touched my arm and was about to say something. I put my finger against her lips. Then I left her alone.

As I was lying on my bed the door opened. Mary walked in, and as she did, her robe fell open. Framed by the hallway light she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But she was so young that I felt ashamed. I tried looking away.

“Mary-” I started to say.

She hushed me. In an instant she’d moved across the room. Her naked body was up against me. I could feel her shivering.

“Mary, this isn’t right,” I said, gently pushing her away.

“Yes it is.” She once again wrapped her limbs around me.

I felt myself weakening. I pushed her away again, this time being rougher. “Trust me, it isn’t. Please-”

She looked at me, puzzled, her brown eyes moistening with tears. Her body shook. “First my father tries to rape me, and now this. What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing,” I said softly. I was holding her, smoothing her hair. “Nothing at all,” I whispered.

I whispered a lot of other stuff, trying my best to comfort her. Somehow we ended up with me lying on top of her. At first, I was just holding her. And it felt nice, nicer than anything I could remember. I wished it could go on like that forever.

Mary, though, was all eager and unashamed underneath me. She shifted her body around and worked some of my clothing loose, and it wasn’t long before we weren’t just holding each other. I tried not to think of what we were doing. I tried my best to think of Marge and of others. I silently begged for forgiveness.

The doorbell rang, then it rang again. A minute later it started ringing continuously.

Mary asked if I should see who was there.

I wanted to stop what we were doing, but I also had a good idea who was at the door. I told Mary I always had clients bothering me at home and I wasn’t going to let them interfere with me now.

I didn’t. We didn’t. And the doorbell eventually stopped ringing.

After what seemed like an eternity, we were finished. We lay together in a heap, neither of us saying a word. The last thing I remembered was her curled up in my arms, sleeping like a baby.

When I woke the next morning, I reached over for Mary, and with kind of a knee-jerk reaction jumped up when I saw she was gone. I called out but there was no answer. Looking in the guest room, I saw her clothes were gone too.

I shaved, showered, and dressed. When I opened the front door, I found a note waiting for me. The note was written in red lipstick, and read-

HEY YOU CREEP, WHY WOULDN’T YOU ANSWER YOUR DOORBELL-WHO WERE YOU SCREWING AROUND WITH? YOUR LOVER, MARGO.

It hadn’t rained the other night but there were stains on the paper as if someone had been crying over it. I was pretty sure it hadn’t been Marge.

Max Roth showed up at nine o’clock on the dot and we shook hands and sat ourselves down. He looked out of place, shaved, with his hair combed back and clothes in decent order. He mumbled something about being sorry about the other day and being glad we could work things out.

I leaned back and gave him a friendly smile. “I’m even sorrier, Max,” I said. “I tried to phone you before you got here but I guess I just missed you. I wanted to save you the trip.”

“What do you mean?”

“The job I was planning for you fell through. Happened only ten minutes ago.”

The color in Max’s face dropped but he didn’t say a word or move a muscle. I continued, “You see, two days ago Mulrooney Construction called me. They were having problems with some materials disappearing. I know you favor that type of work, and hell, they can be good clients for repeat jobs. So while we were having our talk last night I couldn’t help thinking it would be only fair to give it to you.”

I was giving it to him alright.

“What”-his voice cracked and he cleared his throat-”what happened?”

“Just before you showed up I got a call from the old man over there that the situation had cleared itself up. One of their workers had himself an accident. Fell and broke both his legs. Lying there, he had some sort of revelation. Made a guess on where the stuff was. And he must have been psychic because he was right on the mark.”

“So that’s it, huh? You don’t have anything else?”

I shook my head, disappointed in him. Here Max hears about a fellow human being breaking both legs, and all he can think about is his own situation. Of course, this other person didn’t exist since I made up the story, but Max didn’t know that.

“It’s slow right now,” I said. “The only other job I have is some cop work, and I’d feel kind of bad offering you that. Narcotics department needs some help finding an informant.”

He didn’t say a word. He couldn’t, at least not knowing how things really stood. So we sat there staring at each other, him looking sick to his stomach and me smiling as if nothing were wrong. All he could do was guess whether I was leveling or stringing him along, but guessing just wasn’t good enough. After a long silence he asked, “So that’s the way it’s going to be. Fifty percent on that, right?”

I shrugged. “If we’re going to be more like partners then it’s only fair you take some of the bad with the good.”

There are times when the Denver police need help on a case and I take it on as a kind of public service to the community. They can’t pay more than a hundred and sixty dollars a day-part of some bureaucratic red tape-and I take the loss personally. I pay the full amount to whoever I subcontract to. Hell, it’s the only decent thing to do and I guess I make sure they all know it. But it’s the least I can do for the community that has done so much for me. Also it doesn’t hurt none to have some friendly officers on the force.