Dave Zeltserman - Fast Lane

I put the handkerchief away and smiled at her. “Rose, you’re not thinking clearly. If you were to say things like that, well, I’d have to tell her how killing Walt was as much your idea as mine. Where would that leave you?”

“I don’t care,” she said softly. Her face relaxed, and I could see she was still beautiful. “It’s about time I told the truth and stopped worrying about your lies. The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Johnny? You want to know something? I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell me you didn’t want me to kill your husband,” I said, feeling a sneer twisting my lips.

“N-No!” she stammered. “I didn’t want you to!”

“Oh no?” I opened my eyes wide. “You sure didn’t seem all that upset after it happened. The next day you were all over me, hugging and kissing me like crazy. I guess we all show our grief in different ways, but I sure never saw your way before.”

“I didn’t want him killed! I never said anything like-”

“A real angel of mercy,” I said. “Cut the crap. I did you a favor and you know it. You told him about me because you wanted what happened. You knew, didn’t you, honey?”

“No! I told Walt about you because I thought we loved each other. I didn’t know you were just using me.”

“I wasn’t, Rosie. I did love you.”

Looking at her with her face unclenched, I could remember why I used to sneak around to get a piece of her. She still had those soft brown eyes that could melt butter and lips that would give any man ideas. I let my eyes fall down to the rest of her and felt my heart skip a beat. The dungarees she was wearing didn’t hide much, and I could see her body still had a wonderful compactness about it, the type that used to keep me busy until sunrise, and sometimes long after that.

I wet my lips. “I’ve missed you, Rosie. Sometimes I think giving you up was the biggest mistake I ever made. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? It might have been different if you had.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Do you ever think of me like before?” I asked, keeping my eyes on her waist, thinking how nice she’d look if she’d just take those pants off.

“I’m tired, go home. I don’t want you here. Please, just go.”

“Rosie, this isn’t right. We should try to work things out.” I walked over to her. “Maybe it’s not too late for us. Maybe we could make it right this time.”

She turned her head away and I put my hand under her chin, turning her face back towards mine. I reached down to kiss her and there was a whirl of motion and a searing pain over my eye. I stumbled back and grasped my forehead, feeling a warm stickiness spreading across my hand.

I couldn’t see anything except a redness, and it wasn’t blood. I stood frozen, afraid to move a muscle, afraid of what I’d do if I let myself move even an inch. A pounding in my ears was trying to deafen me, but over it I could make out the sounds of someone rustling about and then the loading of a shotgun.

I could hear footsteps running towards me and then Rosie’s voice in a high-pitched scream begging me to try something. I wanted to. It would have made everything so easy. All I had to do was move an inch, just say a word, and it all would’ve been over. I sure wanted to oblige her, but I didn’t move.

I guess life isn’t meant to be easy. When another weight is rolled onto your back, you just have to shoulder the burden and keep moving. But sometimes it’s so damn tempting to lie down. Sometimes you just want to close your eyes and stop the weariness.

The red haze that was blinding me drifted away. Blood had dripped into my eyes, making me wince, but through it I could see Rose holding a shotgun. The barrel was doing a snake dance in front of my face.

“Move, damn you! Try something you dirty bastard!” she screamed, tears lining her sweet, pretty face.

Well, as I said, I wanted to oblige her. I really did but it wouldn’t have been right. I turned from her and walked towards the door.

She screamed at me. Even as I was turning the ignition in the car she was still going at it. When I was a block away I could still hear her.

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that she’d done quite a number on me. The skin was torn from the middle of my forehead to above the eye. Blood still trickled down, giving me a red streak across my face.

I stopped at a drugstore and bought disinfectant and bandages. I asked the girl working behind the counter if she had a mirror, and she told me I could use a bathroom in the back.

I cleaned out the wounds and applied the disinfectant. I couldn’t keep from swearing-it stung like hell. I needed several bandages to cover the scratches and I grimaced seeing my face all puffed out and looking like a piece of raw steak.

I was lucky the crazy bitch hadn’t scratched my eye out and I had no doubt that’s what she intended. For a moment I thought about how it would serve her right if someone kicked down her door and broke her neck. No one could argue that she deserved it. The only problem, though, was that it wouldn’t stop Mary from finding out about her. If something like that were to happen to Rose now, well, that would be as bad as anything else.

As I was leaving I thanked the girl for the use of the bathroom. She looked at me with some concern and asked if I shouldn’t see a doctor.

“I’ll be okay, thanks,” I said. “How did you get those cuts?”

“Walked right into a stone wall.” It wasn’t until I got to the airport that I was able to remove the grin from my face.

The doorbell woke me up. Looking out the window I saw Marge holding a shopping bag, tapping her foot impatiently and looking worried. I felt like ignoring her and sliding back into bed but I knew the ringing wouldn’t stop.

I opened the door and her eyes moved to the bandages. As she realized what they were covering, her expression shifted from worry to something mean.

“So, lover,” she sneered, “you all alone in there?”

I nodded, squinting at the light.

“Who did that to you, the slut you were screwing around with the other night?”

“I just got back from a case and found your note. Made me feel awful funny.”

“You weren’t home two nights ago?” she asked, biting her lip.

I shook my head. “I didn’t get back until three last night.”

“But your car was here!”

The wound Rose gave me was beating faster than a rabbit’s heart. I steadied myself against the door. “When I go away, I always take a cab to the airport.”

“But-”

“It hurt me,” I interrupted, “to see how little you trusted me.”

She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “I-I’m sorry, Johnny. When I saw your car here and you wouldn’t answer your door-” The sentence died in her throat. She held up her shopping bag. “I’ve got breakfast,” she said weakly.

I didn’t feel like fighting. I moved aside, letting her slip by. She put the bag down and moved over to a chair. “First, I want to see how bad that is. Sit down over here.”

I let her take the bandages off. “Ouch,” she said, her face wrinkling. “How did it happen?”

“I was trying to get information about a missing persons case. This damn dope addict”-I laughed, sourly-”thought my head was a scratching post.”

She kissed me on the other side of my forehead. “Close your eyes, darling. I’ll be right back.”

I did as I was told and heard her high heels tapping down the hallway. Then a faucet was turned on and in a minute she was back at my side, patting at my forehead with a damp washcloth as carefully as if she was cleaning the dirt off a butterfly’s wing.

“I don’t know, Johnny,” she said. “These scratches are pretty deep. Maybe I should take you to a doctor?”