Dave Zeltserman - Fast Lane

There was a knock on the door and Marge asked if I was okay.

I ignored her and kept up with the cold water. Another knock. Then Marge’s voice again, this time with a hysterical edge to it.

I opened the door. “Couldn’t hear you with the water running.”

She studied me, the color draining from her face. “Johnny, you look awful.”

“Thanks for the compliment.” I walked past her and poured myself a drink. The scotch hit me like a mule’s kick, and then seemed to warm everything up. I strolled over to her and gave her a pinch. “You don’t look so hot yourself in the morning.”

Concern was still working on her face, making her bite her lip. She placed her palm against my forehead. “You’re a little warm. Maybe your cut is infected. Let me take a look.”

I laughed. “I’m a little worn out, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “You look like you could use a hot bath.”

“That’s okay, I really-”

“No,” I said. “You’ll feel better. Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

She shrugged and walked into the bathroom. After I heard the water start to run, I picked up the phone.

I was woken up the next morning by Marge shouting. “But . . . can’t you give me a break? . . . Look, I didn’t have any choice! . . . You know what you can do with your lousy job! . . . Yeah, just make sure you don’t bend over near a cattle ranch! . . . Because they’ll try milking you, you fat cow! . . . Drop dead and rot!”

She slammed the phone down and stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me, still seething. “The dirty bitch can take her job and cram it. She was always jealous of me because the only thing that will touch her is her underwear. Even her vibrators go soft.”

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and yelled, “Screw it!” Then she gave me her bared-fanged smile. “So, lover, what are we going to do to celebrate my being fired?”

I took some money from my wallet and handed it to her. “Why don’t you go buy yourself something nice?”

“I like that idea. Come on, get dressed and we’ll go shopping.”

“I’ve got some business to do this morning,” I said. “You go and I’ll meet you for a late lunch.”

She was going to say something, I knew she wanted to, but she held it back. Instead, she shook her head and muttered something under her breath.

The clock next to the bed showed that it was nine thirty. I had an eleven o’clock appointment. Marge gave me a long, cold stare, her mouth moving as if she were chewing gum, then turned on her heels and walked out the door.

* * * * *

A thin blond hawk-nosed man sat at a corner table in the lobby. He was dressed sharply in a cream-colored suit and a straw fedora rested on his head. He could’ve been Dutch or German. When he saw me he nodded.

I approached his table and, in a thick accent, he asked, “Johnny Lane?”

Along with his hawk nose, he had small fish eyes that were set off by a white paleness, making his face almost wax-like. I sat down across from him and returned his nod.

“Some identification, please.”

I handed him my passport. He studied it, and passed it back to me. He gave me the type of smile you’d see on a ventriloquist’s dummy. “On the phone you said you like to do some business. First, I need to know how you get my name.”

“From an acquaintance of mine, Tex Halley.”

“Tex Halley?” He frowned. “Yes, I remember. It went very smoothly. It is so much nicer when things go smoothly. All you want is new passport and identification. Very simple. Less messy than your friend wanted. Give you bargain. Only five thousand American dollars.”

I swallowed, feeling a hotness in my cheeks. “You told me it would be three thousand.”

He shrugged. “It is very hard to understand these things. Prices change daily. My costs tied to intangibles like politics and mood of officials, things very difficult to be precise about.”

“It might be difficult for me not to shove your head through that wall.”

He gave me a long look before exchanging glances with a heavy-set man standing by the bar, who nodded and cast his eyes down to the floor. By the way the man at the bar was standing I could tell he was aware of my every move. Hawknose turned back to me. “I hope you do not try something like that,” he said.

I saw the heavy-set man slip a hand into his jacket pocket. I didn’t care. “I’ll take my chances.” I braced myself because I meant it.

Hawknose frowned as he considered the situation. “There is no reason to take such attitude,” he said. “It is only business, right? Okay, I don’t want unhappy customers. We do it for four thousand and five hundred American dollars. Very fair, believe me.”

I didn’t say anything. Hawknose glanced towards the bar where the heavy-set man was showing off a toothless grin.

“Bien.” Hawknose nodded. “All agreed, no? Fair for everyone. You have photograph for me?”

I gave him a two-by-two passport shot.

He remarked that it was a good likeness and asked what name I wanted to use. I pulled one out of the air, and he wrote it on the back of the photograph.

“Where do you want to come from?”

“How about Canada?”

He shook his head. “No one believe you from Canada.” The heavyset man was frowning in agreement. “More believable if from American West. We make it Las Vegas, Nevada. You can be big shot high roller.”

“You make it that,” I snapped, “and I’ll roll your butt out the window.”

He blinked his fish eyes and shrugged. “You don’t like that, we use something else. How about Montana? We use that, then?”

“Sure.”

“Very interesting,” he added, “that you react like so. Why do you not like Nevada?”

“No reason,” I muttered, shifting a little. “Let’s get on with this.”

“Of course, of course,” he said. “Just curious, that is all. Why you react that way?”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?”

“Okay with me.” From the bar, I could see the heavy-set man, indicating it was okay with him also. “You pay me three thousand dollars now and rest when we deliver documents. Everything will be ready in one week.”

I tossed a wad of bills on the table. He sat back down and counted them, all two thousand dollars.

He shrugged. “Bien,” he said. “Acceptable. We give you new identity in one week. Have you thought about old one?”

“What do you mean?”

“Very simple,” he explained. “If old identity were to die, make it less likely that new identity will be looked for.”

“I still don’t get it.” But I did-I got every damn bit of it.

“For fifteen thousand American dollars Johnny Lane could die in car accident.”

I didn’t say anything. Even though I knew where he was heading, it stunned me. Because maybe I had been-

“Body burnt beyond recognition,” he continued. “Wallet and passport left with body, and as far as United States concerned, Johnny Lane dies in tragic accident. No need to search for him. Very good bargain, believe me.”

“Who will you get to play me?”

“Does not matter. Body will not be examined closely. I make sure of that.”

From the doorway I could see Marge walking by. Her head turned, and as she caught sight of me she did a double take. With a nervous smile, she squeezed through the bar area and made her way to our table.

“I was just coming back from shopping and saw you sitting here, Johnny. I bought an itsy-bitsy bikini. Maybe we can go to the pool later and you can let me know what you think?”

She shot Hawknose a glance, and he shrunk back in his chair looking a little startled. She said nervously, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”