Dave Zeltserman - Fast Lane

Marge changed things, though. A beautiful girl like her found dead with Bert Debbles’ corpse would cause a stir.

I tried to think how it could be explained, how it could make sense. I racked my brains, and all I could come up with was it didn’t make any sense at all. I guess there are things in this world that are unexplainable, and her death would be one of them. The cops would have to accept it.

Marge kept me company while I waited for Bert Debbles. It turned out I had him sized up pretty well. At three thirty I heard a key turn in the door. Whoever it was stopped, wondering why the door was already unlocked. That’s right old man, I thought. You must’ve forgot to lock it. Come on in and say hello.

The door opened and Bert Debbles stepped in. I smiled to greet him, swinging the gin bottle against my leg.

Debbles jumped when he saw me, and then his face folded into an ugly frown. “You think I’m afraid of the likes of you? You don’t scare me none you little-” And then he caught sight of Marge.

It took a few seconds for him to comprehend why her head was facing the way it was, and when it hit him his mouth formed a tiny circle and he started making the most godawful noise. Like he was imitating a train.

He turned and headed towards the door, still making his wooing noise. I jumped over Marge’s body and reached past him, shoving the door shut. I spun him around and showed him his gin bottle.

“You shouldn’t be drinking this stuff, old man,” I said. “It will kill you.”

I brought the bottle down against the side of his head and he hit the floor like a sack of guts.

He was still conscious. I prodded him with my boot, and he curled into a ball, his eyes rolling with terror as they stared at me. I crouched next to him and could hear he was still making that wooing noise. It now sounded more like a broken-down garbage disposal than a train. Or maybe it still sounded like a train, but one that was running out of steam.

I started telling him about my poppa. I told him everything, and after a while the two of us started feeling close ourselves. Kind of like father and son. Maybe I got mixed up, and at times confused him for my real poppa. I asked him some awful crazy things, like why he had treated me so poorly, and why couldn’t he have been proud of me. Well, it was only natural, him being so much like Poppa, and anyways, he didn’t complain. Saying all those things out loud made me think about them. And thinking about them-thinking about what I’d suffered through as a child, well, it just didn’t seem possible. At least it didn’t seem possible they could’ve happened to me. Because no one could’ve lived through that and grown up normal. No one could’ve . . . .

The old man closed his eyes tight and moaned like a dog in heat. I stood up and looked down at him.

“What’s the matter, old man?” I asked. “The booze go to your head?”

I smashed his skull in.

After that I unscrewed the top from the gin bottle and took a swallow. I almost spat it out; straight kerosene would’ve tasted better.

“Old man,” I told him. “If I didn’t do it this cow piss of yours would’ve.” I took another swig and put the bottle down. It was supposed to look like a robbery, the way I’d planned it. Marge made it something else, but I couldn’t worry about it now. I emptied out his pockets and came up with twelve crumpled dollars and some loose change. No wonder he was so anxious to wrap things up; another day and he would’ve had to find cheaper lodgings.

Since it was supposed to be a robbery, I emptied Marge’s pocketbook, and along with some money, found an envelope addressed to me. I shoved it into my pocket. I felt kind of uneasy leaving her alone with a man like Bert Debbles, but I didn’t figure any harm could come of it. I moved his leg so it wasn’t touching her.

As I was reaching for my overcoat I noticed my glove was stained with blood. Looking over my clothes I realized I was soaked in it. I guess I’d been aware of the wet stickiness, but thought it was sweat.

I pulled a sheet from the cot and wiped myself off. Providence must’ve been looking out for me; I had worn my overcoat to keep from being recognized. I didn’t count on needing it to hide my soiled clothing.

I put it on and listened by the door and heard only dead silence. I opened the door a crack and made sure the hallway was clear. After nodding farewell to Marge, I out of the room and closed the door behind me. At the end of the hallway was a common bathroom. I gave a quick look inside, saw it was empty and walked in.

I guess I let loose with sort of a giggle when I saw my reflection. I looked like hell. My hair was matted with dirt and sweat, and was pulled every which way like a clown’s wig. Red speckles dotted my face, as if I’d spent the day painting.

I bent over the sink and scrubbed the blood off my face. After wetting my hair, I combed it back. With the overcoat off, it looked like I had slipped and rolled about the floor of a slaughterhouse. With it buttoned up, though, I could’ve been heading to the opera.

Of course, I wasn’t going to any opera. I opened a window and got onto the fire escape, and then climbed down to the alley below.

I keep a change of clothing in my office. As soon as I got there I used it. I crumpled my soiled clothing into a ball and shoved it behind one of the file cabinets. When I had time I’d dispose of the clothing, but for now it would be safe where it was.

It was six o’clock, and I didn’t have long before I had to find Mary. If I hurried I could grab a quick dinner. I slipped the overcoat back on and put my hand against its inside pocket, feeling the weight of the thirty-two caliber revolver.

* * * * *

Mary was working at the convenience store. From across the street I could see her plainly. She looked a little haggard, which was understandable considering the load she was carrying.

A kid in the store was thumbing through magazines and scratching his armpits. I waited outside until he left-until Mary was alone.

“Hello, Mary,” I said to greet her as I walked into the store.

“Johnny, what are you doing here?”

“I need to talk with you.”

Her brow furrowed and her bottom lip pushed out as she tried to make up her mind about something. I don’t think she ever looked more beautiful.

“I tried calling you but you weren’t in,” she said. “We do need to talk, Johnny, I think-”

“I’ve got good news,” I said, cutting her off. “I found them. Both your momma and daddy.”

“My mother really is alive?”

“That’s right, darling. She is.”

“Tell me all about her.”

“I will. I’ll tell you everything after we get in the car. Why don’t you get your things together.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’ve arranged for you to meet your daddy tonight.”

“But I’m working until midnight.” She shook her head slowly. “I can’t just leave.”

“Sure you can. Lock up, and we’ll leave right now. I don’t see too many folks dying to come in here.”

“I have a responsibility, and-”

“Mary.” I smiled, and it was a smile that would’ve warmed the cockles of any dead man’s heart. “We’ll be back in a few hours. No one will care.”

“But-”

“No, darling,” I said. “This is more important, isn’t it?”

“I guess so.”

“And besides, I’ve been up almost every night beating my head in trying to figure this thing out. You know why?”

She bit her lip, and moved her head slightly from side to side. “Because, darling,” I said, smiling again, “I made you a promise. I don’t want to lose your respect. It would hurt too much.”