Dave Zeltserman - Fast Lane

“I guess I’ll have to,” he muttered. “I should probably wait until I can talk to her before going. I don’t know if it would be right charging up expenses otherwise.”

“I guess that’s reasonable.” I could see how he’d feel that way. If she didn’t pull through, he’d have to eat the expenses himself.

He tried smiling. “There’s really no reason for you to be mad at me, Johnny. Anyone else would’ve done the same.”

“I don’t know if I see it that way,” I said. “You let me down, Max. I really don’t see how I could forgive you. But it’s nice to hear you’re able to get cases on your own. You know you’re not going to get any more from me.”

“Johnny, I’m sorry, I’d be will-”

“Don’t even bother saying it,” I cut him off. “Have yourself a nice life. Say hello to the wife and boys for me.”

He stood up, holding his stomach and looking like he was going to let out with a belch. “Well, er . . . .” He started to reach out his hand to me, had enough sense to realize how ridiculous it looked, and pulled his hand back.

I turned away from him and started studying an old case report. I heard a loud belching noise, and then the door closed shut. I put the report down and tried to think things through.

It didn’t make any sense for Mary to be alive. I saw what the bullet did to her. I saw the hole in her skull. I saw her brains. She shouldn’t have been able to survive that. But, well, the world’s an awful funny place. Things just don’t always make sense. Anyway, Mary was alive. When I first heard the news, I hadn’t realized what it meant. I hadn’t realized what I was going to have to do.

Of course it’s possible she wouldn’t remember a thing when she came out of her coma, but how could I risk it? What if she remembered everything? Even if I fled to South America, I would have to live knowing she knew and I just didn’t see how I could do that. I couldn’t live with my only daughter thinking ill of me. Thinking I’d try to hurt her.

Oh Lord, I knew what I had to do-and it was so hard killing her the first time. Why are you making me do it again?

When I called Denver Memorial to find out which room Mary was in, the receptionist seemed taken aback, as if I was asking something unusual. She left me hanging for five minutes before she returned and gave me the room number. Well, there was nothing unusual about my call (but why did she sound so nervous?). If you want to send someone flowers, you want to know what room to send them to, right? (If your only daughter’s lying critically wounded in a hospital, wouldn’t you at least send flowers?) Anyway, I had to find out her room number and I couldn’t go there and ask.

I didn’t want to head over to the hospital right away. I wasn’t ready yet, so to kill time I walked over to the Corner Diner. Before going in, I peered through the window and saw that Carol was working the counter. I walked in and gave her a wink.

She tried smiling, but couldn’t hold onto it. She came over and gave me a timid look. “Hi there, Johnny. I want to apologize for some of the things I said the other day.”

“I guess I should too,” I said. “Why don’t we just forget it?”

She dawdled with her dishrag, spending more time than she needed mopping up in front of me. “You know”-she hesitated-”you take me for granted.”

“I guess sometimes I do. I apologize for that too.”

“You always come in here expecting me to cheer you up.”

“You almost always do a good job of it.”

“I don’t mind doing it, Johnny. I like making a fuss over you. Sometimes though, I wish you’d feel a little more about me like I feel about you.”

I gave her a slow look, up and down. Carol was nothing to sneeze at. A cute little thing, all fit snug and tight into her size four uniform. She was blushing a bright red, which offset her blue eyes and blond bobbed hair nicely. Looking at her made me smile, my first genuine smile in days.

“You want to make a guess how I feel about you?”

She pouted. “You always treat me like I’m your sister!”

“It could be that I’m just shy.” Or that I really did like her and was afraid it would end up the way it always ends up. The way it always has to end up.

“I never took you as the shy type.”

She was still blushing and it still looked nice on her. I wondered how bright she’d blush if we were alone together. Or whether she would be blushing all over her body. We chatted some more, and I asked what time she got off. Well, not until eleven. Did she have any plans? Not really, just going on home to bed. Would she like to go out for a drink? Well . . . sure!

We arranged for me to pick her up after work. I held her hand while she was standing across from me. It was really just a school kid type of thing to do, but it felt nice. It made me start thinking that maybe this time could be different. And it was funny, but during it all I had forgotten about Mary. About what needed to be done. And then I remembered.

“Ow!” She tried to jerk her hand away.

I stared up at her dumbly, and then realized I had her hand in mine. And my knuckles were squeezed white. I let go.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” I tried explaining, the words rushing out of me. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Please believe me.” And then I stared up, confused, because it took me a while before I realized she wasn’t Mary.

“I guess I’m okay,” She had her hand up against her mouth, sucking where I’d hurt her. “You just surprised me. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I started thinking about a case that I’ve been struggling with. I guess sometimes I get too caught up in my work.”

She reached over and rested her hand on mine, giving me a little squeeze. And then she gave me one of the prettiest smiles I ever saw. “I’ll just have to keep your mind off work then.”

We talked some more and she made sure I knew that the incident was forgotten. Hell, as far as she was concerned, it never happened. I didn’t want to leave her, but I had no choice. I told her I’d be back later to pick her up, and she brushed her lips against my cheek before she turned away, blushing.

I was whistling to myself when I got in my car. She’d had her chance to stick the old needle in and she passed it up. It looked like my string of hard luck with the gals was changing. I guess that’s all I ever had before. I guess I always ended up with the wrong type-the type who never left me any choice about how things had to be.

None of the others could ever pass up the needle. That’s why it always ended up the way it did. They couldn’t keep from saying those things to me. Or looking at me that way. You must know that look. The one where they drop their jaw, and as they’re gaping at you, their lips twist just enough into a sneer to make you feel lower than a chicken turd. And you’d do anything to stop it.

Some of you are probably thinking that Marge never did those things. Well, maybe not, but if I’d given her enough time, she would’ve been like all the rest. Even my own daughter . . . .

Mary gave me that look the split second before I pulled the trigger. I could still see it. I-I couldn’t keep from seeing it.

I stopped the car. I had to do something before the shaking made me crash. I went into a bar across the street, hoping a few drinks would calm me down and stop the pounding in my head.

I tried thinking about Max and Eddie (anything to block out Mary and that look). I tried figuring why they’d acted so screwy. I guess I understood. Eddie probably was just ribbing me more than anything else. Max spoon-fed him a bunch of stories, and well, maybe none of them made any sense but that wouldn’t stop Eddie from jerking me around. He had nothing to lose, and besides, he was just having fun.