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Dave Zeltserman: Fast Lane

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Dave Zeltserman Fast Lane

Fast Lane: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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“I guess we’ll just have to see what happens.” He spun me around and pushed me against the wall. “Anyway, it just don’t seem all that crazy to me, not after you coming here the way you did. Sneaking in the dark and picking up the pillow like you were going to smother someone. Be a nice fellow and put your hands behind your back.”

I had to get him to understand the mistake he was making. “I didn’t turn on the lights because Roth told me Mary was lying here sick and I didn’t want the bright lights to disturb her. I was just reaching down to feel her forehead, you know, see if she was okay. I-I g-guess I slipped, and maybe it looked like I was grabbing the pillow. But I wasn’t. You don’t believe any of this nonsense, do you?”

“I’ve got to tell you, Johnny.” He slapped the cuffs shut. They bit into my wrists worse than barbed wire. “When Mr. Braggs and Max came to me with this story, I thought they were nuts. I always thought you were one of the good guys. But I’ll tell you, right now it sure looks like you did it.”

I was speechless. Why in the world would I come here to kill someone who was already dead? They should’ve been able to see how crazy it all was, instead of just standing there staring at me like I was a . . . .

Max interrupted. “By the way, your flowers didn’t come yet.”

“What?”

“Bill and I were both listening in when you called trying to get Mary’s room number. You wanted to get here without anyone knowing about it.”

I guess I broke out laughing, because what the hell was that going to prove? “The flowers should be here any minute. Why don’t we wait for them?” I did send flowers to Mary’s room. Why wouldn’t I? “Bill, give me one piece of real evidence that you have against me.”

“Yeah, okay.” He sounded almost as if he were ashamed of himself. “We did find footprints outside the victim’s car.”

“They were probably made by you cops!”

“Maybe, but anyway-”

“Look,” I cut in. “Get it through your thick skull that if you arrest me, you’re going to be in for it just like Roth and Braggs! You don’t have a damn single thing!”

His eyes went blank. “I wouldn’t quite say that.” He pulled me away from the wall, pushing me towards the door. “We at least got enough to get search warrants for your home and office. We’ll see what we find.”

“I’m trying to tell you-there’s nothing to . . . .” And I stopped. Nothing except the blood-soaked clothing behind my file cabinet. I guess I was waiting until I was sure Eddie had cooled off before I disposed of them. I didn’t want to take the chance of him having someone watching me. But if they checked the blood type they’d see it’s not Mary’s . . . . They’d find out it came from Marge and Bert Debbles. And . . . .


They can hang you for one murder as easy as any other . . . .


Max was staring at me. He had a funny look on his face, almost like he had been hoping all along that he was wrong and just found out he wasn’t. I wanted to explain things to him. Make him understand. Do anything to get that look off his face. I had to get that look off his face before I-but I had handcuffs on. I guess there wasn’t much I could do. “There is something to find.” He nodded slowly. “Why did you do it, Johnny?”

I wanted to explain how Mary did go to see Jerry Bry, and he was shot dead. And Mary was found after committing suicide. What was so hard to understand about that? And Marge and Bert Debbles were beaten to death by some drugged-up addict. These things happen, right? And Rose, she must’ve choked to death on a chicken bone . . . except there were those scratch marks on her neck, so it must have been something else. And Poppa, well, he just . . . .

If Rose had only pulled the trigger when she’d had the chance none of this would’ve happened. Of course, I can’t put all the blame on her. There were all those times I had my gun in my mouth and I couldn’t do it either. My hand would start shaking like all those times when I stood over my poppa with his razor.

I tried looking at Max, but I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t figure out how things had happened. How they could be explained. I just plain couldn’t think. Nothing made a damn bit of sense. Except. . . .

I have a razor hidden on me, and if they don’t search me carefully enough and if I have the handcuffs off and I’m all alone, I’ll know what to do. This time my hand won’t shake.


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