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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’d like to pay you a two week retainer,” she said. “It will make me feel like I’m really doing this.”

I didn’t argue. I could see it was important to her. She wrote me a check and then gave me directions to her parent’s house. She held out her hand to me. It was a nice hand to hold. I felt sorry letting it go.

After she left, I sat back and realized I was feeling better than I had felt in quite a while. There was no reason to worry about what I almost did to Craig Singer.

Not much else happened that afternoon. Eddie Braggs called from the Examiner, asking whether my ‘Fast Lane’ feature would be ready on time and after that, I drove around Denver looking for Debra Singer without any luck.

Chapter 3

Mary’s parents lived in Golden, a small town fifteen miles west of Denver, in a cozy little house on a dead-end street. It had a picket fence, trimmed hedges and a small flower garden out front. Mary answered the door, and after introducing me to Lucy, the family golden retriever, she led me into the living room where her parents were waiting. Her mother popped up from the sofa and offered me coffee and pastries. After Mrs. Williams left the room, Mary handed me an envelope. Inside were a studio photograph and several wallet-sized shots of herself. She looked tired as she sat down on a loveseat that was to the right of sofa. Lucy followed her and plopped down by her feet. I took the green velvet armchair with the old-fashioned doilies.

After Mary’s mother brought in the coffee, she joined her husband on the sofa. They were in their early forties, around my age, although they looked quite a bit older than me.

Mrs. Williams took a sip of coffee before looking up. “I know Mary’s very excited about hiring you,” she said.

Mary made a face. “Mother,” she muttered under her breath.

“She’s been cutting out your columns for as long as I can remember,” Mrs. Williams continued, her hands folded in her lap. “They’re saved in a scrap book. She must’ve been planning on hiring you for a long time.”

Mary started to say something, stopped herself and stared off into a corner.

“This must be very important to her,” said Mrs. Williams.

“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. “I know it is.” I noticed a photo on the wall of Mary when she was probably no older than ten. She was thin and tan, her long brown hair reaching half way to her waist. I had to clear my throat before turning back to her mother. “I’m hoping you can help me and tell me the name of the agency that handled Mary’s adoption?”

“We’d do anything to help our daughter,” Mrs. Williams said, her voice trembling.

Mr. Williams pushed himself out of his chair and left the room. While he was gone, Mrs. Williams offered me more coffee. When her husband came back, he handed me a folder. “Mary said you’d be needing this. I made a copy,” he said.

I went through the folder. A downtown Denver law firm had handled Mary’s adoption. “Don’t know if they’re still in business,” Mr. Williams remarked sullenly. “It was twenty years ago.”

“They’re still around.” I’d dealt with the firm before. “Do you know anything about Mary’s birth parents?”

“No,“ Mrs. Williams said. “Mary was only a couple of months old when we got her. We think of her exactly as if she were our own.”

“And I think of you as my mom!” Mary cut in, her eyes growing moist. “I love both of you! But that doesn’t mean I don’t need to know where I came from!”

Mrs. Williams lowered her head. “Of course it doesn’t, dear.”

I stood up. “I’d like to thank both of you for your help.” Then to Mary, “I’ll let you know when I find something more.”

She looked drained. “I better get ready for work. Thanks for coming, Mr. Lane.”

“Johnny,” I said.

“Johnny,” she agreed. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Why don’t you get ready, dear?” Mrs. Williams said. “I’ll show Mr. Lane out. I’d like to talk with him for a minute.”

Mary didn’t look too happy, but she didn’t argue. She left the room, Lucy following her, wagging her tail, her body brushing against Mary’s.

Mrs. Williams smelled faintly of bathroom deodorant. She touched my arm in a conspiratorial sort of way. “I’d like to pay for this,” she said.

“I’m sorry. Your daughter and I have already made an arrangement. I think it’s important for her to do this herself.”

“My daughter’s a very stubborn girl,” she said, more to herself than to me. “This hurts,” she confided. “I know it shouldn’t. I understand why Mary’s doing it. It still hurts, though.”

I got to the door. I muttered something polite. Mrs. Williams stopped me. “I wish you could say something to her,” she said, an almost desperate pleading in her eyes. “But of course it wouldn’t do any good.” She sighed. “When Mary makes up her mind, there’s nothing anyone can do to change it.”

I agreed with her.

When I got home I checked in with my answering service. There was one message. Rude wanted me to see some fresh meat he had locked away in a freezer.

* * * * *

It was a slow night at the strip club. A handful of customers were seated around the stage watching a chunky brunette move sluggishly to a tired beat. When she slipped out of her panties, it was a completely mechanical motion. She could’ve been frying burgers at a fast food joint. The tables were all empty, except for one in the back where Rude was sitting, sipping coke from a can. He waved me over. The bluish green scorpion tattoo on his forearm wriggled its stinger, welcoming me.

“How much you willing to pay for some fresh meat?” he asked.

“Fifty dollars?”

He gave me a disgusted look. “That’s not even fifty cents a pound. Make it two hundred.”

I didn’t bother arguing. I paid him. He flipped though the bills, not really paying attention. “I do all the work and you get all the glory,” he said.

“Tough life, isn’t it? Where is she?”

“Haven’t finished my coke.” He took another slow drag on the can. “What do you think of Candy?” he asked, nodding towards the dancer on stage.

I took a quick look and caught her stifling a yawn as she lifted a leg. “Doesn’t look like she’s putting out much effort,” I said.

Rude frowned. “I can’t understand that type of work ethic.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

“Damn right.” Rude drained the rest of his coke and threw the can at the dancer. She ducked and sent Rude a nasty glare. “You better show some life up there,” he yelled at her. “Or I’ll boot your fat ass out the door.” A couple of customers hooted in agreement. Candy started shaking her body a little more energetically, her small black eyes smoldering with anger.

“You gotta help put some passion into their work,” Rude said with a wink. “Let me give you what you paid for.”

I followed him to a storage closet in the back of the bar. He unlocked it and showed me Debra Singer sitting on the floor, knees pulled tight to her chest. By her feet were a sandwich, a bag of potato chips and a can of coke. She glanced up at me, her eyes small blue ice chunks, then looked away.

“Came by a couple of hours ago looking for employment,” Rude said. “I’d like you to know, I’m not charging you for the food.”

“You got a heart of gold.” I crouched next to Debra. My heart was pounding. I said to her, “I wish you had stayed put. I promised you I’d take care of things.”

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