Fast Lane

Chapter 11

The next two days were rough ones. I couldn’t just go and tell Mary I’d found her daddy. Coming right after her ultimatum, she was bound to be suspicious. I had to drop a few hints first. Every time she called-and she wasn’t shy about it-I let on that something new had broken.

Even though I knew everything was going to work itself out, I couldn’t help feeling as if I were walking around on eggshells. But I guess it was normal to be anxious. I couldn’t help worrying Bry would screw up, and none of us could afford that.

* * * * *

After my meeting with Bry, I went back to the office and tried getting some work done. After a while I gave up. As I was getting ready to leave, Eddie Braggs called.

“Tell me it’s true,” he said.

“Tell you what’s true?”

“That you were hired by Ekleberg’s lawyer.”

“You heard about that, huh?”

“It is true, then? Damn, that’s good news. You got anything yet?”

“No, not yet, but I should have something for next month’s column.”

“This is good, Johnny, real good. I knew I could count on you for another big story. And don’t worry about this month’s ‘Fast Lane’. It’s already been taken care of.”

“How’s that?”

“You can read it Sunday like everyone else. When are you going to get yourself on the radio and help me sell a few papers?”

I told him it was under control and hung up. Morton must’ve called Braggs. I could tell from his tone that he already knew I had the Ekleberg case, but I guess he wanted to make sure I was going to use it for my column. Knowing that Braggs was on my side again should have helped my state of mind, but it didn’t. For a long moment I thought about Bry and Mary and what was going to happen next. After a few shots of rye, I called the general manager of a local radio station. We talked a little, and arranged an hour spot on one of his talk shows. He wanted me on air that afternoon, but I was feeling too jumpy to agree. We settled for Thursday afternoon and he promised he’d run promos for it.

I tried again to get some work done. I took out my business receipts and tried balancing the books, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to play with the numbers. I put the receipts down and picked up some outstanding case reports. After a while it was like I was staring into thin air.

The phone started ringing. I reached for it, stopped myself, got up and walked out the door.

Outside it was as if the world had been slightly twisted out of its norm. As if folks passing by were, well, were able to look inside me. I knew the problem was I was strung out from worry. I knew they weren’t really staring at me. I knew they weren’t whispering those things about me. But, I’ll tell you, it sure seemed as if they were.

I stopped at a used bookstore. An uncomfortable feeling had been working its way from my stomach to my chest and I needed to give it a chance to pass. As I was thumbing through a stack of paperbacks I found one from an author I liked. On the inside cover, scribbled in pen, was the inscription:

Dear Mark, I hope you enjoy this book-good, late night reading to scare the pants off ya!! Happy Birthday! Lots of love, Tricia

There were a bunch of hearts drawn around the inscription, and, well, I just started laughing. I don’t know why, because it wasn’t funny, at least, not exactly. But it sure was something. All that hope and expectation traded away for half a buck at a used bookstore. As good as that writer was, nothing in any of his stories could have been more tragic.

I took some loose change from my pocket and bought the book.