Fast Lane

Chapter 17

I took the first plane I could to Oklahoma City. It was almost twenty years since I’d last talked with Rose, and I tried to play that occasion back in my mind.

It all seemed pretty distant at first, but slowly I began to remember how it was that time when Rose came to see me. It was about a month after her husband died. I had tried explaining how things stood but she wouldn’t listen.

“Rosie, you know we can’t keep seeing each other. Don’t you think it would look damn funny after what happened? How long do you think it would take them to put a rope around my neck?”

“Why can’t we just pack up and leave Denver? We can start over someplace else, Johnny, someplace no one knows us. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

I had tried telling her over the phone how things had changed. I had talked myself blue in the face telling her what the situation was. She should have been able to see how it had to be. She should have thanked her maker I didn’t crack her thick skull open that day. How difficult was it to understand? The press had eaten up the whole crazy business and I was a hero, and people want to hire heroes.

I had shown Rose the offers I had gotten, a stack thick enough to choke a bull. If you’d taken all my offers from the previous year it wouldn’t have been enough to paper a birdcage. It was just plain selfish of her to think I would give up what the good Lord had just delivered to me. And for what, to start over again as a nickel and dime dick so I could get my brains beaten out every day? Now that I was finally rolling sevens she wanted me to crap out. Hell, if the woman really loved me she’d have understood and wanted to give me that chance. But I guess it was just a lot of steam.

I tried explaining it to her backwards and sideways and upside down. And a hell of a lot of good it did me. After a while she stopped her complaining and got quiet. Then she got mean.

“Why did you have to say I was cheating on him? Everywhere I go people whisper things. I’ve started getting obscene phone calls.”

“I wasn’t lying, was I? Honey, I guess sometimes the truth hurts. If you didn’t want to be known as a whore, you shouldn’t have been banging behind your husband’s back.”

“You bastard. You dirty stinking bastard. Why did you have to kill him? It wasn’t for us and you’re a goddamned fucking liar if you try to say so.”

“I don’t really know why it happened, honey, but I do honestly think I did it for you.”

“You’re unbelievable! You’re a monster! What if I told the police you were lying?”

“Well now, I wouldn’t recommend that. Right now we’re both safe. The police believe every God-fearing thing I say. But if you were to change that out of pure selfishness, I would have to tell them we worked the deal together. I would hate to put the rope around your neck, too, but what choice would I have?”

“That’s a lie!”

“Rosie, I’m not going to disagree with you. The police would have to be goddamned fools to believe me. But you just never know about these things.”

“You . . . you dirty bastard!”

“You know, darling, if I were you, I’d be worried living here in Denver. I wouldn’t think you’d be too safe here, what with all the stories going around, and folks feeling the way they do about you.”

At that moment my little Rose would have sent me straight to hell if she could have. I couldn’t blame her for spitting in my face. Life was dealing the two of us some lousy cards.

When she started making her wild accusations, I shrugged them off and tried my best to console her in her misery. But when she started calling me those names, well, even though I knew she was saying those things out of anger and she’d regret it later, I couldn’t let those names slide. Some things a man just shouldn’t take.

I do regret slapping her as much as I did, but not a single damned one of those names were true. Not one. Sometimes your luck stinks. Sometimes things happen that you don’t have any control over. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel bad about it. None of those names related to me.

* * * * *

You’re probably thinking, now wait a minute, that doesn’t agree with my earlier confession. I can’t argue with you on that point. Before, I just wasn’t quite telling the whole truth about the way it happened with Walter Murphy. Not all of it anyway. I guess I try to think of it as the way everyone knows it. And when I can’t, I don’t really like thinking of it exactly like it was. Some of it, I just don’t like admitting to.

So it’s no surprise to any of you that sweet little Rose was really cheating on her husband. And it’s also no surprise that I knew all about it before I ever met him. You see, Rose was crazy about me and you could hardly blame her for that. There’s something about me woman grab onto and don’t like letting go of. It’s just a shame I usually end up having to pry their fingers loose. And sometimes I’m forced to do quite a bit more than that.

For about a year Rose and me were seeing each other whenever we could. We were careful about it. I made sure of that. No one would have found out about us if it were up to me.

I have to be fair to Rose. You might be thinking Rosie and me were working together to get rid of her husband. That’s not true. Rose told her husband about us because she wanted us to be together. She wanted everything out in the open so they could divorce and her and me and everyone else in the whole goddamned world could live happily ever after. She had no idea I would do what I did. How could she? If she’d only had the good sense to tell me what she was planning I would’ve slapped the idea right out of her.

So her husband coming to see me was as big a surprise to me as the rest of what happened. And he certainly didn’t want to hire me for anything. He just wanted me to stop seeing his wife. But he should have been nicer about it.

I guess he had a right to be upset, what with me being with his wife whenever I wanted and him knowing all about it, but he still had no right saying those things. Maybe if he hadn’t, the sickness wouldn’t have come over me. I don’t know. It might have happened anyway. Rosie had told me all about him, all about the things he used to do to her.

Most of what happened was the way I already described it. Not all of it, though. After I put a hole through his belly, I didn’t exactly forget about him. I guess I spent part of the time thinking about what I did, part of the time drinking, and part of the time teasing him.

It’s funny, but that part of it has crystallized itself in my mind over the years. Sometimes, before waking, I can see it all over again. I can see him lying on the floor, his face white and bloodless, a stream of red leaking from his stomach. He’s begging me for help, and I’m standing over him, grinning like a bastard. Sometimes I can even hear what was said.

“Please help me. Call me a doctor.”

“Okay, you’re a doctor. Ha ha. Seriously, I’d like to, but if I’m the human garbage you say I am, then why should I? It’s funny, but in a few hours you’re the one they’re going to be shoveling out of here like a pile of crap. Makes you wonder who the garbage is.”

“Oh fuck. I’ll tell them it was an accident, that it was my fault. I won’t say anything, please. I promise.”

“Got to agree with you there. In a few hours you won’t be saying much of anything.”

“I’m dying.”

“Well, you better enjoy it while you can because that’s all you’ve got left.”

“Damn it, help me!”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you. Later, after you’ve been incinerated, I’ll warm up your wife. I won’t get her as burnt up as you, but I’ll get her nice and hot, don’t worry about that.”

“You sick bastard-”

“There you go again. Just when I was thinking of getting you some help, you have to go and hurt my feelings.”

When I think about it, when I make myself think about why I did it, I have to think it was for Rosie.

* * * * *

After landing, I rented a car and drove straight out to Rose’s little clapboard shack. Walking up to her door, I couldn’t help feeling disgusted. I know the place wasn’t much, but that was still no reason for the neglect it had suffered. She could’ve at least planted some grass out front or put on a fresh coat of paint occasionally. Or maybe fixed the mailbox before it fell over completely. As it was, the place was a mess.

I rang the doorbell. The latch was pushed back and the door opened a few inches. I saw Rose peering out through the crack.

“Hello, Rosie.” Recognition hit her and she tried shoving the door closed, but I pushed back against it and made my way in. I closed the door behind me.

“Y-You,” she stammered at me. “Get out of here or I’ll scream.”

“Is that any way to talk to an old friend?”

“I mean it. Get out now!”

“You still have such a nice set of teeth,” I said. “It’d be a shame if they were knocked all over this room. Besides,” I added, “it didn’t look to me like your neighbors were home so I don’t see how screaming would do you any good.”

Rose had to be almost forty now and she still looked good for her age. Nice and thin, and, as best I could tell, nothing was sagging. But I’ll tell you, with the way she was twisting up her face it was tough to judge exactly how good the years had been to her.

“Wh-What do you want?” Just so you don’t get the wrong idea, she wasn’t stuttering out of fear or anything like that. Just out of being boiling mad.

“Do I need a reason to want to see you?” I started worrying that if her face twisted itself up any more, something would fall off. “I’m just here for a friendly little chat, that’s all,” I said.

“Y-You left that picture at my door last week, didn’t you?”

I nodded. “To be honest, that was an accident. Look, I’m starving. You got anything to eat?”

She didn’t say a word, so I walked over to the kitchen. The only stuff in the refrigerator that wasn’t wilted or spoiled was some yogurt, cheese, and eggs. I took out a couple of eggs and the cheese.

I found bread in the cupboard and used up the cheese making myself a sandwich. The plane trip had put some sort of hole in my stomach, and I could tell that the scraps I was putting together weren’t going to help much. I took the sandwich and eggs back out to Rose, and tossed the eggs to her.

“Why don’t you scramble these for me. You remember how I like them. Right, Rosie?”

She planted her foot forward and hurled the eggs at me, but her aim was a little wild and they sailed over my head and splattered against the wall.

“I don’t know if I agree with yellow over there,” I said.

Rosie dropped into a chair making funny animal sounds. I sat down and started eating my sandwich, taking time to chew it carefully. When I was finished she was still making those sounds. That was the thing with her and Mary, they sure loved a good cry.

“Did you sleep with her?” she asked, looking up at me.

Her eyes were shining like mad, and a grin a mile wide was stretching her lips across her face. I realized the animal sounds weren’t the result of her crying. She had been laughing.

“The girl in the picture,” I said uneasily, “is your daughter. She hired me to find her birth parents. When I came here last week, I hadn’t made the connection between Rose Martinez and my Rosie Murphy. I guess I made it right before you answered the door.”

She nodded. “You did sleep with her. You want to guess who the father is?”

She started laughing again, those same damned animal sounds. Softer than before, but they cut right through me. Of course I knew who Mary’s father was. I knew as soon as I had seen Rose last time and made the connection with my Rosie Murphy. I must have known, at least at a subconscious level, that day Mary and I were together and I got sick. I’ve gone over the dates a dozen times since then and nothing else is possible. Mary may look a lot like Rose, but if you squint real hard you can see some of my features in her.

“Well, anyway,” I said, “she-your daughter-wants to see you.”

“I don’t want to see her.”

“Rosie, she’s a sweet kid. What harm would it do to talk to her?”

She shrugged. “It’s a free country. If you bring her here, I’ll talk. You can bet on that. I’ll tell her about her father. I’ll tell her all about you. How you killed my husband out of pure spite. How you ruined my life on a whim. How you’re nothing but an empty twisted psychopath. Don’t worry, I’ll have a nice chat with her.”

She stood up and spat at me. I took out a handkerchief and very slowly wiped off my face, taking deep breaths as I did so.

I put the handkerchief away and smiled at her. “Rose, you’re not thinking clearly. If you were to say things like that, well, I’d have to tell her how killing Walt was as much your idea as mine. Where would that leave you?”

“I don’t care,” she said softly. Her face relaxed, and I could see she was still beautiful. “It’s about time I told the truth and stopped worrying about your lies. The truth hurts, doesn’t it, Johnny? You want to know something? I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t tell me you didn’t want me to kill your husband,” I said, feeling a sneer twisting my lips.

“N-No!” she stammered. “I didn’t want you to!”

“Oh no?” I opened my eyes wide. “You sure didn’t seem all that upset after it happened. The next day you were all over me, hugging and kissing me like crazy. I guess we all show our grief in different ways, but I sure never saw your way before.”

“I didn’t want him killed! I never said anything like-”

“A real angel of mercy,” I said. “Cut the crap. I did you a favor and you know it. You told him about me because you wanted what happened. You knew, didn’t you, honey?”

“No! I told Walt about you because I thought we loved each other. I didn’t know you were just using me.”

“I wasn’t, Rosie. I did love you.”

Looking at her with her face unclenched, I could remember why I used to sneak around to get a piece of her. She still had those soft brown eyes that could melt butter and lips that would give any man ideas. I let my eyes fall down to the rest of her and felt my heart skip a beat. The dungarees she was wearing didn’t hide much, and I could see her body still had a wonderful compactness about it, the type that used to keep me busy until sunrise, and sometimes long after that.

I wet my lips. “I’ve missed you, Rosie. Sometimes I think giving you up was the biggest mistake I ever made. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? It might have been different if you had.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Do you ever think of me like before?” I asked, keeping my eyes on her waist, thinking how nice she’d look if she’d just take those pants off.

“I’m tired, go home. I don’t want you here. Please, just go.”

“Rosie, this isn’t right. We should try to work things out.” I walked over to her. “Maybe it’s not too late for us. Maybe we could make it right this time.”

She turned her head away and I put my hand under her chin, turning her face back towards mine. I reached down to kiss her and there was a whirl of motion and a searing pain over my eye. I stumbled back and grasped my forehead, feeling a warm stickiness spreading across my hand.

I couldn’t see anything except a redness, and it wasn’t blood. I stood frozen, afraid to move a muscle, afraid of what I’d do if I let myself move even an inch. A pounding in my ears was trying to deafen me, but over it I could make out the sounds of someone rustling about and then the loading of a shotgun.

I could hear footsteps running towards me and then Rosie’s voice in a high-pitched scream begging me to try something. I wanted to. It would have made everything so easy. All I had to do was move an inch, just say a word, and it all would’ve been over. I sure wanted to oblige her, but I didn’t move.

I guess life isn’t meant to be easy. When another weight is rolled onto your back, you just have to shoulder the burden and keep moving. But sometimes it’s so damn tempting to lie down. Sometimes you just want to close your eyes and stop the weariness.

The red haze that was blinding me drifted away. Blood had dripped into my eyes, making me wince, but through it I could see Rose holding a shotgun. The barrel was doing a snake dance in front of my face.

“Move, damn you! Try something you dirty bastard!” she screamed, tears lining her sweet, pretty face.

Well, as I said, I wanted to oblige her. I really did but it wouldn’t have been right. I turned from her and walked towards the door.

She screamed at me. Even as I was turning the ignition in the car she was still going at it. When I was a block away I could still hear her.

I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that she’d done quite a number on me. The skin was torn from the middle of my forehead to above the eye. Blood still trickled down, giving me a red streak across my face.

I stopped at a drugstore and bought disinfectant and bandages. I asked the girl working behind the counter if she had a mirror, and she told me I could use a bathroom in the back.

I cleaned out the wounds and applied the disinfectant. I couldn’t keep from swearing-it stung like hell. I needed several bandages to cover the scratches and I grimaced seeing my face all puffed out and looking like a piece of raw steak.

I was lucky the crazy bitch hadn’t scratched my eye out and I had no doubt that’s what she intended. For a moment I thought about how it would serve her right if someone kicked down her door and broke her neck. No one could argue that she deserved it. The only problem, though, was that it wouldn’t stop Mary from finding out about her. If something like that were to happen to Rose now, well, that would be as bad as anything else.

As I was leaving I thanked the girl for the use of the bathroom. She looked at me with some concern and asked if I shouldn’t see a doctor.

“I’ll be okay, thanks,” I said. “How did you get those cuts?”

“Walked right into a stone wall.” It wasn’t until I got to the airport that I was able to remove the grin from my face.