Fast Lane

Chapter 18

The doorbell woke me up. Looking out the window I saw Marge holding a shopping bag, tapping her foot impatiently and looking worried. I felt like ignoring her and sliding back into bed but I knew the ringing wouldn’t stop.

I opened the door and her eyes moved to the bandages. As she realized what they were covering, her expression shifted from worry to something mean.

“So, lover,” she sneered, “you all alone in there?”

I nodded, squinting at the light.

“Who did that to you, the slut you were screwing around with the other night?”

“I just got back from a case and found your note. Made me feel awful funny.”

“You weren’t home two nights ago?” she asked, biting her lip.

I shook my head. “I didn’t get back until three last night.”

“But your car was here!”

The wound Rose gave me was beating faster than a rabbit’s heart. I steadied myself against the door. “When I go away, I always take a cab to the airport.”

“But-”

“It hurt me,” I interrupted, “to see how little you trusted me.”

She flinched as if she’d been slapped. “I-I’m sorry, Johnny. When I saw your car here and you wouldn’t answer your door-” The sentence died in her throat. She held up her shopping bag. “I’ve got breakfast,” she said weakly.

I didn’t feel like fighting. I moved aside, letting her slip by. She put the bag down and moved over to a chair. “First, I want to see how bad that is. Sit down over here.”

I let her take the bandages off. “Ouch,” she said, her face wrinkling. “How did it happen?”

“I was trying to get information about a missing persons case. This damn dope addict”-I laughed, sourly-”thought my head was a scratching post.”

She kissed me on the other side of my forehead. “Close your eyes, darling. I’ll be right back.”

I did as I was told and heard her high heels tapping down the hallway. Then a faucet was turned on and in a minute she was back at my side, patting at my forehead with a damp washcloth as carefully as if she was cleaning the dirt off a butterfly’s wing.

“I don’t know, Johnny,” she said. “These scratches are pretty deep. Maybe I should take you to a doctor?”

“No, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Concern wrinkled her brow and pulled her smile apart. “I’m going to put something on them,” she said. “Hold tight.”

The ointment she used stung worse than hell, and if I thought she was enjoying it I would have slapped her silly. I could tell from her eyes, though, that she wasn’t. I think it even hurt her, maybe not as much as me, but a little. When she was through she put on fresh bandages.

“I’m going to make you breakfast.” She rubbed my shoulder gently. “Now lie down and I’ll yell for you when it’s ready.”

She left me, and then cried out from the kitchen that she was going to make eggs, bacon, and pancakes. After a few minutes, she yelled out again, asking if I wanted my eggs over easy.

I said something about liking everything easy. I started drifting off and a loud bang knocked me out of it. Quite a racket was coming from the kitchen. Marge was dropping pots and swearing up a storm and bumping into things. After a while it got quieter, and then there was the tap-tap-tap sound of Marge’s high heels again.

She squatted in front of me, lowering herself to my level. “Breakfast is served,” she informed me, a hesitant smile breaking over her face.

Everything was already spooned out onto plates. The eggs were overcooked and were staring up at me like hard, jaundiced eyes. I tried the pancakes and they were okay as long as I used my soupspoon on them. The bacon, though, needed to be cleaned off. It looked like it had been dropped on the floor and kicked around some. I ended up eating all of it. I had more on my mind than food.

I knew what would happen if Mary found Rose. When the shock wore off she’d head straight to the police. Sooner or later Eddie Braggs would get wind of it, and when he did, I’d be on the front page, built up as every kind of scourge to mankind. Eddie wouldn’t slow down until the Walt Murphy murder case was reopened, and it would be reopened, eventually. Our current district attorney is more gutless than Walt Murphy was when I had finished with him. He’d cave in under the pressure and . . . .

I had played it out a thousand times in my mind since I first found Rose and I couldn’t see it happening any other way. Unless Mary never met up with Rose, and there was only one way that could happen.

Marge had said something and was now repeating herself. “I hope you liked breakfast. I don’t cook much.”

“I cleaned my plate, didn’t I?” While I was eating I’d been trying to make up my mind about something. I smiled at her. “What would you think about going on a trip with me?”

I planned on traveling south. First Mexico, and then South America. By the time Mary found out about Rose, I’d be long gone. There’d be enough fake passports thrown about that not even Braggs would be able to sniff out my trail. At least that’s what I was counting on.

Marge seemed genuinely surprised. “Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know,” I pretended to muse. “Maybe someplace South. How’s Mexico sound?”

“It sounds great, Johnny. When do we leave?”

“In a few hours. Maybe this afternoon.”

She frowned. “I can’t just take off like that. If I don’t show up for work Monday, I’ll be fired.”

I shrugged. “I don’t want to twist your arm. If you don’t want to go, don’t.”

“But-” She bit her lip. As she weighed the pros and cons, she pushed her bottom lip out, making herself look like an orangutan. It was a cute habit, but one I’d have to break her of if she was going to spend any time with me.

“Look, darling,” I said, “forget it, okay? I’ll see you around.”

Her lips formed a small circle, and her lungs emptied out. “I want to go with you, Johnny. I guess I can call work Monday and if they don’t like it I can always find another job.”

She moved over to me and placed her palms on my chest. “I love you, Johnny,” she said, her eyes expanding to the size of silver dollars.

“Sure you do,” I said, slapping her on the rear.

“I do, Johnny.” She nodded solemnly. “I feel that I know everything about you. I know you’re filled with pain. I just know it. I can feel it and I want to help you.”

I let my hand linger in the general area of the slap, feeling something myself. I gave her a little squeeze and she squealed.

“I know how you can help me,” I said.

“I bet you do!” She giggled, pushing herself away. “But if we’re leaving today, I’ve got a lot to do. Honey, would you mind cleaning up in the kitchen?”

“Not at all.” I gave her another pinch and she gave me another giggle.

“How long are we going to be away?” she asked.

I winked. “If you’re a good girl, maybe forever. Give me a call in a couple of hours and I’ll let you know what the plans are.”

Her eyes lit up and she pushed herself into me, kissing me hard enough to almost break a tooth. “Just a coming attraction.”

I walked into the kitchen, checking my teeth to make sure she hadn’t loosened any. Looking around, I was amazed at what she’d done to the place. Bowls, pots, utensils were scattered about. Where she could’ve used one thing, she’d used three. I could’ve left everything where it was but instead I rolled up my sleeves and went at it. Even though there was no reason to care about the mess, I didn’t want to leave any more unfinished business than I had to.

After straightening things up, I called a travel agent and booked a six o’clock flight to Mexico City. I then went to my bank and got enough cash for a month. When the time was right I would transfer my funds to a Swiss account, but I didn’t have to hurry on that. While I hated the idea of abandoning my house, I doubted that I could sell it before Mary found Rose. Well, anyway, the bank owned half of it and I couldn’t afford to be greedy.

I couldn’t quite figure out why I asked Marge to come along. I didn’t plan to take her to South America with me. I guess I felt like having company for the next few days. I’m not the type who handles worrying very well; it kind of bubbles inside me, twisting my stomach into a thin sausage. Running, like I was, gave me plenty to worry about, and maybe I was hoping Marge would take the edge off the first few days. I knew they’d be the worst.

* * * * *

Marge was waiting for me at the airport, giddy as a kid looking forward to her first plane ride. She was decked out in a short bright-red number that made her waist look thin enough to fit a necklace that would choke most other women. The dress reached down just enough to cover her panties and did a good job of playing up all of her assets, although they really didn’t need any help. A gal once tried convincing me that the perfect size of a woman’s breast is only what fits into a champagne glass and anything else is wasted. I didn’t buy it, and I’m sure Marge wouldn’t have either. She had enough for a half-dozen champagne glasses and none of it was wasted.

She saw me and came over running, giving me a big kiss. As she pulled away she grinned and asked if I liked the way she looked.

I wanted to take her to the nearest hotel and show her exactly what I thought, and if there was a later plane I would’ve. Instead, all I could do was swallow hard and try to keep my jaw from dropping.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “We’re going to miss this month’s ‘Fast Lane’.”

She was right. My feature wasn’t going to be published until tomorrow. It didn’t look like I’d get a chance to see how Eddie had taken care of things.

“Well,” I said, “you’ll just have to be satisfied with the real thing.” That made her giggle, which made her body bounce under her dress, which made me think more about that hotel room. We checked in and boarded the plane.

* * * * *

After we settled into our seats, she tried talking to me. Somewhere over Texas, though, she gave up, and I was grateful. The finality of what I was doing hadn’t really hit me until the plane started moving, and then it all washed over me, leaving my stomach twisted worse than a blanket in a hurricane.

I looked at Marge. Even though her small talk had ripped through me worse than Rose’s nails, I was glad she was with me. I was going to need something to occupy myself with. Especially at night when it becomes so damn quiet.

I tried blanking out my thoughts. I tried concentrating on the hum of the engine. I tried thinking of Marge in that dress. I tried imagining myself fishing. I tried . . . .

Nothing worked. My mind kept flooding with images of Mary. I knew what was going to happen and I couldn’t keep it out of my head.

Mary would find it suspicious that she couldn’t contact me. She’d wait until my two weeks were up but after that she’d hire another detective. It wouldn’t take long for him to find Rose. Another two weeks at the most.

So there it was. In four weeks the fuse was going to be lit. I couldn’t guess how long it would take after that for the explosion, but I knew it was going to come. And it was going to be one hell of a blast. It would have to be with Eddie Braggs doing everything he could to add gunpowder to it. Probably end up a national story. And after that . . . .

No matter how well you think you’ve planned things, there’s always something you missed. Or maybe you looked at all the angles but something from left field botches it up for you.

There was always the risk I’d be recognized. Maybe a foreign correspondent who’s heard of me, or some old biddy on vacation who used to clip out my stories. Or maybe a private investigator hired to find me. I knew Mary wouldn’t bother with something like that, but I wasn’t sure about Eddie Braggs. He just might be mad enough.

I also knew that I was always going to be looking over my shoulder. It wouldn’t matter how well I thought I was hidden, it wouldn’t be good enough. For the moment, maybe, but what about the next day or the day after that?

In a way I’d be willing to turn myself in if it could be done quietly. If folks could go on admiring me and slapping my back. If it didn’t end with the way it would have to. With people calling me those names. Or telling jokes about me. Or looking at me funny . . . or thinking they were better than me. That would be the worst part of it.

Worry was churning around in my stomach. I knew it was never going to go away, at least not entirely. All I could hope for was to learn to live with it.