Fast Lane (21 page)

But it didn’t.

Chapter 23

I was at Charlie’s Silver Dollar Bar in two hours and so was he, but it was a good twenty minutes before he saw me. I wanted a chance to study him and get an understanding of what I was up against.

Charlie’s was the type of dive where drunks and rummies shuffle off to as soon as they wake in the morning. A dank musty-smelling hole where half the customers wore urine-caked pants and had more fleas than your average junkyard dog. The old man seemed right at home.

He was sitting hunched over his table, his throat blown up like a bullfrog’s, his small black eyes bugging out, nervously jerking towards the door. He needed a drink bad, which was giving him the shakes. Whenever the shakes would take him over, he’d wet his lips and start to order something, and then clamp his mouth shut. I guess he thought it’d be better to hold out and try to keep his wits about him. That was a mistake. When you’re as bad off as him you need the alcohol to clear your head.

I’d had enough of looking at him. I approached his table and when he saw me he jerked a little in his chair, and then his thick lips cracked into a smile.

“
So,” he said, nodding, “you know me too.”

I knew him alright. Bert Debbles, one of my poppa’s drinking buddies. I knew him when I saw him in Oklahoma City. Of course, if I’d recognized him right away I wouldn’t have offered him my hand, or introduced myself, or told him where I could be found. Instead, I would have walked right out of the train station.

Thinking about him had troubled me that night. During the train ride back to Denver I was worried sick about whether he had recognized me, and then I realized it didn’t matter. It could be taken care of. I sat down across from him and didn’t say a word.

“
Clem Smalley,” he croaked. “I knew you as soon as I saw you. You don’t fool me none with this Mister Johnny Lane crap.”

“
So you know me.” I shrugged. “What of it?”

“
Don’t you wise-ass me!” he yelled, spittle clinging to his chin. “I know who you are and I know what you did!”

“
Yeah, go on. Tell me about it, pops.”

“
You killed your daddy!”

“
What?” I laughed. “You’re senile, old man. Your brain’s gone soft from booze.”

“
If it ain’t the truth,” he said, a crafty look playing on his face, “why’d you come here for?”

“
Just curious.”

He shook his head. “We all knew you did it, running off the way you did the night your daddy was kilt. What you take us for, a bunch of idjits? Anyways, police back home have a warrant for your arrest. They still have it, too. I checked.” He nodded. “They still looking for you. If I told them where to find you they’d come and get you, don’t you think they wouldn’t! Not after what you done. Run your poor daddy down like a dog in the street!”

“
He was worse than any dog!” I growled, shaking my head to keep the redness out. “He got what he deserved!”

“
No man deserves to be kilt like that, treated worse than any animal.”

“
No? What does a man like him deserve? A man who forces himself on his own daughters, who beats his wife until her heart can’t take anymore. A man who treats his only son like he was a—”

I didn’t finish the sentence. How could I? How could I put it in words?

He stared at me with eyes that were dry and lifeless. “No one saying your daddy was an angel. He had his faults but he shouldn’t been kilt like that.” A contemptuous look deepened his frown. “Anyway, he told me what a no-good little bastard you were. He saw what you really were and that’s how he treated you.”

He shouldn’t have said that, oh brother he shouldn’t have. I smiled—there wasn’t a chance in hell I could’ve kept it off my face.

“
What you smiling at, you danged fool? You an idjit also?”

Yeah, old man, I was keeping score. Go ahead, keep it up, it was too late for you anyways.

“
No, pops, just amused. What do you want?”

“
What I want is to see you hung for what you did to your daddy!” He lowered his eyes. “But I guess that wouldn’t do no good. You the only boy he got, and he was a big enough man to have forgiven you. But you got to pay for it, boy. You gonna pay me for it. Fifty thousand dollars.”

“
What if I told you to go to hell?”

“
You can tell me that if you want. You can tell me anything as long as you give me the money.”

“
Go to hell,” I said. “You’re lucky if I don’t kick you out this door.”

“
Wouldn’t surprise me none if you tried,” he said. “Not with all your daddy told me about you being a worthless idjit without the brains to walk and spit at the same time. You try and do a damn fool thing like that and I go back home and tell the police where to find you. Don’t think I won’t!”

“
Yeah?” I said. “And you think the police are going to care two bits about it? They probably figured he got what he deserved. They’d probably give me a goddamn medal. Hell, I did the whole state of Nevada a favor.”

I was pretty sure they wouldn’t bother trying to extradite me. I was a minor at the time, and anyway, he was a rotten son of a bitch, and they were probably tickled to see it happen. Hell, how could they care about something like that? Something that happened twenty-five years ago to a man like him?

Still though, it is always on the back of my mind. I think it’s the reason I try to avoid flying, the fear the plane might be forced to land in Nevada and someone recognizing me. And the police are called, and . . . .

Debbles was mulling things over. “Well, even if they don’t, I’d make sure everyone here found out all about it, you can bet on that! Let’s see what happens when people know what you did!”

I knew what would happen. Kissing my business goodbye would be only the start of it. Eddie Braggs would take a long hard look at me, and maybe he’d end up seeing me in a different light. And if that were to happen . . . .

“
That’s right.” He gave me a sly look. “You wouldn’t like that none.”

“
I can’t give you fifty thousand dollars,” I said. “I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

“
You got it. Don’t you forget which one of us is the idjit. You got your own business, and you’re a celebrity, remember?”

I pushed my chair back. “I don’t have that type of money. Sorry, pops. You might as well take your best shot.”

“
Sit down!” he ordered. “Quit being stupid!” A helpless look came over his face as he studied me. Finally, his lips quit moving. “Give me thirty thousand dollars then.”

“
Uh-huh,” I said sadly. “You’re trying to squeeze blood from the wrong stone.”

“
I mean it, damn it! By God, I’ll tell them!”

“
Well,” I said. “There’s not much I can do about it. I’d be lucky to come up with ten thousand dollars. Have yourself a nice trip home.”

Stunned, he sat there hunched over, his arms nothing more than withered appendages, his hands bent like bony claws. The sight of him made me laugh like all hell. On the inside. On the outside, I looked as serious as could be, my lips pulled down, frowning. I could’ve agreed to the fifty thousand—I could’ve agreed to a million—but I had to keep him off balance. Make him think he was sweating the money out of me, that I was actually planning on paying him off. Knowing what his real payoff was going to be made me laugh all the harder. On the inside.

“
Give me fifteen thousand, then,” he croaked, his face sagging under the weight of his offered compromise.

I gave a concerned look. “I don’t know if I can raise that type of money.”

“
You just better!” He waggled a gnarled finger at me. “Don’t think I don’t know how to handle the likes of you! You be here tomorrow at noon with every single penny of it.”

I let out a lungful of air. “I’ll try, but I don’t think I can get fifteen thousand dollars.”

“
You just better make sure you do.” His face got a crafty look again. “And you better not be thinking of pulling anything. I arranged it so if anything happens to me, they’ll find out about you.”

“
Wait a minute,” I said. “If you’ve already told anyone else about this, the deals off. I’m not about to be shaken down by a parade of boozed-up bums.”

He chuckled. “You’re even stupider than your daddy said you were. You think I go and tell anyone that? But I did take care of things, don’t you think I didn’t. I wrote up all about you, and I left it in a—in a safety deposit box. If anything happens to me, they’ll find out about you alright.”

“
Pretty clever.” I nodded, and I was laughing even harder inside. The thought of him spending money on a safety deposit box was too much. Still though, there might be a shade of truth to it.

“
Damn right it is!” he agreed. “You just remember you ain’t dealing with a danged fool like yourself. Now git yourself out of my sight. I’m finished with you!”

“
How do I contact you if something comes up?”

“
You don’t!” he snapped. “You think I tell you that? Now git out and make sure you bring the money.”

I left him sitting there, feeling like he won something. But the game hadn’t even started.

Chapter 24

The next day I rented a car and was parked across the street from Charlie’s Silver Dollar Bar by eleven thirty. There was probably no reason to rent the car—I was sure the old man hadn’t bothered to find out what type I had—but there was no reason to take any chances.

A few minutes before noon I saw him hobbling down the street towards the bar. When he got to the door, he jerked his head around suspiciously and then pushed his way through.

I took out a pair of binoculars and watched him through the storefront window. He was sitting facing the door, hunched forward with his hands gripping the edge of the table for support. I settled back in the car and got myself comfortable for the wait.

After about an hour, he got up and took a few steps towards the door. He hesitated, and then glanced around before sitting back down. That seemed to develop into a ritual he repeated every ten minutes. By two o’clock he was shaking and twitching pretty bad. He broke down then and had himself a drink. After that first drink he had some more.

It was three o’clock before he walked out of the bar. Stepping outside he froze for a moment, uncertainty clouding his face. He seemed to have shrunk since entering the bar, and watching him hobble down the street reminded me of a whipped dog. He had that same beaten look about him.

I put the car in first gear and kept fifty yards behind him. I didn’t have to follow him long—he stepped inside a three-story flophouse only a block from the bar.

I pulled the car over and sprinted to the front door. I stood quietly and listened. He was on the staircase, and I counted his footsteps. Eighteen of them. When the sounds faded, I counted to ten and raced up the stairs. Eighteen steps took me to the third floor. I flattened myself against the wall and peered down the hallway. He was still there, slowly stumbling along. Then he stopped, took a key from his pocket, opened the door he was standing in front of and stepped inside. After the door closed, I walked over to it. Room thirty-nine. I gave the lock a quick once-over. It was a five-buck special; it wouldn’t take more than a screwdriver to get past it.

I could’ve taken care of things then and there, but as I mentioned before there was no reason to take any risks. All I had to do was show a little patience and everything would be just fine. I now knew where to find Bert Debbles. A seven-buck-a-night flophouse, where the drug addicts and bums wouldn’t find anything unusual about a ruckus coming from a neighboring room.

* * * * *

I had myself an early dinner. A full slab of ribs, French fries, and two big pieces of chocolate cake. After that, I sat for a while over a few beers and then had some coffee. I was feeling pretty good. By the time I left the restaurant it was nine o’clock. I headed to a pool hall and played for a few hours, losing a hundred bucks to a seventeen-year-old hustler. That was okay, just a way to kill some time. By the time I got home it was past midnight.

There were about a dozen messages on my answering machine where the caller paused but decided not to say anything. Probably the old man dying to give me a piece of his addled mind. It was funny though, nothing from Mary. She hadn’t tried calling my office either. I guess she must’ve decided to give me the full two weeks before contacting me.

I lay down and waited, and Bert Debbles didn’t disappoint me. Within twenty minutes the phone rang.

I answered it.

“
Just who do you think you’re playing with?” he rasped. I could visualize his face, all red and quivering with rage. “You think I’m an idjit, do you? I’m going right back home and see the police about you!”

“
Hold on,” I insisted. “I spent all day trying to raise that money and only got home five minutes ago. I asked for a way of getting a hold of you, but you wouldn’t tell me.”

“
You got the fifteen thousand dollars?”

“
I got a little over eleven thousand. That’s all I could raise.”

“
That ain’t good enough!”

“
What do you want from me?” I said. “I got all I could out of my house. I hit up everyone I know for loans. There’s nothing else.”