Fast Lane (3 page)

Singer whimpered. I put the photo back on the bookcase. “I’m hurt pretty bad,” he moaned. “I need a doctor.”

“
Again, that’s your problem.”

He pushed himself up into a sitting position. I knew he was in a good deal of pain. He’d have to be with a busted up mouth and a chest full of cracked ribs.

“
You don’t understand,” he said. “I love my daughter. She’s all I care about. If you give me a chance I can change and—”

“
You better stop now while you can. In another minute it’ll be too late.”

He started crying again. “What am I going to do?”

“
You’re going to get out of here,” I said. “Now. I don’t know how much longer I can stomach being around you.”

He slowly got to feet, moaning every inch of the way. He grabbed his side loosely and headed towards the staircase. He said he was going to pack a few things. I told him there wasn’t time. He hesitated and then turned around and hobbled to the bathroom. I watched as he cleaned and bandaged his mouth. The bandaged area had already swollen to the size of a small melon. I didn’t see the point in what he was doing, but I also didn’t see any point arguing with him.

When he was done, he asked again about packing some items. I shook my head. I followed him as he left the house.

As he got behind the wheel of his Volvo his expression changed, the submissiveness in his eyes shifting to something else, something cagey. He waved me over.

“
You have no right,” he said. “What you did was assault and battery. Possibly attempted murder.”

“
I guess you could look at it that way.”

“
You guess I could look at it that way? I could sue you for every penny you got and then put you in jail.”

“
Well, you could sure try.”

“
I could do a lot more than just try.” He watched carefully for my reaction. “If you tell anyone about your allegations or write about them in your newspaper column, you’ll find out how much I can do.”

“
Yeah, well, if you’d like we could go to the police right now. I’d be glad to bring Debra along and have her tell her story.”

His jaw muscles tightened as he looked away. Blood seeped from his bandaged mouth and dripped down his shirt. “You better keep quiet about this, Lane. If you don’t, I’ll sue you.” He turned back, facing me. “And I’ll move back home.”

I leaned forward, resting on his window. “Let me make sure you understand something,” I said as politely as I could. “The only reason I won’t write about this is because I don’t want to make things any more difficult than they already are for your daughter. If she ever sees your face again, I promise you there won’t be any face left afterwards.”

He put the car in gear and stepped on the gas. I had to jump back to keep from having my feet run over.

Of course, he was only kidding himself. I guess the finality of it all hadn’t sunk in yet, but it would. It was only a matter of time.

I looked down and saw my hands were shaking worse than a junkie’s. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think about Craig Singer, about what I almost did to him, about what I wanted more than anything to do to him. Because when I was standing over him I knew I came within a hair’s breadth of sending him straight to hell. It took every ounce of strength I had to keep from doing it.

I stood there for a while and then got in my car and waited until the shaking stopped.

* * * * *

I almost didn’t get to the bank in time to cash Craig Singer’s check. As it was, the teller was a big fan of mine, and by the time we were through chatting and I was able to leave, it was past five o’clock. It was almost five thirty before I got back to the Corner Diner.

Carol was sitting at a table waiting for me. She looked miserable. When she saw me her face went white.

“
I’m so sorry, Johnny—”

I put up a hand, stopping her. Of course Debra was gone. I told Carol it was my fault for taking as long as I did. I asked her what time Debra had left.

“
Around one thirty,” Carol said. “I tried to keep an eye on her, but it got busy, and when I looked up she wasn’t there. My shift ended at three but I’ve been waiting for you so I could—”

“
So you could sit around and make yourself more and more miserable,” I said, forcing a smile. “Look, darling, the reason I come here is because you got such a beautiful smile it makes me feel good just to look at you. If you’re going to look the way you do right now, I might have to find myself another diner.”

That made her blush and smile at the same time. “I feel terrible about this, Johnny,” she said.

“
Don’t worry, I’ll find her. Second time is always easier.”

* * * * *

I gave it my best shot. I spent over an hour driving up and down East Colfax without any luck. After that I drove to Denver International Airport and showed Debra’s picture around. People stopped and looked at it and shook their heads sadly and told me how sorry they were they couldn’t help. I got the same reactions when I tried the bus terminal.

It was ten thirty when I tried East Colfax again. At each street corner I slowed down and waited for the hookers to come running over and then I showed them Debra’s picture. Some argued that they could give me a better ride for my money than the girl I was looking for, others got nasty, and a few tried to help, giving me the old news about Debra working Tiny’s peep show. After East Colfax, I drove around the State Capital building with pretty much the same results, only difference being more of the hookers were transvestites.

By the time I got home it was two thirty in the morning and I was dead tired. I hadn’t really eaten all day, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. I went to bed. As I lay awake thoughts entered my head, things that I had no right thinking about. After a while, I realized I wasn’t going to sleep. Especially with those images swirling around in my mind. I got up, found a bottle of bourbon, and brought it back to bed. A long time later I passed out.

When I woke, I felt like I had swallowed a pound of chewing tobacco and spent a few hours being kicked in the stomach. It was a lot more than the hangover that made me feel as bad as I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about Craig Singer, about what I almost did to him. Other things had seeped through. Real crazy things that just didn’t make any sense.

As I lay awake trying to sort it all out, I realized I was blowing everything out of proportion. Because if you think about it, what I wanted to do was perfectly normal; any sane, rational person would’ve wanted to do the same thing. If you lift up a rock and see something nasty crawling under it your natural reaction is to stomp on it, right?

Under any rock, there wouldn’t be anything much lower than Craig Singer.

Realizing all that made me feel better, maybe even a little hungry.

I showered and dressed. My hangover passed through me like a bad chill and by the time I headed off to work I was feeling okay.

My office is right in downtown Denver, about twenty minutes from my house. I parked behind my building and walked the three blocks to the Corner Diner. Carol was again working the counters and when she saw me she rushed over and asked how Debra was. I didn’t see any reason for her to be tearing herself up over something like that, so I told her a white lie about finding Debra and bringing her back to her parents. That brought a genuine smile to Carol’s face, which in turn made me feel a little better and a little hungrier. I ended up polishing off a stack of pancakes and four side orders of bacon and a pound of hash browns.

* * * * *

Considering I run one of Denver’s more successful detective agencies there’s not a lot to my office, just an anteroom overflowing with file cabinets and a fifteen by fifteen room—large enough for a desk, a coat rack and a couple of chairs. At one time I carried a secretary, but found I was throwing my money away. I handle the typing myself now, and have an answering service for my calls.

I called Jimmy Tobbler. After that I called my service and got a list of messages. All but one was from Mrs. Singer. She didn’t leave any message other than that she needed to see me. The final message was from a Mary Williams. I was able to locate her at the second of two numbers she’d left. She sounded young. We arranged an appointment for later in the morning.

I tried to make a dent in the paperwork piling up on my desk, but just wasn’t in the mood. As I sat staring at it, Max Roth called to tell me that the case I had subcontracted to him wasn’t going as expected. He needed another week, maybe two, to wrap things up. I was disappointed. The case should’ve been a three-day job. He was obviously milking it. I told him if it looked like it was going to take more than another week to let me know, that I’d consider giving him some help with it. When he hung up, he wasn’t all that careful about replacing the receiver. The noise damn near popped my eardrum.

A few minutes after that, Jimmy Tobbler showed up. I handed him Debra’s photo. He sat down and studied it. “Anorexic?” he said, looking up at me.

“
I think so.” I rubbed a hand across my face. “I found her yesterday and then lost her. She’d been working a peep show on East Colfax. I’d like you to check out the other girls working there.”

He thought it over, nodded. “I can think of worse ways to spend an afternoon. What if I strike out?”

“
She’s only been on the streets for two weeks. Probably doesn’t have too many contacts yet. You could try checking the youth hostels. Still no luck, maybe she hitchhiked out of town. Boulder would be a good bet. So would Colorado Springs. My gut feeling, though, is she’s still in Denver.” I paid him a week’s advance and gave him the address for Tiny’s peep show. As he got up to leave I asked him if he could take it easy with the expense money.

“
Come on, Johnny. I have to tip these girls.”

“
Well, just try and be a little careful with what you spend, okay?” Tobbler, being the comedian that he was, hummed “Thank Heaven for Little Girls” as he strolled from my office.

I picked up Debra Singer’s photo. I couldn’t look away from her eyes. I found myself wishing I had kicked Craig Singer a good deal harder, and maybe a few more times in the mouth. A harsh wrap of knuckles sounded against my office door. I got up, opened it, and found a middle-aged woman standing there, breathing hard. I recognized her from the Singer family portrait.

“
You wouldn’t return my calls,” she said in a tight, forced voice. The rigid lines around her eyes and mouth were pronounced.

“
You must be Mrs. Singer.” I stepped aside to let her through. “Why don’t you come in and take a seat?”

She faced me full on. She was thin, bony, blond hair streaked with gray and pulled away from her face. Her elbows looked sharp enough to cut paper. She glanced quickly around the office, moved to a chair and sat down.

I sat back at my desk. I couldn’t help noticing her neck. While the rest of her visible skin was pulled up tight, her neck was long and thin and webbed with sagging flesh. Next time she had a face-lift, she should look into doing something about that.

“
Sorry about not returning your calls. I only got back to the office a few minutes ago. I’ve been out all night looking for your daughter.”

She didn’t say anything. Just sat there glaring at me. “What can I do for you?” I asked.

“
I think you know.”

I blinked at her. “I’m sorry, I really don’t have any idea—”

“
My husband’s in the hospital!”

“
No kidding?” I let my eyes grow wide. “I saw him only yesterday morning. What happened to him?”

“
Craig claims he fell down the stairs.” She lowered her eyes. “His doctor thinks he was punched in the face and kicked several times in the chest.” She turned back to me. “Facial fractures, three broken ribs, two teeth knocked out.”

And a partridge in a pear tree.

“
So you’d like me to find out who did this to him?” I asked sincerely. “Do you know what he could’ve done to deserve that kind of beating?”

For a while all she could do was stare at me. “He told me he’s not coming home when he gets out of the hospital,” she finally murmured.

“
Well now—”

“
We hired you to find our daughter, not to split up our family!”

“
I’m afraid I don’t understand—”

“
Where’s my daughter? Craig said you found her. Why isn’t she home?”

“
He must be confused,” I said. “Probably from his fall. I did speak to friends of hers who’ve seen her. She’s having a pretty rough time, and when I do find her and bring her home she needs you to listen to her and—”

“
My daughter lives in a fantasy world,” she said. “Debra’s always making up ridiculous stories. You surely didn’t believe any of her nonsense?”

“
And what nonsense might that be?”

Mrs. Singer started to say something, choked it back and looked away. “We made a mistake hiring you,” she said. “Why don’t we consider you fired?”

I shrugged. “Fine with me. I’m still going to find her, though. And when I do, I’m going to make sure she’s safe.”

“
You leave my daughter alone!” She sprung from her chair, face livid, bony hands clenched into fists. “You understand me? Leave my daughter alone!” She didn’t wait for me to answer. She turned and fled from the office, the door slamming behind her.