Fast Lane by Dave Zeltserman

Author:Dave Zeltserman [Zeltserman, Dave]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, 03 Thriller/Mistery
ISBN: 9781930997639
Google: _kJzZ1raUpkC
Amazon: 1930997639
Publisher: Point Blank
Published: 2000-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

I was woken up the next morning by Marge shouting. “But . . . can’t you give me a break? . . . Look, I didn’t have any choice! . . . You know what you can do with your lousy job! . . . Yeah, just make sure you don’t bend over near a cattle ranch! . . . Because they’ll try milking you, you fat cow! . . . Drop dead and rot!”

She slammed the phone down and stared at it for a few seconds, then turned to me, still seething. “The dirty bitch can take her job and cram it. She was always jealous of me because the only thing that will touch her is her underwear. Even her vibrators go soft.”

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling and yelled, “Screw it!” Then she gave me her bared-fanged smile. “So, lover, what are we going to do to celebrate my being fired?”

I took some money from my wallet and handed it to her. “Why don’t you go buy yourself something nice?”

“I like that idea. Come on, get dressed and we’ll go shopping.”

“I’ve got some business to do this morning,” I said. “You go and I’ll meet you for a late lunch.”

She was going to say something, I knew she wanted to, but she held it back. Instead, she shook her head and muttered something under her breath.

The clock next to the bed showed that it was nine thirty. I had an eleven o’clock appointment. Marge gave me a long, cold stare, her mouth moving as if she were chewing gum, then turned on her heels and walked out the door.

* * * * *

A thin blond hawk-nosed man sat at a corner table in the lobby. He was dressed sharply in a cream-colored suit and a straw fedora rested on his head. He could’ve been Dutch or German. When he saw me he nodded.

I approached his table and, in a thick accent, he asked, “Johnny Lane?”

Along with his hawk nose, he had small fish eyes that were set off by a white paleness, making his face almost wax-like. I sat down across from him and returned his nod.

“Some identification, please.”

I handed him my passport. He studied it, and passed it back to me. He gave me the type of smile you’d see on a ventriloquist’s dummy. “On the phone you said you like to do some business. First, I need to know how you get my name.”

“From an acquaintance of mine, Tex Halley.”

“Tex Halley?” He frowned. “Yes, I remember. It went very smoothly. It is so much nicer when things go smoothly. All you want is new passport and identification. Very simple. Less messy than your friend wanted. Give you bargain. Only five thousand American dollars.”

I swallowed, feeling a hotness in my cheeks. “You told me it would be three thousand.”

He shrugged. “It is very hard to understand these things. Prices change daily. My costs tied to intangibles like politics and mood of officials, things very difficult to be precise about.

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