“I need you to pretend to be a little gal’s daddy.”
“Wha-” he spat out, almost choking.
“I have a college gal who’s searching for her father. You’re going to tell her that you’re him.”
“And what am I supposed to say to Joyce?” he asked.
I explained what I needed him to do. He would meet with Mary and tell her if his wife ever found out he had a daughter it would destroy his marriage. He would feel bad about not being able to see her again, but it would have to be that way. Mary would understand, and that would be it.
It seemed simple enough. Everything was going to work out. Mary would have her faith restored in me, and, just as important, she would never have any reason to meet up with Rose. I could breathe easy again.
Comprehension was beginning to work its way into Bry’s face. His lips turned up into an ugly smile, and he snickered. “You really are a lowlife, aren’t you?”
I don’t think I ever wanted to rip him apart any more than I did right then. It was pretty clear what was going on behind his dull stupid smile. The way he was looking at it, I was giving him a knife he could hold against my throat. Anytime in the future he could threaten to go talk to Mary. Well, whether he wanted to believe me or not, I always did what was in the best interest of his marriage. Now, as far as I was concerned, he was a lost cause. He was no better than a rutting pig, and nothing I could do would change that.
Somehow the thought of him trying to blackmail me didn’t bother me. It wasn’t anything I could put my finger on, sort of something tickling the back of my mind, but I knew when the time was right I would know how to take care of things.
Understanding that gave me a warm feeling.
“If I got any lower,” I said, “the two of us could shake hands.”
Chapter 11
The next two days were rough ones. I couldn’t just go and tell Mary I’d found her daddy. Coming right after her ultimatum, she was bound to be suspicious. I had to drop a few hints first. Every time she called-and she wasn’t shy about it-I let on that something new had broken.
Even though I knew everything was going to work itself out, I couldn’t help feeling as if I were walking around on eggshells. But I guess it was normal to be anxious. I couldn’t help worrying Bry would screw up, and none of us could afford that.
* * * * *
After my meeting with Bry, I went back to the office and tried getting some work done. After a while I gave up. As I was getting ready to leave, Eddie Braggs called.
“Tell me it’s true,” he said.
“Tell you what’s true?”
“That you were hired by Ekleberg’s lawyer.”
“You heard about that, huh?”
“It is true, then? Damn, that’s good news. You got anything yet?”
“No, not yet, but I should have something for next month’s column.”
“This is good, Johnny, real good. I knew I could count on you for another big story. And don’t worry about this month’s ‘Fast Lane’. It’s already been taken care of.”
“How’s that?”
“You can read it Sunday like everyone else. When are you going to get yourself on the radio and help me sell a few papers?”
I told him it was under control and hung up. Morton must’ve called Braggs. I could tell from his tone that he already knew I had the Ekleberg case, but I guess he wanted to make sure I was going to use it for my column. Knowing that Braggs was on my side again should have helped my state of mind, but it didn’t. For a long moment I thought about Bry and Mary and what was going to happen next. After a few shots of rye, I called the general manager of a local radio station. We talked a little, and arranged an hour spot on one of his talk shows. He wanted me on air that afternoon, but I was feeling too jumpy to agree. We settled for Thursday afternoon and he promised he’d run promos for it.
I tried again to get some work done. I took out my business receipts and tried balancing the books, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to play with the numbers. I put the receipts down and picked up some outstanding case reports. After a while it was like I was staring into thin air.
The phone started ringing. I reached for it, stopped myself, got up and walked out the door.
Outside it was as if the world had been slightly twisted out of its norm. As if folks passing by were, well, were able to look inside me. I knew the problem was I was strung out from worry. I knew they weren’t really staring at me. I knew they weren’t whispering those things about me. But, I’ll tell you, it sure seemed as if they were.
I stopped at a used bookstore. An uncomfortable feeling had been working its way from my stomach to my chest and I needed to give it a chance to pass. As I was thumbing through a stack of paperbacks I found one from an author I liked. On the inside cover, scribbled in pen, was the inscription:
Dear Mark, I hope you enjoy this book-good, late night reading to scare the pants off ya!! Happy Birthday! Lots of love, Tricia
There were a bunch of hearts drawn around the inscription, and, well, I just started laughing. I don’t know why, because it wasn’t funny, at least, not exactly. But it sure was something. All that hope and expectation traded away for half a buck at a used bookstore. As good as that writer was, nothing in any of his stories could have been more tragic.
I took some loose change from my pocket and bought the book.
Chapter 12
That night Marge called me. I told her I had a toothache and hung up on her. About an hour later the doorbell rang, and there she was.
“Look,” I growled at her. “I told you-”
“Shuddup,” she snapped, and she slipped under my arm and squeezed past me. In the middle of the room she undid the belt of her overcoat, letting it slip off. As it slid to the floor, I realized that was all she was wearing, unless you wanted to count her cowboy boots.
Her glistening eyes challenged me to say something. Then she stuck her tongue out at me and marched into the bedroom.
When we were finished, she climbed on top of me and asked which tooth was bothering me. I pointed to a corner of my mouth, and she reached down and gave me a hard peck where I pointed.
She beamed. “There. I kissed it and made it better.”
Even though we both knew I didn’t have a toothache it was still a dirty trick. I had to carry on as if I was in agony. I said, “I should put you on my knee and paddle your ass off.”
I wanted to do more than that. As she looked at me, her eyes widened in an exaggerated display of terror. She said, “Oh, you look like you want to kill your poor little Margo.” Then she giggled and moved down a little. “I bet you wouldn’t want to do that if I kissed you over here.” And then she moved down a little more. “Or here.” And after a while she was right.
When she was done, she propped herself up on her elbow and asked for a drink. I brought her the whole bottle. By the time she passed out, it was half empty. I took the bottle with me and went back downstairs. I knew I had no chance of getting her to go home but that didn’t mean I had to stay with her. I settled down on the sofa with the bottle and a glass in front of me. I had too much nervous energy to sleep, and neither the booze nor my
