would’ve been a tough thing to come home to every day, a reminder of all the humiliation and pain she’d suffered. I guess putting little Mary up for adoption was her way of escaping it.
I had to agree with Mary’s mother. I couldn’t see any good coming from Mary finding Rose. And I’ll tell you, I looked at it from so many angles I started to get dizzy. You could bet how it would hit Rose. Like a sucker punch to the gut. And of course, she’d take it right out on Mary. To let it happen would be sadistic.
So there it was. I could do what I was paid for and ignore the right and wrong of it, but what the hell would that make me?
An old man sitting nearby was giving me a cold stare and it knocked me out of my thoughts. With his round bald head and big rubbery face, he resembled a bloated bullfrog. I gave him a friendly smile; my Poppa always taught me that it never hurt none to be nice to folks.
“ Howdy. Anything I can do for you, sir?”
He seemed a little startled. “Thank you, no. Where you heading?”
“ Denver, Colorado.” I extended my hand and introduced myself. “Johnny Lane. Pleased to meet you.”
He ignored my hand and kept staring at me. “You live in Denver?” he asked after a long while.
Now, when you go out of your way to be friendly, people should be friendly right back. There is no reason not to, and with the snub the old man gave me I started feeling a little hot. But you can’t always account for other folks. I pulled my hand back.
“ Yes, sir,” I said. “Maybe you’ve heard of me. I’m sort of a celebrity there.”
He shook his head. “Never been to Denver. You from there?”
“ As far back as I can remember.”
With that the old man leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
I looked him over, feeling a burning around my neck as I did so. Sitting there, looking at the old man’s toad-like features I felt the hotness spreading, tightening the veins in my throat. I got up quickly and found the men’s room. After splashing cold water on my face, I stood quietly and studied myself in the mirror. Slowly the hotness faded and the muscles in my jaws softened.
There was no point in letting that old man upset me the way he did. You have to figure he was senile and didn’t realize how he was acting. It’s just that, well, forget it.
* * * * *
I’d spent most of the trip back to Denver worrying, and by the time I arrived home I was worn out. The problem was that I hadn’t been able to concentrate on what I needed to. For some reason I kept letting that old man at the station pop into my head. It bothered me that I let him get to me. But this picture of me holding out my hand only to be made to look like a jackass kept getting me more and more sore. It was so pointless letting that bother me that it just got me angrier. And what bothered me more than anything was how close I came to losing control.
* * * * *
By the time I laid myself out on my bed, I wasn’t any closer to figuring out how things needed to be handled. I tried again to think things through, but everything got more jumbled than before and soon I wasn’t making any sense out of anything.
I had myself a beer and brought a bottle of whiskey back to bed. After a couple of shots, the muscles in my neck relaxed. I turned off the lights and closed my eyes.
I had a restless time of it. Images of Walt Murphy and the shooting raced through my mind, and at times I was probably closer to hallucinating than dreaming. The whole incident played itself out as it happened, at least to the point where the police showed up. Then it got crazy. The cops wouldn’t believe me and kept laughing and poking at me. I tried to tell them how it had happened, but they were laughing too hard to listen. Before I knew it, they had me by the collar and were dragging me down a hallway, handling me as if I were nothing more than a rag doll—kind of the way Tiny had dragged Debra Singer from the back room of his peep show.
They took me
I had to agree with Mary’s mother. I couldn’t see any good coming from Mary finding Rose. And I’ll tell you, I looked at it from so many angles I started to get dizzy. You could bet how it would hit Rose. Like a sucker punch to the gut. And of course, she’d take it right out on Mary. To let it happen would be sadistic.
So there it was. I could do what I was paid for and ignore the right and wrong of it, but what the hell would that make me?
An old man sitting nearby was giving me a cold stare and it knocked me out of my thoughts. With his round bald head and big rubbery face, he resembled a bloated bullfrog. I gave him a friendly smile; my Poppa always taught me that it never hurt none to be nice to folks.
“ Howdy. Anything I can do for you, sir?”
He seemed a little startled. “Thank you, no. Where you heading?”
“ Denver, Colorado.” I extended my hand and introduced myself. “Johnny Lane. Pleased to meet you.”
He ignored my hand and kept staring at me. “You live in Denver?” he asked after a long while.
Now, when you go out of your way to be friendly, people should be friendly right back. There is no reason not to, and with the snub the old man gave me I started feeling a little hot. But you can’t always account for other folks. I pulled my hand back.
“ Yes, sir,” I said. “Maybe you’ve heard of me. I’m sort of a celebrity there.”
He shook his head. “Never been to Denver. You from there?”
“ As far back as I can remember.”
With that the old man leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
I looked him over, feeling a burning around my neck as I did so. Sitting there, looking at the old man’s toad-like features I felt the hotness spreading, tightening the veins in my throat. I got up quickly and found the men’s room. After splashing cold water on my face, I stood quietly and studied myself in the mirror. Slowly the hotness faded and the muscles in my jaws softened.
There was no point in letting that old man upset me the way he did. You have to figure he was senile and didn’t realize how he was acting. It’s just that, well, forget it.
* * * * *
I’d spent most of the trip back to Denver worrying, and by the time I arrived home I was worn out. The problem was that I hadn’t been able to concentrate on what I needed to. For some reason I kept letting that old man at the station pop into my head. It bothered me that I let him get to me. But this picture of me holding out my hand only to be made to look like a jackass kept getting me more and more sore. It was so pointless letting that bother me that it just got me angrier. And what bothered me more than anything was how close I came to losing control.
* * * * *
By the time I laid myself out on my bed, I wasn’t any closer to figuring out how things needed to be handled. I tried again to think things through, but everything got more jumbled than before and soon I wasn’t making any sense out of anything.
I had myself a beer and brought a bottle of whiskey back to bed. After a couple of shots, the muscles in my neck relaxed. I turned off the lights and closed my eyes.
I had a restless time of it. Images of Walt Murphy and the shooting raced through my mind, and at times I was probably closer to hallucinating than dreaming. The whole incident played itself out as it happened, at least to the point where the police showed up. Then it got crazy. The cops wouldn’t believe me and kept laughing and poking at me. I tried to tell them how it had happened, but they were laughing too hard to listen. Before I knew it, they had me by the collar and were dragging me down a hallway, handling me as if I were nothing more than a rag doll—kind of the way Tiny had dragged Debra Singer from the back room of his peep show.
They took me
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