Dead Ringer by Ken Douglas Page A

ahead.
    “ I’m going in alone tonight.” Gordon was tense. He seemed eager.
    “ Really?” She was uncomfortable and now she knew it wasn’t just giving away Ricky’s bird that had him tense earlier. He’d been thinking about going into the Whale by himself.
    “ Ricky’s been gone for over a year, it’s time.”
    “ Sure you don’t want me to come in for a bit?” She’d been in so many times with him she was a regular. She’d have a drink or two with Gordon, meet some of his friends. Maybe dance to a couple of slow tunes. But tonight he wasn’t going in for a drink and to meet friends. He was after something more and it bothered her. It shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help her feelings.
    “ No, I’ll be alright.”
    “ If you say so.”
    “ I do.” He smiled at her, started for the bar, turned back at the door. “I’ll be fine, really.” Then he was inside and she was alone with the night.
    “ Damn,” she muttered. She was more than uncomfortable. She was jealous and that didn’t make any sense. She stared at the door, half expecting him to come back out, but he didn’t.
    She should go home, she told herself, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to face an empty house if Nick wasn’t there and she didn’t want to face him if he was. Thoughts of the baby filled her head, then the thought of it dead crept in. Abortion, she sighed, the coward’s way out. Was she going to give up on her baby the way she’d given up on racing?
    She wrapped her arms around herself, hugged herself and told herself it was the chilly night making her shiver and not the thought of losing her child. But she didn’t believe it, couldn’t and never would be able to convince herself.
    The sound of the soothing surf on the other side of the street seemed to seep beneath her skin, drawing her like a wondering child to a magician. She loved the seashore, loved running in the hard, wet sand, loved the way the runner’s high cleared her mind and if ever she needed a clear head, now was the time.
     
    * * *
    “ The guy’s going into that faggot place.” Horace put a hand on Virgil’s arm, stopping him. “The way they been acting, I thought they were lovers, dancing cheek to cheek, walking so slow, whispering.” Wrong about that, not lovers. Something else.
    “ She didn’t seem like the kinda woman would go around with them.”
    “ How do you know what kind of woman she is? God damn, Virgil, sometimes I think you are a retard.”
    “ Don’t say that.”
    “ Sorry.” Maybe he wasn’t a retard, but he wasn’t Einstein either. “But you gotta think more before you talk.”
    “ Yeah, okay,” Virgil said and Horace chuckled. He didn’t have to see his brother’s face to know he was smiling. He was always smiling.
    Up ahead, the woman was standing outside the fag place, like she was unsure what to do next. Then, all of a sudden, she started across the street toward the beach. Horace held Virgil back until she was a safe distance ahead, no homes on that side of the street to give them cover.
    “ I wish we had the van,” Horace said.
    “ I could get it.”
    “ Maybe.” Horace grimaced at the thought of Virgil driving his van. It wasn’t that Virgil wasn’t a good driver, but the van was new. It usually took Virgil a while to get the hang of a new vehicle. However, the van had been in the Safeway parking lot since noon. How long before they’d tow it away? He thought about it for a second and decided not for awhile. The supermarket was open till nine, so it was probably safe till then. Still, he’d feel a whole lot better if it was close by.
    The woman bent over, pulled her shoes off, then tossed them onto the sand like she was throwing a Frisbee or something. Then she tucked her shoulder bag into her side, like a football, stepped off the sidewalk and started to run.
    “ Stupid woman.” Horace sucked his mustache into his mouth, chewed on it. “She’s gotta come back for the shoes.” Horace spoke the