me and showed me the gate. I tried to argue, but about that time Keller came back and threatened to take my head off. A real troglodyte!”
“Do you remember the name of the act they were with?”
“It was the Royal Shows. Just a two-bit carnival was all.” Bannister swallowed hard and leaned forward. “You ain’t got a drink on you or a hip flask, have you, pal?” he whispered.
“Afraid not.” Francis looked at him quizzically. “I thought you were in here to get away from that.”
“Yeah, I am, but I’ve had about all I can take. I’ll get out of here tomorrow. I’m not a drunk like the rest of these people here. I just enjoy a drink now and then.”
Key nodded. “Thanks for the help.”
“Hey, if you see her, tell her I’m thinkin’ about her. And you can tell her she can come back if she wants.”
“I’ll tell her.”
****
The carnival was not terribly difficult to locate. It only took Francis three phone calls to discover that it was set up just outside of Los Angeles. He took a cab the next day, arriving at the fairgrounds at dusk. He was carrying his suitcase, which was as light as he could make it. Shifting it to his free hand, he walked down the middle of the midway with the noisy crowd. Garish lights flooded the place, and loud calliope music filled the air. The merry-go-round pumped the horses up and down as parents held their children steady on pink and green and red horses with flaring lips. Farther on, shills called out to passersby to try their luck at games of chance. Key stopped long enough to throw some baseballs at a fake batter and, to the chagrin of the owner, succeeded in winning a huge kewpie doll.
“You must be a professional pitcher,” the man complained.
“Not really. You can keep the kewpie doll.”
Key made his way through the carnival until he found the Ring of Death. There was a platform outside, and a hugeand poorly executed painting of a man and a woman on motorcycles. The woman had on a skin-tight black biker’s outfit, her helmet under one arm and her strawberry blond hair blowing freely. Key studied the picture, wondering if the face was true to life. He approached a heavily made-up woman who was sitting behind a ticket box. “When does the show start?”
“Ten minutes. You want a ticket?”
“Yes.” He paid for his ticket and then started up the ramp that wound around to the top of a large steel sphere, where a crowd had already begun to gather. He found a place where he could set his suitcase next to him. As more people came he clung tenaciously to his place as the crowd tried to find good seats.
While he waited he thought of his mission and wondered how he was going to convince Ruby Zale that she was Grace Winslow. I’ll have to try to get her to some quiet place by herself in hopes that she’ll listen to what I have to say.
A few moments later a roar split the air and a motorcycle drove into the cage. The rider got off, shut the steel gate, and locked it firmly. He was a big man, Francis observed, with shoulders like a wrestler. His goggles were up, revealing his close-set beady eyes. He had a pugnacious jaw covered by a beard. He looked at the crowd and grinned mirthlessly, then pulled his goggles down into place. He climbed onto the motorcycle and gunned it and then began circling the cage. The bike started slowly but rapidly gained speed. The man leaned down over the handlebars and let centrifugal force take over. He went around the lower part of the drum, then came up to where he was only a few feet below the audience. Key felt he could have reached out and touched him.
Keller went from the top to the bottom, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, and then after five minutes slowed the speed and brought the cycle to a stop. The gate unlatched, and a woman rode out astride a motorcycle. Her helmet was off, and Key got a good look at her face. He was struck at once by herfreshness, which he had not expected. Somehow he thought the hard life
“Do you remember the name of the act they were with?”
“It was the Royal Shows. Just a two-bit carnival was all.” Bannister swallowed hard and leaned forward. “You ain’t got a drink on you or a hip flask, have you, pal?” he whispered.
“Afraid not.” Francis looked at him quizzically. “I thought you were in here to get away from that.”
“Yeah, I am, but I’ve had about all I can take. I’ll get out of here tomorrow. I’m not a drunk like the rest of these people here. I just enjoy a drink now and then.”
Key nodded. “Thanks for the help.”
“Hey, if you see her, tell her I’m thinkin’ about her. And you can tell her she can come back if she wants.”
“I’ll tell her.”
****
The carnival was not terribly difficult to locate. It only took Francis three phone calls to discover that it was set up just outside of Los Angeles. He took a cab the next day, arriving at the fairgrounds at dusk. He was carrying his suitcase, which was as light as he could make it. Shifting it to his free hand, he walked down the middle of the midway with the noisy crowd. Garish lights flooded the place, and loud calliope music filled the air. The merry-go-round pumped the horses up and down as parents held their children steady on pink and green and red horses with flaring lips. Farther on, shills called out to passersby to try their luck at games of chance. Key stopped long enough to throw some baseballs at a fake batter and, to the chagrin of the owner, succeeded in winning a huge kewpie doll.
“You must be a professional pitcher,” the man complained.
“Not really. You can keep the kewpie doll.”
Key made his way through the carnival until he found the Ring of Death. There was a platform outside, and a hugeand poorly executed painting of a man and a woman on motorcycles. The woman had on a skin-tight black biker’s outfit, her helmet under one arm and her strawberry blond hair blowing freely. Key studied the picture, wondering if the face was true to life. He approached a heavily made-up woman who was sitting behind a ticket box. “When does the show start?”
“Ten minutes. You want a ticket?”
“Yes.” He paid for his ticket and then started up the ramp that wound around to the top of a large steel sphere, where a crowd had already begun to gather. He found a place where he could set his suitcase next to him. As more people came he clung tenaciously to his place as the crowd tried to find good seats.
While he waited he thought of his mission and wondered how he was going to convince Ruby Zale that she was Grace Winslow. I’ll have to try to get her to some quiet place by herself in hopes that she’ll listen to what I have to say.
A few moments later a roar split the air and a motorcycle drove into the cage. The rider got off, shut the steel gate, and locked it firmly. He was a big man, Francis observed, with shoulders like a wrestler. His goggles were up, revealing his close-set beady eyes. He had a pugnacious jaw covered by a beard. He looked at the crowd and grinned mirthlessly, then pulled his goggles down into place. He climbed onto the motorcycle and gunned it and then began circling the cage. The bike started slowly but rapidly gained speed. The man leaned down over the handlebars and let centrifugal force take over. He went around the lower part of the drum, then came up to where he was only a few feet below the audience. Key felt he could have reached out and touched him.
Keller went from the top to the bottom, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, and then after five minutes slowed the speed and brought the cycle to a stop. The gate unlatched, and a woman rode out astride a motorcycle. Her helmet was off, and Key got a good look at her face. He was struck at once by herfreshness, which he had not expected. Somehow he thought the hard life