The Virtuous Woman by Gilbert Morris Page B

Ruby Zale had led would have left marks, but if there were marks, they were inward ones, not outward. She had a lovely girl-next-door face with beautifully shaped eyes. As she looked up and smiled, he saw that they were either green or blue; he could not tell which. Her hair was her most outstanding feature—a true strawberry blond—not out of a bottle, according to Bannister. The black leather outfit she wore clung to her body almost as if it had been painted on, and the top of her jacket was left open invitingly. She put the helmet on, tucked her hair in, and then started around, closely followed by Keller, until the two of them were rolling around the drum at a frightening speed. Fascinated, Francis watched as they changed positions, one leading, then the other, sometimes missing each other by a fraction of an inch.
    Then Ruby slowed her machine and descended to the lower part of the cage while Keller continued to circle. She turned around and started up the wall again, going in the opposite direction from Keller. The two got so close they reached out and slapped hands as they passed.
    Francis could not help gasping with the crowd as the woman wrenched her machine up and went over the top above Keller. They were performing a wild dance in steel and roaring engines as they missed each other by the merest fractions of an inch.
    Finally the roar of the engines diminished and they descended. Both of them looked up and acknowledged their fans as the audience applauded. The man opened the door and the duo peeled their motorcycles out. Francis waited until the crowd stood and moved away, giving one last look down at the Ring of Death. “That’s a hard way to serve the Lord,” he muttered.
    He exited down the ramp and went over to the ticket seller. “When’s the next show?” he asked.
    “Forty minutes.”
    “I’d like to meet the artists,” he said, giving her his bestsmile, which almost seemed to bounce off the hard features of the woman.
    “I wouldn’t advise it.”
    “Why not? I’d just like to congratulate them.”
    “They don’t need none of that. Especially Hack. He’s mean and stuck up. And you wouldn’t get nowhere with Ruby.”
    “Well, I’d like to try.”
    “Your funeral. They got a trailer out behind here.” She returned to her magazine with its lewd cover, and Key noticed that she moved her lips as she read.
    Key had learned from hard experience to be cautious, and as he moved between the Ring of Death and the neighboring act, the House of Horrors, he cautiously sought out the trailers where the performers stayed. The area was lit by some naked light bulbs hanging from wires, and he kept to the shadows until he saw a small trailer with the two motorcycles just outside. He hesitated, for he had heard enough about Hack Keller to know that it would not be wise to include him in the interview.
    As luck would have it, the door of the trailer opened, and Keller emerged, almost blotting out the inside light as he stooped to get through the doorway. He turned and walked rapidly away, disappearing into the midway area.
    Key’s heart jumped at the chance to talk to Ruby alone, and he quickly approached the trailer and knocked on the door. After a moment Ruby Zale opened it with a drink in her hand. “Whadd’ya want?” she said flatly.
    “Miss Zale?”
    A sneer twisted the woman’s lips to one side. It was a good sneer, one she had evidently worked on quite a bit. Still it was not enough to distort the symmetry of her beautiful face. “Look, Jack, I don’t need no admirers. That’s what you want, ain’t it?”
    “I just want to have a talk with you.”
    A slight laugh escaped Ruby’s throat, and she shook herhead and started to close the door. “Beat it, buster, before you get hurt.”
    Impulsively Francis stepped forward and put his hand on the door. “Please, Miss Zale, I need desperately to speak with you. It’s not what you think.”
    “I know what you want, but here’s some good