Ken Douglas - Dead Ringer

She weaved between the cars on the highway and ducked into Jerry’s Surf Shop, panting like she’d just finished a marathon. She caught her breath in the Hawaiian shirt section. The big Coca Cola clock behind the register said it was 4:15. She needed to hide out till dark.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, hi,” Jazz said to a girl wearing a “Guns ‘n’ Roses” T-shirt. She had bright orange hair and was frowning at Jazz through a face full of freckles.

“I’m gonna get a tuna sandwich at the juice bar in back,” Jazz said.

“Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t need my mom to get a sandwich.”

“Do you have any money?”

“What a stupid question.” She had thirteen dollars in her back pocket.

Jazz bought the tuna sandwich and had a glass of Jerry’s special tropical juice blend to go with it. She nursed them for the better part of an hour. Then she ordered carrot cake for desert. She had to stay out of sight till her mother returned, because with her father arrested they might not let her stay with Gay anymore. They might put her in a foster home. She needed somewhere to hide, then she thought of the movies.

“I wish Jazz would come back.” Sonya was sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed, while Gay changed from the clothes she wore at the salon into jeans and a San Francisco Giant’s T-shirt. Jasmine had been gone for almost an hour. She saw the sun, an orange ball going down over the ocean. It would be dark soon.

“Me too,” Gay said, “but I wouldn’t worry. She knows her way around.” But Gay was worried.

Two hours after ducking into the theater, Jasmine went outside to a dark night. She was out of money now. The sandwich and cake at the Surf Shop and the movie had taken it all. But she couldn’t think of a better place to hide then the fourth row center. Besides, the movie took her mind off her father.

She crossed Pacific Coast Highway at the Main Street light and continued on to the bike trail that ran through the beach. She still had Mrs. Emerson’s key card, so getting in would be easy.

“Hey, look out!” Someone shouted and Jazz jumped aside as a couple of older kids flew by on mountain bikes.

“Watch where you’re going!” she shouted after them, but they didn’t hear. She watched till they were out of sight in the dark, then she was alone on the bike trail. Spooky. And there was no moon. Real spooky.

She’d lived by the beach all her life and she’d been on the trail lots of times after dark, but never alone. When she was alone, she always came home the front way, straight across PCH at Main Street, then past the guard shack. She looked through the chain link fence when she reached the condos. Everything inside seemed normal. No sign of the Ghost. And no sign of her dad. It looked safe. She ran her hand along the fence till she got to the gate. She keyed the gate and slipped in without a sound.

She dashed to C building, was about to take the stairs up to the clubhouse, when she heard footsteps. She leaned back against the building, arms at her sides, palms against the stucco wall. Her hands were cold, her feet sweating in her running shoes. She inched along the wall till she was under the stairs.

Someone was just the other side of the building. Then all of a sudden that someone was in front of her, standing at the foot of the stairs. The outside light from an apartment on the second floor shone down on Gay, making her face glow like an angel’s.

Gay dropped to her knees and held her arms out. Jazz burst into tears and ran into them.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” The child looked like she’d been living on the run, like a homeless waif. She was scared.

“Don’t let him take me away. Please don’t let him.” Jazz was trembling, covered in cold sweat.

“Don’t worry.” Gay hugged her tight, killing the shivers. But could she kill her fears?

“He’s horrible, promise!”

“I promise, Jazz.” Gay hated to say it, but she agreed with Jasmine. Her father was horrible. She wondered what Margo had ever seen in him.

“You mean it?” Jazz pulled back, looked into Gay’s eyes. “Really?”

“Really. Now let’s get inside and get you into a hot bath.” Gay broke the hug. “Okay?” She led her to the safety of her living room. Sonya was waiting, sitting on the couch. The TV was on, a video, but the sound was off.

“You’re staying with us till your mom gets back. No one’s gonna take you away.” Gay was worried about how long Margo was going to be. She’d said she’d be back on Saturday before noon. The woman was a cuckoo clock without springs, but she was usually punctual.

“Not even my dad, you promised.”

“Especially not him.” Bruce Kenyon didn’t stand a chance in hell of getting the girl, no matter how long Margo took to get back.

“Thank you.” Jasmine jumped up on the sofa next to Sonya, the bath apparently forgotten.

“But I gotta tell you, I’m worried about your mom. She said she’d be back this morning.”

“No way,” Jasmine said. “She’s starting back at midnight. She said so, so she could be back in time to take me out to breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“I could have sworn she told me today before noon.”

“She probably did,” Sonya said.

“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “That’s my mom, sometimes she messes up.”

She messes up a lot, Gay thought, but she wasn’t going to say it. She crossed her fingers, something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl.

“Why are you doing that, Mom?” Sonya said.

“For luck, wishing Margo a safe journey home.” The girls crossed their fingers, too. Both hands.

Maggie opened her eyes and was surprised to see that the dance floor was crowded. A slow song was playing, the Beatles’ ‘Yesterday.’ She saw Horace with the ferret face dancing with a woman wearing a long dress. Except for a quick memory flash of his large friend, she didn’t think anything of it. The Lounge was crowded as it was every Saturday, like all the popular pickup places in the Shore.

“You ready to go?” Gordon pushed away from Maggie, met her eyes. “It doesn’t look like Nick’s coming.” Maggie saw tension wrinkling his forehead. His lips were tight. His hand was quivering.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing?” he said.

“Don’t give me that, you’re the original Mr. Poker Face. Besides, you’ve been Mr. Smooth all afternoon, what’s up?”

“Mr. Smooth, Mr. Poker Face.” Gordon laughed.

“That’s better. Now, what is it? You’re worried about something. What? And why all of a sudden?”

“The thought of taking Fred down to the pet store just flashed through my mind. It kind of gave me the shivers for a second there.”

“I can understand that, Ricky loved that bird. You probably feel giving him away is like giving away a part of Ricky.”

“Maybe.” He sighed loud enough for her to hear over the music. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Yeah.” Maggie looked at the Budweiser clock behind the bar. It was almost 7:00. They usually left when it started to get crowded. Maggie liked to dance. Gordon did too. So that’s what they did while Nick, who thought dancing was something pygmies did in Africa somewhere, played at being Mr. Important at the bar.

She usually walked home laughing and joking between the two of them, but not tonight. Was Nick out somewhere with that redhead? Was she making that drug buy? Did he have a film crew with him? Or was he in another bar somewhere buying her a drink? Was that why he hadn’t come back to the Lounge as he’d promised?

She linked an arm with Gordon and started for the door. Outside, the darkness covered her mood like early evening fog. The sun had been blazing when she’d gone into the Lounge. Now it was gone. There was no moon.