Ken Douglas - Dead Ringer

They were silent now. Maggie saw one had a roll of duct tape. They were quick and efficient as they taped her hands behind the chair. Then they went to work on Gay. The men taped their feet to the legs of the chairs. They were trussed up like rodeo calves.

Able to breathe now, Maggie took in her captors. They were Japanese. They wore black leather motorcycle jackets with the sleeves cut off. Their arms were covered with tattoos. They were young and one of them was the man who had brushed against her back in that liquor store when she was buying the Frosted Flakes.

He was short, with a scar under his left eye, as if he’d been the loser in a knife fight. His hair was cropped close and he danced around on the balls of his feet. The other one was slightly taller, with long hair pulled into a ponytail. He was thin but muscular, and he had twice the tattoos as Scarface. His black eyes were glued to Maggie. Maybe he was going to kill her, but it was obvious what he wanted to do first.

Yakuza thugs.

Why?

“What’s going on here!” The voice tore through the kitchen like a gunshot. Maggie turned her head toward it, saw Horace Nighthyde. His face was going red. He didn’t look stable.

“Mr. Nighthyde,” one of the Japanese said in heavily accented English, “these women entered your house through a back window. We surprised them as they were struggling with your mother.”

“What?”

“She’s on the bathroom floor. We were just about to move her to the sofa,” Ponytail said.

Horace Nighthyde ran out of the room.

The Japanese started whispering among themselves in their own language, unaware that Maggie understood every word.

“We should kill them all and go,” Scarface said.

“No, Mr. Striker was very specific. First we find out how much they know and who they’ve told,” Ponytail said. “You will take Nighthyde to the others while I question the women.”

“I know what you want.” Scarface laughed.

“Find out everything, then do them all. The children, too. Nobody in that house gets out alive. When you’re finished, make it look like Nighthyde put a gun to his head and killed himself.”

The children! The words pierced Maggie’s heart. She struggled against the tape, tried to get out of the chair. Ponytail slapped her across the face and she sank back, again fighting to stay conscious.

“It’s almost like she understands.” Scarface laughed, louder than before.

Ponytail laughed too.

“She’s okay,” Horace said as he came back into the kitchen. “She usually sleeps after one of her spells. She won’t wake up for awhile.” In his right hand he held his own gun, the one Gay had come into the house with, in his left he had Maggie’s Sigma. Apparently the Japanese had left them in the bathroom. Now Horace Nighthyde had them.

“You two get her to the couch.” Horace waved at the Japanese with the Sigma. The guns gave him control of the situation and clearly he wasn’t ready to give it up.

The Japanese obeyed and shortly they brought the blind woman out of the bathroom. From where she was, Maggie was able to see through the kitchen door and into the living room. The Japanese each had one of the old woman’s arms around their shoulders, she was slack between them. The seizure was past, but she seemed dazed. They led her to the sofa, laid her on her back.

“You can’t keep us here like this!” Gay called out.

“Tape their mouths,” Horace Nighthyde said.

“You can’t!” Gay said.

“We can.” Ponytail picked up the duct tape, wrapped some around Gay’s head, shutting her up. He leered at Maggie as he did it, then he came to her. Maggie fought a scream as the man wound the tape around her mouth and the back of her neck.

They were all in the kitchen now, Horace Nighthyde with the ferret face and the two Japanese.

Nighthyde came over to the women. “So, you come after me with this?” He stuffed his gun in front of Maggie’s face. “My piece! Mine!” He held up his left hand. “Is this the one you shot me with?” He touched Maggie’s cheeks with both guns. “I ought to blow your face away right now.”

Maggie’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He moved the guns to her forehead. “Two bullets, one for each of you, Maggie Nesbitt or Margo Kenyon, whoever you are.”

Maggie felt her heart thump. He was going to do it.

“Mr. Nighthyde, wait!” Ponytail said.

“And who the fuck are you guys?” Horace spun around. Now he had a gun trained on each of them.

Maggie let out a quiet sigh.

“We were following Mrs. Kenyon, in case you needed some help disposing of her,” Ponytail said.

“Striker ask you to do that?” Horace Nighthyde said.

“We are only to assist. You are in charge,” Ponytail said.

“Just so we know,” Horace said. Maggie thought he sounded like a puffed up peacock. Ponytail was buttering him up and he was falling for it. However he didn’t lower the guns.

“But we have more problems now. The woman has told others. We must find out how much.”

“You mean her faggot friend?”

“Yes, and now there may even be another who knows. There seems to be no end to it. If we don’t act right away, Mr. Striker might be hearing about himself on the local news. That, my friend, would make him very unhappy.”

“You’re not my friend.” Horace Nighthyde held the guns steady, but at least they were pointed at the Japanese men and not at Maggie and Gay.

“It was a figure of speech. We followed these two while they took the man you injured in Huntington Beach to a place in Belmont Shore. Curiously enough, it’s above the bar where you left the body of her twin sister. Now we have to go there and find out how much they know and deal with it.”

“Right.” Now Horace Nighthyde looked confused.

“My companion will go with you while I stay and watch over them.” Ponytail pointed a stiff finger toward Maggie.

Scarface started toward the door as if he expected Horace Nighthyde to follow.

“I didn’t see a car when I came in.” Now Horace sounded wary.

“We left it at the end of the block, behind theirs, across from the park.”

“Anything in it?” Horace hadn’t moved toward the door, didn’t look as if he wanted to go with Scarface.

“Our weapons,” Ponytail said. “We didn’t want to walk the street after dark with them, just in case we ran into a curious policeman, but they’re locked in the truck.”

“You should bring the car here, park it in the driveway,” Horace said to Ponytail. He seemed more irritated than angry now. “You can come with us and drive it back.”

“What about them?” Again Ponytail pointed at Maggie.

“You did them up fine. They won’t be going anywhere. Besides, you can be back in less than five.” Now Horace started for the door. “Are you guys coming or what?”

The two Japanese followed him out. Scarface first, without a look back, then Ponytail. He turned, looked into Maggie’s eyes and winked.

“Ma is up. Tell me where you are.” The blind woman’s voice slurred through the kitchen. She sounded demented. Maggie remembered her strength, had no desire to mess with her again. “I know you’re here.” The woman was at the kitchen door. She was big, with ketchup red hair, curly and long, uncontrolled, a wild mane, swirling as Ma jerked her massive head back and forth. No ferret face on this woman. If anything, she was a grizzly.

“That’s right, they taped your mouth. But not to worry, I can find you.”

The old woman grunted, as if in pain, as she went to a drawer by the sink. She opened it, pulled out a giant knife, serrated, sharp, gleaming in the kitchen light. Still grunting, she moved toward Maggie.