Ken Douglas - Dead Ringer

Maggie took in air through her nose, held her breath. She pushed with her bound feet against the floor. The chair screeched as she backed away from the crazy woman. She was sure Ma was about to finish what Horace Nighthyde and his Yakuza thugs had started.

“Don’t be afraid.” Ma held up the knife she clutched in her right hand. “It’s for the tape.” She had her left hand in front of herself, fingers moving like stubby worms. She found Maggie’s head, fingered through her hair, found the tape. She jerked it off.

“Ouch!” Maggie said.

“Better to do it quick,” Ma said. “The way doctors do. Otherwise the hurt lingers.”

“That’s alright, I’m just glad it’s off.”

“Hold up your hands.”

“I can’t, they taped them behind my back.”

“Okay.” Ma felt along Maggie’s shoulder, down her arms, found the tape and sliced through it. “Take it now.” She held out the knife. “You can do the rest.”

Maggie took it, cut off the tape that bound her feet to the chair. She winced as the blood rushed to them. Her wrists hurt too. She dropped the knife on the floor, massaged her ankles.

“Hmmmm.” It was Gay, humming through the tape to get Maggie’s attention.

“Oh, sorry.” Maggie picked up the knife again, cut Gay loose. But she let Gay pull off the tape wrapped around her neck and mouth.

“Christ,” Gay said, once she had it off. “That really sucked.”

“Yeah,” Maggie said.

“You have to hurry, one of them’s gonna be coming back,” Ma said.

“Are you okay?” Gay said.

“I’m old, I’m blind, I’m an epileptic with cancer. No, I’m not okay. What are you, stupid?”

“Why did you do this?” Maggie said. “You know, cut us free after we broke into your house?”

“He thought I was out like a dumb light bulb, my boy Horace. He was wrong. Used to be when one of them fits was over, I’d be out for two-three hours after.” Her words were slow, labored. “But I learned I recover quicker if I just go with it when I feel one coming on.” Her breathing seemed to be getting better as she spoke. “I feel like an old whore left to die in the snow.” She laughed at her joke. “But I ain’t no whore. I know when right’s right and wrong’s wrong.” She was serious now. “I heard what he said, my boy. All this time I thought he was working for the district attorney, doing good, and he was doing the Devil’s work.”

Outside, they heard a car pull up in the driveway.

“It’s not one I recognize,” Ma said. “So it must be that man coming back. You should go out the back way. Shimmy over the fence. He won’t know which way you went, the neighbors on either side or the ones behind.”

“We’re not gonna leave you to him.” Maggie remembered the man’s leer. “We’ll surprise him when he comes in the front door.”

“No!” Ma said. “I can handle it. You go. Now!”

Maggie heard a car door opening. “But-”

“No buts, get on outta here.” Ma stamped her foot. Her jaw was firm.

“She’s right,” Gay said. “We can’t leave you here.”

“No one’s gonna hurt me. My boy will see to that. But I wouldn’t give a tinker’s damn for your chances if you don’t get out of here right now!”

Maggie heard footsteps coming up the porch and all of a sudden she remembered what Ponytail had said about the children. They were going to kill them all. Gordon, Jonas, Jasmine and Sonya.

“We’re going!” Maggie grabbed Gay’s arm and started toward the back door.

“What?” Gay said.

The front door started to open.

“Now!” Maggie jerked on Gay’s arm, propelled her toward the back door.

“I’ll hold him off.” Ma started toward the living room.

Maggie heard a crash behind her as she followed Gay through the service porch. They were moving fast, fueled by fear. Gay got the door open, then they were in the yard, running toward the back fence.

They were at it when a gunshot tore through the night. They stopped, turned back toward the house.

“Ma,” Maggie said.

“Shit,” Gay said.

“He killed her,” Maggie said.

“We can’t do anything.” Gay gasped out the words as she sucked air. “We gotta go.”

“He’s coming!”

Ponytail was in the service porch now, backlit by the kitchen light behind and framed by the doorway. He had a pistol in his hand and he was pointing it at them. He was going to shoot.

“Come on!” Gay was halfway over the fence when a gunshot rang out. Rocky fragments blasted into Maggie’s arm as she scurried over the wall. He’d shot into the fence, missing her by inches.

“Dog!” Maggie screamed as a back porch light came on. A dark German Shepherd was charging toward them. Maggie dropped to a crouch, blocked her neck with her left arm as the animal leapt. Teeth sank in, pain blasted up her shoulder, down her side, stinging her to the bone.

“Release!” Gay reared back, kicked the dog in the head. It let go of Maggie’s arm, but not because it obeyed the command.

“Next house!” Gay charged toward another brick fence, was over it as someone came out onto the back porch.

“Get back inside!” Maggie shimmied over the fence as the man on the porch slammed his door shut, leaving his whimpering dog to greet the man with a gun coming over his back fence.

Another shot. The dog screamed, almost human like. Then it was silent.

“Come on, come on!” Gay charged through the next backyard, Maggie right behind. Another fence. Gay was in the air and over it.

Maggie’s arm screamed. She was a runner, but her lungs felt like they were going to explode. Her heart thudded. Sweat ran through her hair, down her neck, but the thought of the girls and what those men might to do them was like a shot of speed. She leapt at the fence, pulled herself to the top, rolled over the side.

Sirens sounded in the distance. Ponytail hadn’t been too discreet, shooting his gun of like that. People were up. Cops were on the way.

“No time to catch your breath. He’ll be coming.” And as if to add truth to Gay’s words, they heard someone rooting around in the yard they’d just come out of. “Checking the bushes,” she whispered. “To see if we’re hiding.”

Without further talk they jogged across the yard, attacked another fence. They slipped over it and two collie dogs went wild, barking up a storm.

“Shit.” Maggie ran across the yard toward still another fence, this time ahead of Gay. The barking dogs loped alongside, alerting any around that there were intruders here, but they made no attempt to attack or hinder.

Maggie was over the fence first this time. She hit the ground running toward still another fence. Their pursuer would have heard the dogs and he’d be on their trail.

Gay caught up to Maggie, grabbed her shoulder, pointed left. Maggie nodded. The yards were back to back, fences between them as they were between every house on the block. Right now they were jumping the fences and running through the yards on the street behind the Nighthyde house. But each yard gave them two choices, run ahead to the next fence, or hop over the back fence and go through the yards on Nighthyde’s street.

Maggie and Gay went over the fence and landed in a thicket of bushes. Maggie poked her head through the hedge-like growth. It ringed the yard, almost as high as the five foot fence. Several fruit trees, a cactus and two palm trees grew in the yard. Whoever lived there had the greenest of thumbs. Mr. Greenthumb was probably retired, probably spent hours in his yard, shaded by his trees.

Maggie stood, started through the bushes. Gay grabbed her shoulder, softly squeezed. Maggie stopped.

“What?”

“I have to catch my wind.” Gay pulled Maggie down to her knees. It was pitch dark, but their eyes were inches apart. Maggie tasted Gay’s breath.