Ken Douglas - Dead Ringer

“I can’t see anything,” Gay said.

“We’re driving blind.” Maggie hadn’t turned on the lights and the rain was sheeting down now.

“But he’s not!” Gay was looking out the back window. “He jumped the curb. He’s gonna be on us in a second.”

“I see him in the rearview.” Maggie turned on the lights, hit the brights. Ahead she saw manicured grass. She shifted up into third. She didn’t know how far the grassy savannah went, she couldn’t see beyond it.

“Oh shit!” Gay screamed. “He’s gonna run right over us.”

The siren was deafening as the Sheriff’s cruiser climbed up onto their tail. Red and blue lights flashing on the cruiser, coupled with its bright lights, lit up the inside of the VW. Blinding white coming out of her mirror fought with the eerie glow from the Christmas tree on top of the cruiser. Red, blue, blinding white. Red, blue, blinding white. Like no Christmas Maggie ever knew. A Christmas from Hell, maybe.

All of a sudden the VW shook and went into a long slide to the right.

“Bastard rammed us,” Maggie said. This time, instead of turning into the slide, she turned away from it, felt the Gs as the VW’s rear end whipped around.

The kid cop in the cruiser slammed on his brakes as the VW spun through a one-eighty.

“Holy shit,” Gay screamed as Maggie popped it down into first, stomped on the gas and let out a whoop as the little car’s tires dug in again.

Caught by surprise, the deputies could only watch as the VW sped by them, engine screaming against the abuse Maggie was inflicting upon it. But their surprise was short lived. In seconds the cruiser was wheeling around, digging up the grass as its powerful engine roared, cutting off the whine of the VW’s.

“Look out!” Gay yelled.

“See it.” Maggie jerked the wheel just in time to avoid hitting a baseball backstop.

“You went the wrong way, turn, turn, turn!”

Maggie pulled the wheel back, but not in time, and the Volkswagen scraped along the bleachers. The sound sent shivers screeching up Maggie’s spine as she struggled with the wheel. Finally, she got control again. She pulled the wheel to the right, away from the stands. The VW shot toward the pitcher’s mound, past it and continued on toward second base.

“They’re coming!” Gay said.

The deputies had swung a wide right to avoid the backstop and were now coming at the women from right field. Maggie pulled on the wheel, jerked the car toward left and shifted up into second.

“Look ahead,” Gay wailed.

Maggie did and saw a long hillock, six or seven feet high. It was covered with pine trees, the kind her parents had had every Christmas as far back as she could remember. Only these were much bigger. The hillock and trees ran the length of the baseball field, separating it from the residential neighborhood across the street.

“Hang on.” Maggie clutched, grabbed the stick, pulled it down into first, put her foot to the floor and aimed the car to a small space between two of the trees.

“You’re crazy!”

Again the car was flooded with light. The cruiser was coming up fast, going to ram them again. Did. The VW went right, Maggie pulled it back, engine screaming. For a second she was off course, didn’t think she was going to make it, but she did, threading the car between the trees as if she did it all the time.

Pine branches screeched against the sides of the car and once again sound shivered through her, but Maggie screamed, “Yesssss,” as the car passed out of the trees and they were careening down the hillock.

A loud crash thundered behind them.

“They didn’t make it!” Gay yelled out as the little car shot over the curb. The wheels squeaked as they hit the street. “You did it!”

Maggie shifted up into second and took the first left. They sped down a residential street and came to a four lane road.

“I know where we are,” Gay said. “That’s Woodruff. Turn right, then left at the light, it’ll take you to the freeway.”

Horace glanced over at the Japanese out of the corner of his eye as the wipers click clacked water off the windshield. He was staring ahead, as if he could see through the rain, stiff and still as Buddha. It was unnerving the way he could hold himself like that. Fucker didn’t even blink. Couldn’t be good for his eyes. All of a sudden, Horace couldn’t stop himself from blinking. His eyelids fluttered out of control and for a second he thought he was having one of Ma’s seizures.

Someone told him once they were hereditary, but he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t afford to.

He turned onto Ocean. A couple minutes and he’d be at the fag bar. If life could be the way he wanted it, Horace would walk away right now. But when did you ever get what you wanted? The woman had seen him, her friend, too. Got a real good look, even though they were all tied up.

He shook his head, stopped for a light, listened to the rain pounding on the roof. How the hell had those bitches tracked him to the Lakewood house? And what was Ma thinking about all this? One thing for certain, he was gonna have to make it up to her somehow. Not just for the deal about Virge not coming back, that was gonna be bad enough, but Ma was never gonna let him hear the end of tonight.

The light changed and he took his foot off the brake.

“The women gotta go,” Horace said. “That’s a fact.”

The Japanese grunted, kept his eyes forward.

“Maybe even that faggot. I can see that.”

The Japanese nodded. Horace caught it out of the corner of his eye.

“But I’m here to tell you, we’re not hurting them little girls.” It was bad enough he had to throw that kid off that balcony. Little fucker’s scream was gonna be with him for the rest of his life. He wasn’t about to add any more kids to the list.

“Whatever you say,” the Japanese said.

“Just so we got that understood.” They were approaching the fork where Ocean branched off into Second Street. Horace kept to the right, stayed on Ocean.

Maggie kept her foot on the floor and threw the VW into third as she took the off ramp onto Studebaker Road. She’d had the little car up to ninety on the freeway, despite the rain. And through blind luck, the grace of God or both, she hadn’t been stopped. She flew off the ramp at seventy-five, tires squealing. In seconds she careened the car around the corner and was speeding into the Shore.

“Faster,” Gay said.

“It’s on the floor.” Maggie raced down Second Street, sliding the car through the first left past the bridge onto Bayshore Drive, downshifting through the middle of the turn.

The car rocked up on the two right wheels, sliding like a bar of soap on a wet floor.

“We’re gonna go over!” Gay screamed.

“No we’re not!” Maggie cranked the wheel into the direction of the slide, got control, but not enough to keep the car on the street. They jumped the curb and now the VW’s tires were churning sand as they shot along the beach.

“Look out!” Gay yelled.

“Holy shit!” Maggie pulled the wheel and barely avoided a couple making love on the sand. The couple rolled away, white arms and legs caught in the headlights. Maggie felt the fear in their wide eyes, sure as if she’d been right there with them.

“It’s after midnight,” Gay said. “And it’s pouring cats and dogs.”

“Maybe they’re drunk, horny and got no place to go.” Maggie aimed the car back toward the road, downshifted to second. The lovers looked like kids, barely old enough to get into a bar. A long time ago, in her other life, she and Nick had made love in the rain. A beach in the Bahamas on their honeymoon. But it wasn’t nearly so cold.

“Hang on! Maggie braced herself as the VW went over the curb. It was a miracle the tires still held air. They thudded onto the street and once again were in a slide, but Maggie got control of it in time to make the turn onto Ocean. She downshifted through the corner with her foot on the floor.