The Virtuous Woman (7 page)

A few moments later a roar split the air and a motorcycle drove into the cage. The rider got off, shut the steel gate, and locked it firmly. He was a big man, Francis observed, with shoulders like a wrestler. His goggles were up, revealing his close-set beady eyes. He had a pugnacious jaw covered by a beard. He looked at the crowd and grinned mirthlessly, then pulled his goggles down into place. He climbed onto the motorcycle and gunned it and then began circling the cage. The bike started slowly but rapidly gained speed. The man leaned down over the handlebars and let centrifugal force take over. He went around the lower part of the drum, then came up to where he was only a few feet below the audience. Key felt he could have reached out and touched him.

Keller went from the top to the bottom, sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, and then after five minutes slowed the speed and brought the cycle to a stop. The gate unlatched, and a woman rode out astride a motorcycle. Her helmet was off, and Key got a good look at her face. He was struck at once by her
freshness, which he had not expected. Somehow he thought the hard life 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 best
smile, 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 her
head 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 advice. Get out of here before my guy comes back. He’d pulverize a runt like you.”

“It won’t take but—”

He did not finish his sentence. He heard footsteps, then felt a grip with frightening strength seize his arm. He was jerked aside and turned to look up into the bearded face of Hack Keller. “This guy puttin’ the moves on you, Ruby?”

“Ah, he’s harmless. Just help him find his way out,” Ruby said with a laugh. “He’s too scrawny to be much of a masher.”

“Get out of here and don’t come back!” Keller snarled. He whirled Key around and shoved him hard, driving him to the ground.

Key lifted his head and spit out some dirt. Through a daze, he heard Ruby laugh. “Don’t bust him up, Hack. It ain’t worth it.”

Keller laughed. “Pitiful little runt, ain’t he?”

Key got to his feet and dusted himself off thoughtfully. He was not offended by being called a runt; he was accustomed to such remarks from larger men. He picked up his suitcase and walked quickly away from the trailer. He found a dark alley between two exhibits where he could stay out of sight for a while and wait. He put his suitcase down and sat on it.

“I might be a runt,” he muttered, “but I’m a patient runt.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Heading East Again

“Well, you
are
a persistent little devil, aren’t you?”

Ruby stood in the doorway of her trailer, her hand on her hip, staring in disbelief at the man on her doorstep. “You must have a death wish! Don’t you know what Hack will do to you if he finds you here again?”

“I need to talk to you, Miss Zale. My name is Francis Key.”

“What’d you do—wait until you saw him leave?”

“That’s right.”

“Look, you must be pretty stupid or else you’ve got a hearing problem. Now, let me make it plain. I don’t go out with other men. I’ve got a guy, and that’s it.”

“That’s not why I’m here, Miss Zale.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

He grinned at her, and Ruby thought it made him look young and innocent, but she had seen innocent faces before. She shook her head and demanded, “All right, what’s your pitch, buster?”

“Could I come inside?”

“No.”

“Well, then, could you step over here with me out of the doorway?”

“No.”

“All right,” Key said in a resigned tone. He pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “I used to work for the Rader Investigation Agency in New York City.”

“You’re a private cop?”

“Something like that. Anyway, I took on a special job, Miss Zale.”

Suspicion narrowed Ruby’s eyes. “Look, I don’t know what you’re after me for, but you ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

“Oh, I’m certain I don’t. Really, this is another matter entirely.”

“All right. Spit it out, then. Hack’ll be back any minute. He just went to get some cigarettes.”

“I hate to be the bearer of ill tidings. You probably haven’t heard, but Bertha Zale died recently.”

Ruby did not speak for a moment, then asked, “What’d she die of?”

“I don’t know really. She was in prison.”

“Yeah, I heard she went to the pen. Look, if you’re expectin’ me to show some kinda grief, you might as well forget it. I ran away from her ‘cause of the way she treated me. Too bad she’s dead, but that’s the way it goes.”

“There’s more to it than that, Miss Zale.”

“Don’t tell me the old lady got rich and left me a bundle.” She smiled cynically, passing her hand up over her hair. “You’ll never make me believe that.”

“It’s not exactly that.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly’? Come on, I’m tellin’ you Hack will be back, and you’ll be in real trouble.”

“If you’ll just listen to me without asking questions, I have something important to tell you. When I finish, I’ll answer any questions you have.”

“All right. Let’s have it.”

“Your real name is not Ruby Zale. It’s Grace Winslow. Your parents are Phil and Cara Winslow, who live on Long Island in New York State. Bertha Zale was at Manhattan’s City Hospital to have a baby at the same time that Mrs. Winslow was there having hers. Bertha’s baby died, and she exchanged her dead child for the living Winslow child....”

Ruby listened to the rest of the story without speaking.
“And so you see,” he finished, “you’ve really been living in the wrong circumstances all of your life.”

Ruby let out a good firm laugh from deep in her throat. “You really expect me to believe that cock-and-bull story?”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t,” he said regretfully, “but it’s true.”

“So my mom told some priest all of this when she was dyin’. Don’t you know she was on dope and booze? She made up stories all the time, Key. It’s just another one of ’em.”

“Not this one. It’s been very carefully checked. The only death recorded at City Hospital in New York on that date is that of Grace Winslow, but you’re Grace Winslow.”

“Look, get out of here, will ya. I haven’t got time—” Suddenly the roar of a motorcycle split the air, and Ruby warned, “You’ve gotta get out of here.”

“But you can’t stay here, Miss Zale. You need to go back—”

“Get out of here now! He’s drunk, and he won’t think twice about smashing in your skull.”

Francis turned with alarm and started away, but Keller brought the motorcycle right in front of him, jumped off, and let the machine fall to the ground. His eyes were bloodshot, and rage reddened his face as he bellowed, “I told you what would happen, you little punk!”

“Leave him alone!” Ruby called out. “He didn’t mean any harm. He’s just some kind of nut.”

But Keller ignored her. He grabbed Key by the lapels and swing his huge fist. Key managed to turn his head so the blow struck him over the left eye. Yellow stars exploded inside his skull, and a loud roaring drowned out everything else. He felt himself propelled backward and hit the ground hard. He lay there unable to move, and through a fog he heard the woman cry, “Don’t do it, Hack! You’ll kill him!”

Before he could guess what was coming, Key felt Hack’s heavy motorcycle boot catch his left arm and smash into his ribs. The pain was unbelievable, and the force of the blow rolled him over.

Ruby grabbed Hack by the arm. “That’s enough! You’re breaking his ribs!”

“I’m gonna stomp him into the dust!” Keller grunted. “Get out of the way.”

Ruby jumped in front of him, blocking his path. “You’re drunk, Hack. You’ll kill him and wind up in the pen. Is that what you want?”

“Get outta the way, Ruby.”

“No, I won’t. Come on inside. Let him crawl away.”

Keller slapped Ruby in the face, which spun her around, but she did not lose her balance. Keller started back toward Francis and prepared to kick him in the head. With one swift motion, Ruby drew a blackjack from her hip pocket and brought it down on Hack’s head. He grunted and staggered as she yelled, “That’s enough, Hack! I’ll lay you out.”

Keller grabbed her by the throat, and Ruby lifted the metal-filled weapon again and slammed it into his head with all of her might. It struck his head with a dull, meaty sound, and his eyes rolled back, showing white. He collapsed limply to the ground, and Ruby stood breathing hard, staring down at him, her face tingling from the force of his slap. She shoved the blackjack into her pocket and stepped around to where Francis was struggling to get to his feet.

“Are you okay?”

“Just ... a little woozy.”

“Can you get up? He’s out, but when he wakes up he’ll kill you. And me too.”

Ruby pulled Francis to his feet and saw that his face was twisted with pain. “He may have busted your ribs, but you’ve gotta get out of here.”

“What about ... you?” he gasped.

“I think I’d better get out too. He’s crazy enough to kill me.”

“Then get your stuff and we’ll go.”

Ruby stared at him. “To New York?”

“That’s right,” Key said painfully, holding his right side.
The blow had split his eyebrow, and he wiped the blood away with his free hand. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re Grace Winslow.”

For one moment the woman stood absolutely motionless. Key thought she would refuse, but then she laughed metallically. “All right, Francis. That’s your name, ain’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“Let me get my stuff and we’ll get out of here. Whatever’s in New York can’t be as bad as him.”

Key bent over, trying to catch his breath. He could not breathe very deeply, for each breath was like a knife slicing his ribs. He felt the blood trickling down his face but was hurting too much to worry about it. It was all he could do to stand up, and finally when the woman came out with two suitcases, he said, “Can you hand me mine?”

She grabbed his suitcase and put it in his left hand.

“Come on,” she said. “You have a car?”

“No, I came in a cab.” He walked stiffly, each step jarring his side, and the woman beside him watched him curiously.

“Can you make it?” she asked.

“I’ll make it. Just get us to a cab.”

The trip seemed to take forever, but finally the sounds of the carnival grew fainter, and Key heard the woman holler, “Hey, taxi, over here!”

Swaying on his feet, he felt the woman take the suitcase. The door opened, and he almost fell inside. She had to lift his legs in, and he heard the door slam. He was eased back in the seat, and he heard her get inside.