The Dead Ringer

by Fredric Brown

  I took it downtown and had him find me a flower shop still open. I ordered red roses—twenty-five dollars’ worth, because I wanted some of it to be mine if both of our names were going on.

  Then I went in a hotel lobby, got a handful of change at the desk, and took over one of the phone booths. I called Rita’s hotel in Indianapolis and I was lucky; she was in her room and answered.

  “Gee it’s swell to hear your voice, Rita,” I said. “I hadn’t heard from you for so long— How’s your father?”

  There was a second’s pause. Then she said, “He died yesterday, Ed. The funeral was late this afternoon.” Her voice was very quiet.

  “I’m—I’m very sorry, Rita. Why didn’t you call me up? I’d have come.”

  “I thought about it, but I decided not to, Ed. There wasn’t anything you could do—and, after all, you didn’t know him and hadn’t even met him, and—” Her voice trailed off.

  “When are you coming back?”

  “Tomorrow evening, Eddie. I think the train gets in about seven, if you want to meet me.”

  “Why not tonight, Rita? Why wait till tomorrow night?”

  “There are a few things to do. Some bills to pay—and things like that. I want to get everything finished up before I leave.”

  “Do you need any money?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t know it until he told me when he knew he was dying, but there was some insurance. I knew mother had carried a policy on him, a pretty big one, but I thought he’d cashed it in after she died. I guess he would have, if he could, but she’d paid the premiums and had it fixed so he couldn’t cash it in. And before she died, she made it paid-up insurance and had my name put on as beneficiary if she died first.”

  “That’s good,” I said. If she’d needed money, I’d have parted with all I had, and even sold my trombone and put the bite on Uncle Am, but I was glad I wouldn’t have to.

  “Oh, Eddie, I’ll be glad to see you again. I—I wish you were here tonight, or me there.”

  I said, “I can—” and caught myself in time. I was going to say I could go to Indianapolis tonight and come back with her tomorrow night, and I’d just about have given my right arm to do it. But after the way I’d needled Uncle Am into deciding to work on the murders, I couldn’t walk out on him tonight. So I caught myself and said, “My God, I wish so too, Rita.”

  “But—don’t come here, Eddie, if that’s what you’re thinking. It wouldn’t be right for us to—to be together too soon, right after my father died. Even when I come back, not right away— You understand, don’t you, Eddie?”

  “Of course, sure,” I said. “I understand.”

  “Not too long, Eddie. A week maybe. When I come back again.”

  “Again?”

  “I’m just coming back for tomorrow evening, to get my things I left with the show, and to see you, and I have to talk with Maury. Then if everything is all right, I have to make a trip to Chicago.”

  “Chicago?”

  “You sound like an echo, Eddie. Listen, I can’t tell you the details over the phone, but it’s going to be a swell idea, Eddie, for us. You’ll be crazy about it.”

  I said, “I don’t know. But I’m crazy about you, anyway.”

  “You’ll be at the train? It gets in around seven; I don’t know exactly—”

  “I’ll find out,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

  “Okay, Eddie. Love me a little?”

  “A little,” I said.

  “’By then.”

  “Good-by, Rita.”

  I’m afraid my mind wasn’t on murder. I felt too good. I didn’t want to go look up Uncle Am at Lee’s joint. I wanted to go to Indianapolis, of course, but next to that I wanted to go to our sleeping tent and play trombone. I was in the mood for it. I felt like I could do things with it, and it could do things to me.

  But, of course, I went to Lee’s. Uncle Am was there, and Hoagy.

  Uncle Am didn’t look like he was working very hard at solving murders; he was playing gin rummy with Hoagy. They had a bottle on the table between them, but they seemed pretty sober, both of them, and pretty intent on the game. I looked over at the score pad and saw Hoagy was a little ahead.

  I told Uncle Am I’d taken care of the flowers business, and Hoagy said, “Hell, Ed, I wish I’d’ve known where you were going. You could’ve sent some for me, too. Oh, well, I guess I’ll be in town tomorrow morning, anyway.”

  “Going to the inquest?” I asked him.

  “Huh? What for? You going, Am?”

  “Nope.” He laid down his hand, “Four points.”

  “Damn your hide,” Hoagy said. He put down his own hand and started counting.

  I went over and turned the radio on, and fiddled with it till I got some good music. I turned it soft so it wouldn’t bother anyone and leaned back in my chair to listen.

  Over the music, I heard Hoagy knock again and go out this time. Uncle Am figured the score and paid off, six dollars and twenty cents. They didn’t start another game.

  Uncle Am lighted a cigarette, and took his time about it. Then he said,

  “Hoagy, we’ve been trying to figure out who’s been doing the killing around here. How do you feel about it?”

  “How do I— Oh, I get what you mean. Well— The midget I didn’t know, so I wouldn’t worry who killed him. But if the kid was murdered, and not killed by a car, then a guy who’d do a thing like that ought to fry, sure. I’m not crazy about helping cops, but—”

  “He was killed, Hoagy. It wasn’t an accident.”

  Hoagy leaned forward. “I heard the grapevine, but why? I mean, if he was found dead by the roadside—where’s the catch on it being an accident?”

  “Clothes,” Uncle Am told him. “He was naked, like the midget was. That’s what ties them together. And—what about Susie, Hoagy?”

  Hoagy looked startled. “Susie? What do you mean, what about Susie, Am?”

  “It looks like she got out and drowned accidentally. But there’s one thing could tie her in, too. Size. Lon Staffold, Susie, and Jigaboo—to put ‘em in order—were all the same size. They all died violent deaths within two weeks. So even if Susie’s drowning looked like an accident, it’s a hell of a coincidence, isn’t it?”

  Hoagy took a drink out of the bottle he’d been holding ever since Uncle Am had handed it to him. It was a pretty long drink. He put the bottle down.

  He said, “It sounds crazy, Am. Why would anyone want to kill— Hell, it is crazy. Is that what you’re driving at? That a homicidal maniac did it?”

  “I don’t think so,” Uncle Am said. “Look, Hoagy. When you looked over the cage Susie got out of, and when you helped pull her out of the water tank, you weren’t thinking of the possibility of it being anything but an accident. Now think about it, as at least a possibility. Did you notice anything that might—uh—point to it not being an accident?”

  Hoagy shook his head slowly. Then he said, “Wait a minute. I remember one thing. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but—”

  I reached across the table and shut the radio off. Hoagy said, “It was something I noticed when I helped fish her out of the tank. I had hold of her by the arms, and the hair on her arm was plastered down flat from the water—flat and sort of parted at one spot and I noticed a couple of little red marks that looked like the puncture a hypo needle makes.” Uncle Am asked, “You hadn’t given her any hypos?”

  “No. Just oral medicines. I remember wondering for a minute whether anyone had given her a hypo, and then it seemed so silly that I decided she’d jabbed herself on splinters on the bars of the cage, or something.

  Hell, Am, I still think so. It’s silly—why the hell would anyone have wanted to kill Susie?”

  I asked, “Why the hell would anyone have wanted to kill Jigaboo, Hoagy? One’s no sillier than the other.”

  Uncle Am nodded. He looked at me and said, “Tell him, Ed.”

  I told Hoagy about last night, what I’d seen out the window.

&nbs
p; He didn’t exactly drop his jaw, but his mouth did go open a little. And he turned around and looked at the window behind him as though he expected to see something looking in there.

  But nothing was.

  CHAPTER XII

  At about ten-fifteen Lee Carey came in. He took a quick drink out of the whisky bottle, and sat down. He picked up the deck of cards lying on the table and started riffling them.

  “I hear a rumor, Am,” he said. “Maury’s selling out.”

  “The hell,” Uncle Am said. “Is that straight?”

  “I wouldn’t know. Likely not; you know how these things get started.”

  Hoagy said, “It could be, Am. Maury’s been talking about retiring.”

  “Does Maury own the whole carney?” I asked.

  Hoagy shook his head. “Old man Hobart still has a slice; kept it when he retired. But Maury has the controlling interest. Why’d you turn the radio off, Ed? That was good music you had.”

  I turned the radio back on. I watched Lee riffle the cards from one hand to another, until the tubes warmed up. Then I found some good music again. But I kept it soft, for background music, because I didn’t want to miss the conversation— if there was going to be any.

  It didn’t look as if there would. Uncle Am wandered over to the door and stood looking out. Then he opened the screen and flipped his cigarette butt out into the night.

  “Getting cooler,” he said.

  Nobody seemed to get very excited about that and he went over and sat down on the bunk. He leaned back against the wall of the trailer, with his eyes shut. I tried to guess whether he was listening to the music, or thinking, or taking a nap. It could have been any one of them.

  This is a hell of a way of wasting an evening, I thought. We had found out one little fact, if it was a fact and not Hoagy’s imagination—the hypo marks on Susie’s arm. Still, you get together enough little facts and add them up and you get answers, maybe.

  But I looked at Uncle Am and I thought, hell, we could have found that out in five minutes—just by asking Hoagy. We didn’t have to close up the stand and spend an evening doing it.

  Lee and Hoagy had been talking; I’d forgot to listen, thinking about Uncle Am, and I’d missed the conversation until I heard Lee say, “You’re crazy,” and I looked across at him.

  He was shuffling the cards, and between shuffles springing them back and forth between his hands as though they were strung together with thread.

  Hoagy laughed. “Go ahead. I’m not kidding. I can beat you.”

  Lee Carey looked across at me. He said, “Ed, the guy’s nuts. He says I can deal him a cold hand and he knows how to win with it.”

  I turned off the radio and leaned closer.

  Hoagy said, “Go ahead; I’m not kidding.” He took a wallet out of his pocket and threw it on the table in front of him. He took another drink out of the bottle, then opened the wallet and put a dollar bill in the middle of the table.

  He said, “Draw poker, buck ante. Jacks to open; five buck limit going in, and then the lid is off.”

  Lee put the deck down. He said, “God damn it, Hoagy, how can you win if I deal us cold hands? I don’t want to take your money.”

  Hoagy grinned. He said, “I’m asking for it And it’s for keeps.”

  Lee looked at him a minute, and then shrugged. His face went blank as he picked up the deck. His fingers, as he shuffled, reminded me of a violinist’s fingers on the strings of a violin. I tried to follow his movements, but it looked like a straight shuffle to me, although the cards moved so fast they almost blurred.

  He pushed the deck to Hoagy. “Cut,” he said.

  Hoagy cut them. Lee picked up the bottom half and put them on top, and I watched for the pass that would put them back in order, but I couldn’t see it. The motion of Lee’s hands as he moved the deck back toward him must have covered it.

  He dealt five cards to each of them.

  Lee took a roll of bills out of his pocket and put a single with Hoagy’s in the middle of the table.

  Hoagy picked up his hand. I asked him, “Mind if I look, Hoagy?” and he shook his head, so I slid my chair around until I was behind him. He held his hand so I could see it; he had aces and eights—two pair, and the jack of clubs.

  He said, “Okay, I’ll open,” and put five dollars in the pot. Lee took a ten from his roll. I think he was going to raise, but he changed his mind. He looked at Hoagy a minute and then put the ten into the pot and took Hoagy’s five for change.

  Hoagy leaned toward me and said in a stage whisper, “We got him scared already, Ed.” Then, to Lee, he said, “Three cards.”

  He threw away the jack and the pair of eights, holding only the two aces.

  Lee looked at him again, and then picked up the deck. While he dealt Hoagy’s three cards I listened for the click that would indicate dealing seconds, but I couldn’t hear it.

  I looked back over my shoulder. Uncle Am still hadn’t moved; his eyes were still closed. I figured he really must have dozed off or he’d be over watching this.

  I looked back as Lee was picking up his own hand. He threw down one card from it and picked the top one off the deck.

  Hoagy fanned out his hand so I could see it. With his two aces he now had a seven and a pair of treys. No better than it had been when he opened; a little worse, in fact.

  Hoagy asked me, “Should we bet it, Ed?”

  I didn’t answer, of course; he hadn’t expected me to. He put his cards face down in front of him and picked up the wallet. He took all the bills out of it; there were a lot of twenties and tens and a few singles. He counted it out into a stack on the table on top of his hand. There was a hundred and eighty-four dollars.

  He hesitated, or pretended to hesitate, just a second, and then he put it all into the middle of the table. He said, “I’ll bet it. One eighty-four.”

  Lee Carey looked at his own hand, and then at Hoagy. His face was a nice job of deadpanning, except for his eyes. They looked puzzled, cagy.

  He said, “Hoagy, what the hell’s the idea? You’re throwing away your dough. I don’t want it. God damn it, I told you this was a cold hand.”

  Hoagy said, “You’re not calling me, then?”

  “I didn’t say that. Look, I dealt you aces and eights and me a four-card straight. Maybe you think by tossing away the eights to draw to your bullets, you gummed my draw. You didn’t.”

  Hoagy said, “I can deal seconds myself. I can’t run up a hand, but I can deal seconds. No, I know you filled.”

  “Then a bet like that is crazy.”

  “You’re calling?”

  Lee looked at all the money on the table; he looked at his own hand, and then at Hoagy. He didn’t seem to get the answer he wanted from any of them. You could almost hear the wheels go around.

  He’d known the first twelve cards after that shuffle; he wouldn’t have stacked them any deeper than that. So he knew what Hoagy’s first card had been on the draw; he didn’t know the other two. The odds were long against it, but Hoagy could have a full house. Those two unknown cards could have been aces, for that matter, to give Hoagy four of a kind.

  But the odds were almost impossibly against either of those things. What really worried him was Hoagy—his offering, even suggesting and insisting, that they play this. There must be a gimmick somewhere; never bet a man at his own game. But, damn it, that was silly too; Hoagy was betting him at his own game; he’d dealt the cards.

  Lee picked up his roll of bills and folded them out flat. He started counting. He got to a hundred dollars, and one ten dollar bill past it, and then he hesitated again and looked at Hoagy.

  Again you could almost hear the wheels go round. Hoagy wasn’t a sap; there had to be an angle somewhere. Nobody but a magician can possibly realize how many angles and gimmicks there are—or know better that he doesn’t know all of them.

  Lee looked at his wrist watch and swore; it must have been almost time for his act to go on again in the side show.

&nbs
p; He started counting again, and got to a hundred and fifty. And stopped.

  He said, “To hell with it. I can’t figure your angle, but I’m not going to donate all that money, in case there is one.”

  “You’re not calling?”

  “No. To hell with you.” Lee stood up.

  Hoagy nodded calmly. He said, “Openers,” and threw down his two aces. He picked up the money and put it in his wallet. His own and the six dollars Lee Carey had put in—the ante and the call on the openers.

  Then he picked up the three cards Lee hadn’t seen and put them on top of the deck. Lee asked, “Care if I look?”

  Hoagy said, “You didn’t pay, Lee,” and picked up the deck with the three cards on top of it, and gave it a quick shuffle. Then he grinned at Lee. “But I don’t mind telling you. I had two pair. Aces and treys.”

  Lee looked at me, but I didn’t nod or shake my head. He hadn’t paid to see the cards, I realized, and Hoagy hadn’t wanted him to know for sure, or he’d have shown him instead of telling him.

  Lee started out, frowning. At the door, he turned again. He said, “Okay, so if you’re telling the truth, you bluffed me out. But all you won was the ante and the opener. What’s six bucks?”

  “Six bucks,” Hoagy said.

  “But you stood to lose almost two hundred.”

  “But I didn’t, did I?”

  Lee said, “N-no, but— Hell, I’ve got to get back. Skeets will be having fits.”

  He went out.

  Uncle Am was sitting up on the edge of the cot. He said, “Want to play a hand with me on those terms, Hoagy?”

  Hoagy laughed. “You? Think I’m crazy, Am? You wouldn’t call; you’d raise me back and that would make me think I had gummed your draw and that you didn’t have anything, and I’d have to call.”

  He stood up and stretched. “Guess I’ll see if Marge is back at our joint. She was going to shill on Walter’s wheel for a while. By now, he’s probably got a six-deep tip without sticks.”

  He went out, stooping to get through the doorway. He called back, “You staying here, Am? I can bring Marge back for some cards.”