Dead Ringer Read Online Free PDF

They weren’t. He fucking despised waste.
    Ditto clicked on that record. “The person in question was Andy Baer.” He remembered seeing the john’s real name from the contents of his wallet before turning it into ashes along with his clothes. “Never leave evidence” was another cardinal rule Ditto unwaveringly observed. “This the same guy your doc thinks it is?”
    “Don’t know, didn’t ask. You want me to find out?”
    “If the opportunity arises. If not, let it pass. No sense drawing attention to ourselves.”
    Call finished, Ditto sat drumming his thumbs on the desk, mulling over what had just happened. It was bad, these two things coming—bam, bam—right in a row. A sign.
    He believed in signs. Not like some of those over-the-top whackos who saw signs in everything. But now and then something appeared that you’d be a fool to ignore because it could end up being a sure path to destruction. That detective and the doctor both somehow connected with the two specimens was a very creepy sign.
    But what was the honest-to-God risk here? The two bodies had been completely harvested and the remains cremated. So there was nothing left to incriminate him. Except for the heads. And the moment Leo came back with the heads, they’d go into Old Smokey and the ashes disposed of. There was nothing to worry about. Well, except for that detective. She still gave him pause. Damn Suburban.

5

    D ITTO SWIVELED HIS CHAIR around to face the window. As he stared outside, he contemplated the potential pitfalls. The customary records for the two bodies? No problem there; there were none. The tissue would be disposed of. Leaving what? He and Leo Gerhard were the only ones who knew the truth. And Leo? A rock solid, stand-up guy he’d trust to never admit to anything.
    He remembered how they met in the army—both eighteen, new to Fort Lewis, Gerhard assigned to the bunk above his. They were sitting on Ditto’s bunk polishing their boots.
    Leo casts him a glance and asks, “Why’d you sign up?”
    Ditto laughs, spits on the boot toe, working it in with a circular motion. “Look at it this way: I’m from fucking Hamtramck, Michigan. Ever been there?”
    A broad smile flashes across Leo’s face. “Hell, man, I’m from Detroit.”
    Ditto stops working. “No shit? You ain’t black and don’t look like one of those fucking Polacks. Who the hell else lives in that godforsaken town?”
    “Germans,” he says proudly, flashing a Heil Hitler salute.
    “My man!”
    They high-fived.
    Gerhard asks, “How did you end up here in the mortician corps?”
    With a grunt Ditto sets the boot down, picks up the other one. “Wasn’t my choice. I signed up to be a Delta. But you know how that goes. They agree to anything, but then once you enlist, they fuck you over. So the fucking CO sees that my dad runs a mortuary. They figure I don’t have a problem being around stiffs, so here I am. Fucking can’t seem to get away from it. You?”
    Leo gets a faraway look in his eyes. “I dunno. Always sorta liked dead people. Sure as shit more interesting than live ones. Least most of ’em, anyway. Delta, huh? You really wanted to go through all that shit?”
    “Actually, what I wanted was to play pro hockey, be a Red Wing, another Gordie Howe. But, you know, those fuckers are crazy. Have no regard for their own bodies.”
    “And Delta ain’t crazy?”
    “Yeah, but they’re the best. So what’s your story?”
    Leo shrugs, then spits on the boot in his hand. “I was forced to join. Sorta.”
    “Sorta? The fuck does that mean?”
    Leo sets down the boot, leans forward, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. “I used to hang at a boys’ club a lot on account of my folks are always gone. Dad shucks steel. That is when he ain’t blotto and can get work. Mom works. So …” He shrugs. “Anyways, this fucking counselor, fucking fag, tried to get friendly. Know what I’m saying?”
    Bobby nods. “Fucking queers. Hate ’em.”
    “One day