Dead Ringer (standard:drama, 2413 words)
Author: Hulsey	Added: Apr 24 2004	Views/Reads: 4031/2584	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A woman turns up at a hotel claiming that Howard is her dead husband.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

“Certainly Sir,” coughed the doorman, hinting for his tip. 

"Please let me know when the Sheikh arrives.”� 

"Of course, Sir.”� 

Keeler handed over a five-pound note before leading the irritating
Merseysider towards the bar. That the other revellers harboured 
thoughts of the woman being a prostitute bothered Keeler only a little. 
Even the insane ranting of the common woman was not enough to puncture 
his dream of the wealth offered by the Sheikh. 

The couple entered the quiet barroom and the smiling, bearded barman
approached, his face betraying his sinful judgment. 

"What are you drinking er...”� stuttered Keeler. 

"It's Holly arsehole and you know it. Forgotten already what I drink
have you?”� 

"Sorry, but remind me.”� 

"A double vodka and Red Bull Howie, or what ever you call yourself
now... Have gorra gob like an Arab's flip flop.”� 

The barman thrived in Keeler's embarrassment. "A double vodka and Red
Bull for the lady, and for you, Sir?”� 

"A vodka. Make that a double.”� 

Keeler led Holly towards a table as far away from the bar as possible.
He perched on his stool and glared at the redhead who lit up a 
cigarette, trying not to let his eyes stray towards her large breasts. 

"Okay Miss Tyler. What are you playing at?”� 

"Oh you're good fella. You're fucking good.”� 

Keeler swallowed a liberal amount of his vodka. "Listen goddamn it!
Whoever you think I am, you're mistaken.”� 

"Faking your death was a master stroke. How did you manage it Richard?”�


"Richard? Christ you are mad... What do you mean faking my death?”� 

"Eight years of marriage Richard, and what did you leave me with? Your
frigging bills and a hovel of a terraced house in de pool, that's 
what.”� 

"De pool?”� 

"Liverpool.”� 

"Give me strength,” said Keeler. "I'm not your husband, never have been
and never will be. I can see why the poor bugger would fake his death 
though.”� 

Holly almost downed her drink in one and inhaled on her cigarette before
continuing. "Okay, let's call the bizzies and see what they have to 
say.”� 

"No! I mean by all means call them later... I've a very important
business meeting and would be grateful if you left.”� 

"Oh you'd love that wouldn't you darling? It was only by chance that I
saw your mug in the newspaper. Did you really think that you could get 
away with this?”� 

Keeler looked to the ceiling and smiled. "Who put you up to this Holly?
It's a wind up right? Is this one of Peter Miller's pranks, or is that 
barman Jeremy bloody Beadle?”� 

"I'm glad you can see the funny side Richard, because you're going down
for a long, long time fella.”� 

The doorman entered the room and approached their table. "The Sheikh
Sir, he's arrived.”� 

"Thank you... Listen Holly; can we discuss this another time? I'll give
you my telephone number... Really, you have mistaken me for someone 
else.”� 

Holly stubbed out her cigarette and reached for her handbag. She pulled
out a photograph and waved it in front of Keeler's face. "So if you're 
not me hubby, then who the frig is this?”� 

Keeler reluctantly accepted the snapshot and gazed in astonishment at
the groom who was standing beside Holly, who wore a bridal gown. Either 
the photograph was genuine or it was a very good forgery. 

"Bloody hell,” gasped Keeler. "He certainly looks like me and I can
understand why you've mistaken your husband for me, but I can assure 
you that the person in this photograph is not me.”� 

"Bullshit! Look at the mole on the left cheek.”� 

Keeler rose to his feet. "Phone me Holly and we'll sort this mess out
later... I swear I've never been to Liverpool in the last ten years.”� 

Holly slapped her hands against the table, knocking her glass to the
floor. "That's not good enough. I'm calling the bizzies right now.”� 

"No! Please. Listen, what exactly do you want?”� 

Holly squinted; her eyes swivelled towards the ceiling. "I think fifty
thousand pounds will be ample compensation for my suffering.”� 

"Fifty... Are you insane? Don't answer that. Listen, wait here for me
and I'll be back after I've concluded my business with the Sheikh.” � 
He dipped into his wallet and handed her a wad of notes. "This should 
keep you refreshed until I return.”� 

Keeler mopped his brow and straightened his tie as he strode towards the
restaurant. His appetite had disappeared, but to gratify the Sheikh he 
would overlook his predicament with the crazed bitch and eat heartily. 

Surprisingly the Sheikh was seated at the table alone, looking elegant
and mystical in his long, flowing white robe. The bearded man left his 
seat and held out his bejewelled hand to greet Keeler. "Have you 
ever-sampled Arabian food?”� 

"No, I don't think I've had the pleasure.”� 

"Then Mr Keeler, you're in for a pleasant surprise... The food I thought
we would forgo until our negotiations are concluded. The Sheikh handed 
over a large folder. "This is a proposed draft of the complex. The 
apartments will be situated in the Jumeirah Beach area, a most 
attractive residential district in Dubai.”� 

"I have abandoned all other projects Sheikh Salem, and priority is to be
given to this venture.”� 

"And you claim that the construction of the complex will be completed
before June 2006?”� 

"On that you have my word Sheikh Salem.”� 

The waiter approached and the Sheikh ordered fresh orange juice. Keeler
acknowledged his host's strict stance on alcohol and ordered the same. 

Keeler's eyes lit up with the appearance of the Sheikh's chequebook.
"Are you certain Mr Keeler that a down payment of £2,000,000 will 
suffice?”� 

"Oh, yes,” said Keeler rubbing his hands together, observing every curve
etched by the nib of the gold pen. "£2,000,000 will be fine Sheikh 
Salem.” 

The clatter of high heels disturbed the joyous moment, and Keeler turned
to see Holly walking unsteadily towards their table. He rose up 
immediately. 

"Is something-wrong Mr Keeler?” asked the Sheikh. 

"Wrong? No, of course not... Would you please excuse me for one
moment?”� 

The Sheikh's curious eyes followed the trail of his business partner,
wondering who the redheaded woman was. 

"What do you think you're doing?” whispered Keeler, seizing Holly by the
wrists. 

"I'm tired of waiting,” slurred Holly, her voice raised. 

"Shhh!” urged Keeler, looking around and smiling reassuringly at the
frowning Sheikh. 

"You think more of that camel shagger than you do of your wife... I'm
calling the bizzies.”� 

"No! Keeler again glanced over his shoulder, before ushering Holly back
into the bar. 

"Can't you get it into your fucking thick Scouse head that I'm not your
husband? Do I sound like I'm from Liverpool?”� 

Holly's eyes oscillated in their sockets, her red lips trembling. "My
hubby was not from de pool.”� 

"Mr Keeler.”� 

The flustered man smiled falsely towards the Sheikh who had entered the
bar. He walked swiftly towards him, the perspiration running down his 
face. 

"Mr Keeler, I am not accustomed to being interrupted during business
negotiations. Who is that woman?”� 

"Woman? Oh, Holly you mean. She's the wife of someone I know... She's
slightly inebriated if you know what I mean,” said Keeler, moving his 
hand as if he was shaking a glass. "She's been to a wedding,” he lied. 

"A bar is no place for a woman,” snarled the Sheikh. "Mr Keeler, I trust
the person who is to oversee the construction of a multi million pounds 
complex is a cultured man? I cannot afford to be involved with any 
discrepancy or scandal you understand?”� 

"No, everything's fine Sheikh Abdul.”� 

"It's Sheikh Salem Mr Keeler.”� 

"Of course it is and I do apologise... If the Sheikh will kindly allow
me two more minutes in which to phone my friend's wife a taxi?”� 

"Very well.” The Sheikh returned to the restaurant and Keeler walked
swiftly towards the annoying woman. 

"If I call you a taxi will you please leave Holly? Tonight we'll talk
and hopefully come to some arrangement.”� 

She shook her head teasingly and fondled her mobile telephone... "Oh,
oh. No way. Now either you pay me the fifty grand or I'm gonna call the 
bizzies right now.”� 

Keeler held his head, his mind unable to deal with the situation.
Reluctantly he reached inside his jacket pocket for his chequebook. He 
reasoned that fifty grand was a relatively small sacrifice to eliminate 
the bitch from his life; after all what was fifty thousand compared to 
the two million he stood to lose? 

"What's the name again? Holly what?”� 

She giggled girlishly. "Good try Richard.”� 

“The fucking name!” he screamed. 

"Tyler as well you know hubby.”� 

"Don't call me that,” he grimaced, as he wrote out the cheque... "Now
what's to stop you coming back for more once you've spent my money?”� 

"You have my word Richard.”� 

"That's not good enough... You see that Arab in there?”� 

She nodded. 

"Well he's a woman hater and a good friend of mine. He's that good a
friend that he'll do anything for me, including arranging your murder. 
Do I make myself clear?”� 

Again, she nodded... Keeler threw the cheque at her and turned his back
on Holly Tyler forever. The Sheikh was talking on his mobile telephone 
as his absent guest approached. 

"I'm sorry Sheikh but...”� 

A raised finger concluded the sentence. “Mr Keeler, I'm so sorry, but an
urgent matter has come to my attention. Please forgive me and feel free 
to dine alone. I'm sure you'll enjoy it... I'll meet you here tomorrow 
at the same time if that is acceptable?”� 

"Of course... Ahem, the cheque, Sheikh Salem.”� 

“The cheque, ah yes. It has been a pleasure doing business with you Mr
Keeler.”� 

The elated building developer waited until the Sheikh had left the
Dorchester before kissing the cheque and screaming, "yes!" He even 
managed a smile at the satisfied Holly as she departed. This had been a 
most profitable day he thought. A most profitable day indeed. 

Six weeks later and David Grant was standing at the bar of the Savoy
Hotel, cradling a glass of whiskey. The Sheikh was already five minutes 
late, but Grant did not mind. Today he would negotiate a healthy 
contract with the Sheikh, with the promise of an advance cheque of 
£2,000,000. 

Grant watched with interest, the bickering going on at the entrance to
the hotel. The doorman was insistent that the redheaded woman wearing 
the crimson dress would not pass. The doorman finally relented and 
paced slowly towards the building developer. 

"Mr Grant?”� 

"Yes.”� 

"There's a lady at the door, Sir, and she insists on seeing you.”� 

Grant gulped down his whiskey before striding towards the damsel in
distress. 

"Can I help you?” he asked. 

"You bastard! Did you really think that I wouldn't find you?”� 


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