Mirror Image

election itself. Eddy’s grin merely widened.
    Avery was liking him less every day. His inappropriate dalliance with Fancy was reason enough for her to distrust his Boy Scout cleanliness.
    Tate, however, trusted him implicitly. That’s why she hadn’t mentioned seeing Fancy coming out of Eddy’s room, even when Tate had provided her an opportunity to. She could sense a softening in Tate’s attitude toward her and didn’t want it jeopardized by bad-mouthing his trusted best friend.
    She tried to put aside Eddy’s remark and all other worries as she walked into the cavernous building with Tate. He would need her to bolster him tonight. The injury was probably causing him more discomfort than he let on. An enthusiastic local supporter approached them. He bussed Avery on the cheek and pumped Tate’s hand. It was as she tossed back her head to laugh at a comment he made that she caught sight of the tall, gray-haired man on the fringes of the crowd.
    She did a double take, but almost instantly lost sight of him. Surely she was mistaken. The man at the airport had been wearing a western suit and Stetson. This man was dressed in formal clothing. They were probably just coincidental look-alikes.
    While trying to appear attentive to the people approaching them to be introduced, she continued to scan the crowd, but didn’t catch sight of the man again before dinner. From the head table it was difficult to see into the darkest corners of the enormous hall. Even though it was a formal dinner, people were milling about. Frequently, she had television lights blindingly trained on her.
    “Not hungry?” Tate leaned toward her and nodded down at her virtually untouched plate.
    “Too much excitement.”
    Actually, she was sick with worry and considered warning Tate of the danger he was in. She regarded the bandage on his forehead as an obscenity. Next time it might not be an empty beer bottle. It might be a bullet. And it might be deadly.
    “Tate,” she asked hesitantly, “have you seen a tall, gray-haired man?”
    He laughed shortly. “About fifty of them.”
    “One in particular. I thought he looked familiar.”
    “Maybe he belongs in one of those memory pockets that hasn’t opened up for you yet.”
    “Yes, maybe.”
    “Say, are you all right?”
    Forcing a smile, she raised her lips to his ear and whispered, “The candidate’s wife has to go to the ladies’ room. Would that be kosher?”
    “More kosher than the consequences if she doesn’t.”
    He stood to assist her out of her chair. She excused herself. At the end of the dais, a waiter took her hand and helped her down the shaky portable steps. As unobtrusively as possible, she searched the crowd for the man with gray hair while making her way toward an exit.
    As she cleared the doorway, she felt both frustrated and relieved. She was almost positive he had been the same man she’d spotted in West Texas. On the other hand, there were tens of thousands of tall Texans with gray hair. Feeling a little foolish over her paranoia, she smiled to herself ruefully.
    Her smile congealed when someone moved in close behind her and whispered menacingly, “Hello, Avery.”

Thirty
    At midnight, the McDonald’s restaurant at the corner of Commerce and Griffin in downtown Dallas looked like a goldfish bowl. It was brightly lit. Through the plate glass windows, everyone inside was as clearly visible as actors standing on center stage.
    The cashier was taking an order from a somber loner. A wino was sleeping it off in one of the booths. Two giddy teenage couples were squirting catsup on each other.
    Breathless from having walked three blocks from the hotel, Avery approached the restaurant cautiously. Her formal attire distinguished her from everyone else who was out and about. It was foolhardy for a woman to be walking the downtown streets alone at this hour anyway.
    From across the street, she peered into the capsulized brilliance of the dining room. She saw him, sitting alone in a booth. Fortunately, the booth was adjacent to the windows. As soon as the traffic light changed, she hurried across the broad avenue, her high heels clacking on the pavement.
    “Mmm-mmm, mama, lookin’ good!” A black youth licentiously wagged his tongue at her. With punches and guffaws, his two chums congratulated him. On the corner, two women, one with orange hair, the other with burgundy, competed for the attentions of a man in tight leather pants. He was leaning against the traffic