by Jack Wallen
A waiter swooped by and noticed the accident. “Oh my, God! Oh my God! Here, take my towel. I did…I mean…I know a doctor. Really handsome, très rich, and well en…well…you can imagine! Oh silly me, thinking with my…I mean…He’s here. You want me to get him for you?”
“What I would like is for you to leave me a glass of water and go away.” The voice was obviously straining for composure. The waiter had no idea how lucky he was that the victim had already been chosen.
“One water.” The boyish imp set the bottle down and held out his hand. “One dollar.” The tab was silently paid. “One less waiter.” And he hurried away just in time for the lights and sound to begin.
Show time. A shudder coursed through his body. From toe to scrotum to brain, he was alive again. This life would beget death, and the death would beget peace.
Unfortunately, the first queen was not Tye, but Sugah Brown. Sugah was quickly rising in popularity. From the bitter slums of the west side, to nearly usurping the crown from the reigning queen, Shantee, Sugah Brown had stolen the praise, as well as the hearts, of the crowd. Of course, no one would admit to this fact. Not even Sugah Brown, whose ego was as tiny as his unfortunate brain, was willing to confess to his own popularity. But there was no denying that this girl could move the crowd as well as she could her own booty.
As soon as the spotlight hit Sugah, the crowd leaped to their feet. The music was a pounding remix of the old ‘70s disco-song-du-jour We Are Family. It was also Sugah’s signature routine track. In the eyes of the masses, Sugah Brown was a delight. Her twirling, gyrating, pulsing, fluid moves put the crowd into a hypnotic trance. However, to that special man watching, anticipating tonight’s target, Sugah Brown was tired and played out. The carefully choreographed dance seemed only a piecemeal puzzle made up from countless previous dances. Nothing original, nothing worth his time. Thinking this, he closed his eyes and focused on his perfect and elegant plan. How simple it would be to lure Tye out into the cool, dark night and invite him over for a drink and some naughty-naughty. It worked every time, after all. His eyes were sincere. His skin was soft, his body was hard, and his lips were overflowing with praise. No queen could resist. No queen better resist.
Sugah’s number finished before the crowd could finish their tipping. The DJ put on an encore of the mix as the tuckers gave their gifts. Sugah made his way backstage with his fists and hot pants overflowing with dollars. The crowd went momentarily silent waiting for the DJ to announce the next entertainer.
“Boys and girls, it is Club Connect’s pleasure to bring to you one of the hottest up-and-coming entertainers in the business. Hailing from the mysterious land of Bang-Cock—oh, what a lovely place—comes the even more mysterious Tye Siam!” The DJ’s voice was superb, and the finishing gong brought the crowd to its feet once again. The song was an old Siouxie and the Banshees number, Face to Face, remixed to give it a bit more kick. The big red velvet curtain split, and a single spotlight shone down on Tye Siam. Tye was clad in a very sexy, red satin cheongsam gown, complete with a high collar and higher heels. She held a fan in one hand which, for the moment, covered her sculpted face. Her other hand was outstretched to reveal the long, red nails. She was perfect.
He wasn’t sure if he would be able to make it through the number now that an erection had made an appearance between his legs. His head started growing dizzier with each thump of the sensual music.
Unlike Sugah Brown, Tye’s movements were slow and painfully erotic. It was like sex being drawn out into the slowest possible rhythm, and with each thrust, you wanted to speed up to a climax, but couldn’t. The dance drove the crowd to a frenzy, and many rushed the stage in a vain attempt to be the first to get a brush of the cheek from Miss Siam’s fan.
Tye Siam didn’t bring herself down center stage as the rest of the queens would have. Instead, she teased with methodically slow “come-hither” gestures and a torturous use of her long eyelashes and fingers.
Tye finally made it down to the crowd where the hand-offs began. Surprisingly, this sent a shock of jealous rage into the killer’s system. He desperately wanted to wring the neck of anyone who might touch his prize. His prize, damn it! Watching the oglers grope and kiss Tye was like being a parent watching your child get run over by a speeding Mercedes. With each touch, each smile and wink, he grew more and more angry. It was all he could do not to rush the crowd, slice their throats, and make off with his treasure.
The secret stranger couldn’t stand the thought of his girl being soiled by the flesh of others. He bit his tongue until the familiar, metallic taste of blood welled in his mouth. He tried to hold back the anger that was threatening to escape. Instead, he stood and ran toward the exit, knocking down anyone standing between him and the door. Without a word, he stepped through the door, spit out a mouthful of blood, and took in enough night air to fill his empty lungs. Beside him, a weeping queen was pulling a drag off a smoke. “Care for a fag’s fag?” The nancy-boy was obviously trashed. His burning rage had no time for drunks.
“No. Thank you.” Although he wanted to run his hand through the boy’s heart, it was not the time to let anger ruin what promised to be a very special night.
The young male nudged a bit closer. “Then, how’s about just a fag? I can show you….”
Anger won out. His hand quickly found its way to the boy’s throat. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The grip on the boy’s throat and the look in the man’s eyes were proof enough the smoker was in over his head.
It had been a long time since the dark stranger had felt such rage. He hated this feeling. It reminded him too much of his childhood, of fearing his father. And although squeezing the life from this annoying cock felt so foreign to him, he couldn’t seem to shake the desire to do so. Such a mistake could not be afforded.
Just as the boy’s eyelids were blinking the signal that he was on the cusp of unconsciousness, he let him loose. The body fell to the ground with a dull thud. He waited to make sure there was life remaining before stepping over the once-cocky male and back into the club. The young cub wouldn’t bother going to the management or the police because the cocktail of narcotics and stimulants that was more than likely coursing through his body would win him a night or two as someone’s prison bitch.
The dark stranger was safe again.
Tye would be finished by now, and he wouldn’t have to deal with watching his perfect gem tarnished by the filth of the masses. Now it was just a matter of waiting out the show and catching the beauty on his way home. It was a perfect plan. All he had to do was play the part of a ravenous fan hoping to score one evening with a beautiful queen. He knew how egomaniacal the queens could be. It lent such simplicity to their coercion.
He stepped around the fallen whore and faced the door to go back into the club. Then, something snapped in his memory. It was as if someone had poured a glass of ice water onto his brain. The bitter chill sent a spear of frost down his spine and froze his feet to the pavement…
The young boy stood in a doorway watching his father nearly beat the life out of his mother. She was naked on the floor, attempting to scurry away like a frightened mouse who knew the cat would soon swallow it whole. Only this beating was taking place because the mouse hadn’t swallowed the cat, or so the little boy understood. At the age of ten, it was hard for him to grasp the reasons his father beat his mother, but they almost always had to do with her being stripped and on the floor.
“You fucking bitch! You do it my way, or you die!” Father screamed. His face was blood red. Her face was blue and blotchy pink. He had hit her hard and now he stood over her, naked, holding himself until he squirted all over her face. “How do you like that, bitch?”
Mother was crying. He desperately wanted to save her from the torture but knew the torture would only turn on him if he tried. Instead, he quietly slid out of the doorway and into the dirty-clothes closet. There, he would seek shelter among his mother’s laundry. The feeling of the silk and nylon brought a sense
of comfort to his heart. He could make it through anything so long as he could retreat into the warm embrace of his mother’s clothing.
“Now, we’re going back in there and you’re going to show me what a whore you really are! Got that?” His voice was ugly, painful to hear..
“No, please, just leave me alone.” Mom was hurting and begging. This had been going on for some time now, and it was only getting worse. She could no longer cover the bruises, could no longer hide her fear.
Tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t cry. If he cried, he would be heard, and then he would be stripped down and “treated like the girl he was.” So he bit down on his tongue. Pain was the only thing that kept the tears away. It made him wonder why Mom cried. She was in pain, yet she bellowed with every blow. Maybe there was something he was missing. Maybe the torture wasn’t so much a punishment, but a reminder of the passion and love the mean man held for woman. The thought was sickening. He cowered deeper into the folds of the soft clothing. The smell and feel lulled him into a sense of security, and eventually, as the beating and weeping subsided, he drifted off into a restless and nightmarish slumber. His mother would secretly rescue him and tuck him safely into his own bed, away from the cold stare of the angry man.
EIGHT
Skip and I had decided to have a late dinner. I was actually shocked that he had agreed. I figured he would be up to his old tricks with a date or two. But tonight, I was the lucky girl.
Tonight’s dinner was at the Cafe DuJour, which lay in the heart of the Clifton area. It was one of the new line of quaint little pop-culture magnets attracting the nouveau riche of the city. Skip was fond of calling it yesterday’s sushi bar.
The crowd consisted of the thirty-somethings sporting their best Gap and Banana Republic styles. This city can be so predictable. Fortunately, for an officer of the law, predictable can be a good thing. I knew I could sit in this café and rest assured that my badge wouldn’t have to be pulled, and my weapon wouldn’t have to be drawn.
Once we were seated, Skip instantly ordered drinks—a wine for himself and a diet soda for me. There’s a story behind that, but it ends with me seeing too much death and destruction from the effects of alcohol. There was something in Skip’s eyes, a twinkle I hadn’t seen in a while.
“Are you hiding something from me?” I asked through a devilish smile.
“Not a thing, my dear. I’m just happy. I’m happy because I’m with my best friend on a day that will always be very special to me.”
He had me stumped. I had no idea what he was talking about. But before I could ask, our drinks were gently placed in front of us, and the adorable waitress, who couldn’t be more than sixteen, asked if we needed a few minutes. Skip nodded her away and looked at me with his toothy grin.
“To us.” Skip said, as he held up his glass. “It was five short years ago today that we were first partnered together.”
I couldn’t believe I had forgotten our anniversary! Every year, we celebrated our good fortune of being held together by so much more than our jobs. From the minute we first sat together in a squad car, we knew something special was going to form between us. And this year, I had let it slip my mind.
“Oh, my goodness.” My stumbling words made it all too apparent that I had forgotten.
“Princess? Did she forget the most holy of dates?”
I blushed.
“I feel so dirty. I feel cheap and sleazy, and I’m not even going to get any action out of feeling that way.” Skip huffed and puffed.
“I’m sorry, Skippy.” I put on my best pout.
Skip smiled and winked. “I’ll let it slide, this time. But next time, missy, I expects me some gifts, mmmkay?”
We toasted to us. We talked of memories from our first moment up to our most recent. It was a perfect dinner. It was yet another perfect moment in the scrapbook of Jamie and Skip. God, sometimes I wish the man was straight. I could look across the table and know Skip as much as, if not more than, myself. He was a wondrous, fantastical man who held every quality I desired in a partner, both professional and personal.
But I had a streak of realist in me and knew that it would never be. I didn’t, and wouldn’t, let it get me down. Skip was my dearest friend and someone I knew would forever be a part of my life. I was okay with that. I knew the world would always be a better place as long as Skip was sharing it, in whatever way, with me.
“I love you, Skip Abrahm.” The words just drifted gently out of my mouth completely by accident.
“And I love you, Jamie Davenport. You are the wife I’ll never have.” Skip raised his glass.
I met his glass with mine. “And you’re the wife I’ll never have.”
We laughed loud enough to disrupt those around us. That was fine. It was our night, and nothing was going to stain it.
NINE
Outside of Club Connect, reality brought a wind whipping through his clothing like angry termites. The memory washed away and left him seeking purchase on the outside wall of the club. He was covered in sweat and had a new sense of urgency. The young whore was gone. He must have managed to pull himself into the safety of the darkness.
Tye was obviously taking her own sweet time in coming out, her tardiness only serving to fuel his anger and lack of patience. He lit a cigarette. He hated the taste and the very fact that he had to draw the bitter smoke into his lungs just to keep himself alive sometimes. It was one of the only nasty habits he had gotten from his father. “You never know when you’ll need the lit end of a butt to use as positive reinforcement,” his father used to say. The smoke burned its way into his lungs, and the smell reminded him of his childhood, which in turn reminded him of his purpose.
The stage door opened, and the distinctive sounds of queens poured out. Three of the girls emerged, one of them Tye Siam! They all passed by without so much as a look. He took a deep drag on the fag in his mouth and started after them.
“Tye! Excuse me…”
All three girls stopped and turned. They were all wearing men’s clothing and looked nothing like their stage personae.
“Do I know you? You look very familiar. Aren’t you a doctor? That’s right, I remember now. I think you might want to go away before I call the cops. The police in this town won’t take kindly to you associating with my type.” The fellow queens giggled their stereotypical glass-gargling laughs, and they all turned around and continued to walk forward.
“Tye, may I have a word with you?” His voice gave way to a tinge of nervousness.
Tye didn’t even turn his head; he just lifted a flailing hand. “You’ve already had like seven or eight words, so let’s just call it a night.” Tye’s tone was light-hearted, a tone lost in the space between doctor and patient. If the queen only knew exactly who, and what, he was dealing with….
He dropped back a bit to see what the queens were going to do. They continued down the street to a well-lit parking lot. He kept enough distance so that no one would suspect anything.
Once they reached the parking lot, the three split up into separate cars. Tye walked to an old Impala, reached into his bag for his keys, and opened the door. The car was a dull pea-green color which would be very easy to follow. His feet picked up their pace as they transported him to his own car. Fortunately it was parked very near this spot, so he didn’t lose sight of the Impala for a second. He leapt into his car, turned the ignition over, and sped in the direction the Impala had gone.
“You’re all mine, now…” His voice trailed off and was replaced by a violent inhalation of air. The powerful man could taste salvation on the tip of his tongue. The transformation of Siam would bring him the peace his first patient, a miserable failure, hadn’t brought him. He pushed play on the CD player, and a violent goth-metal rendition of the Police’s Roxanne came pouring out. It was his love potion number nine tonight.
His voice was metallic and harsh. He knew he’d never have the voice he wanted, a voice soft and feminine. “…You don’t have to put on the red ligh
t. Those days are over. You don’t have to sell your body to the night…” There was a certain prophesy to the song that he liked. The song assured him he was doing the right thing. “You don’t have to wear that dress tonight…” He sang along, his heart racing faster with each screeching chord, the song reaching an emotional place, spurring him on.
Tye was still in his line of sight, just a few blocks ahead. The trick would be simple. Let him park, get near his front door, and then bag him. The “change” would take place in his own bed. Lakmé thought the plan of attack through, obsessing over every tiny detail, as the last length of the drive unfolded. He was a meticulous man and could see every action occurring in his mind. The struggle at the doorstep as the poor queen tried to overcome his powerful grip, the scramble for the keys that Siam would surely drop in fright unlocking the door, forcing Siam onto the bed, the bondage, the surgery, the dressing, and the escape. Textbook.
The song came to a halt, timed perfectly to the parking of the cars. He parked a block away, grabbed his tools, and made for the front door of Tye’s house. He would reach the door exactly as his victim did. It would always work out that way, just like in the movies where the killers always seemed to have an inhuman sense of timing, no matter how horribly slow they were. The dark stranger had that same uncanny timing, that of a movie star.
He strolled up to the door as if just another neighbor sneaking in after a night out. But when Tye saw his face, he recognized it immediately and must have sensed the imminent danger.
“Look, I’m sorry for brushing you off like that. I was with the other girls, ya know, and…”
Before the queen could get out another sound, Lakmé’s hand covered Siam’s mouth, fitting perfectly over the too-feminine features of the girl-man. The sounds Tye was making were a symphony of struggle, accompanied by kicks, swinging arms, and attempted bites. Nothing connected. Nothing stopped him from stepping through his pre-cast, pre-rehearsed drama with perfect ease. Before Tye could drop his keys, Lakmé had the polished hand in his grasp and wrestled the keys away.
