by Jack Wallen
“He said they would honor it to the letter. I trust him.” Cindi spoke emphatically. “Will you come?”
“Of course I will, Cindi. I’m sorry. I’m just a bit scared to even go out right now.” The confession brought tears to Jean Ann‘s eyes.
“We all are, sweetheart; we all are.” There was a pause that was smattered with Jean Ann’s sniffling. “The meeting is at eight at the York Street Baptist Church. The usual rules apply.”
“Should I bring the snacks and drinks? Or is this too serious for socializing?” Jean Ann hated to think that a Southern Belles meeting would lack its regular charm and warmth.
“I think that’s a good idea. Let’s keep it as normal as we can. I’ll see you there, sweets.” They hung up, and Jean Ann let out a huge sigh. He looked at himself in the mirror.
“Well, girl, I guess you have no choice tonight. Suck it up and get pretty.”
Jean finished applying the final touches on his makeup and pulled on his wig. He looked in the mirror and saw his feminine persona staring back. His image brought a warm sense of peace coursing through his veins. This was what he lived for day in and day out. His inner femininity was the only thing that helped him get through the drudgery of corporate living, of being a mortgage broker, of being a man in a men’s-club business.
It was nearly seven, and he had to get going. The meetings were downtown, and his house was five miles out on River Road. He loved his house. It stood as a lone sentinel on a long stretch of habitable land on the north edge of Louisville. Here, he had peace. Here, he had solitude and didn’t have to worry about stepping outside in a nightgown or a dress to fetch his mail. He could sit out on his second-level back porch and sun himself in a bikini. On special nights, when he was feeling a bit naughty, he would dance on his porch in nothing but a garter, stockings, and heels. That brought him to life and helped him to feel young again. And there was no one there to point accusing fingers and call him a freak.
He pulled out of the garage under the darkening sky. As he pulled out, he saw a brown, rusty car parked in the boat-slip rental spot. The driver had the hood up and was watching Jean slowly drive away. He felt as if he should stop and see if the man needed help. But remembering he was wearing Ann Taylor silk, he decided it was best to drive on.
“Oh Karma, I hope you’re an understanding mistress.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I considered myself to be a very open-minded woman. That was why, when I walked into the third-floor room at the York Street Church, I wasn’t picking my jaw up off the floor. Milling about the room was the most eclectic collection of people I had ever seen. There was everything from an overweight, bearded man in a skirt to someone in whom I couldn’t possibly discern any traces of masculinity anywhere. From all-man to seemingly all-woman, and those in between, the group had everything the imagination could conjure. I had no idea what to think until I was greeted by one of the members. He walked more gracefully in five-inch heels than I could ever dream of doing, and he shook my hand more powerfully than most straight men.
“My name is Delancy. Thank you so much for coming tonight. I wasn’t actually planning on attending until I heard there would be police officers here. It’s so scary out there now. We’re all so afraid of our shadows to begin with, afraid that turning any street corner will land us in the grip of a beating born of hate. Now this!” Delancy’s genuineness melted away any possible concern I had about this group. In fact, they all seemed to be normal and true gentlemen.
“If everyone would take a seat, we can get started with our meeting.” A man in a very professional, light-blue silk skirt suit addressed the crowd. Everyone immediately took a seat. “This meeting was called because the Louisville Police feel it necessary to not only keep us up to date on what has happened with this recent string of attacks on our fellow sisters, but to also get as much information from us as they can. I have assured them they will get our complete cooperation.” At the mention of the attacks, there were immediate sobs from some of the attendees.
I looked over at Skip, and he nodded. I took the floor.
“My name is Officer Jamie Davenport. I have been leading this investigation, and I can assure you that we are making progress. I can’t give you all the details, but I can tell you that we’re dealing with a large, very powerful man. I don’t want to frighten you, but somehow he knows who you are. This man seems to have an obsession with…” I wasn’t sure how to put this without scaring the skirts off these poor men. “The reports that only transgendered people are being attacked are accurate. Although at first glance, you might argue that the recent death of Tye Siam says this man is not targeting only transgendered victims. However, as Tye was undergoing hormone therapy, it is pretty safe to say that the killer is acting in a fairly specific manner.” I paused a moment to make sure I had their attention. “All of you are in danger.” The air in the room was instantly sucked away by the collective gasp from the members of the Southern Belles.
“No one has survived his attacks, and we have reason to believe he has no idea that he is actually killing people.” The crowd stared in disbelief. One man spoke up.
“How can he think he isn’t killing anyone? It’s all over the news.” That incited a number of similar questions and responses from the crowd. I finally managed to quiet them down.
“I can’t give you all of the details, but one reason he may not know he is killing is the way the victims are dying. When we find them, they are fully clothed.” I paused before I went on. I knew the next fact would probably hit too close to home. “The victims are dressed after the killer does his work. They’re always wearing full femme, and generally, the outfits are well thought out, almost planned accordingly.”
I gave them a moment to let everything sink in before I continued. “The other reason is that the killer has made contact with this group and feels as if he is doing you all a favor—a service.”
Of course, finding out the killer had made contact sent the members into a whispering fervor. Eventually, one of them stood up. He was of average height and build but had the largest fake breasts I’d ever seen.
“Why have we not been told that this man has been among us?” He stomped his foot as if he was going to throw a hissy fit. I looked at Delancy, who had the same look of shock as the other members.
I threw a glance at Skip, but he just shrugged. No help there. So I turned back to the group.
“I can’t give you all the details, but we do have some leads. One of those leads is going to require me to gather all of your names—not your real names, but your feminine names.” I wasn’t quite sure what to call them. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to pass around this tablet, and I would like you to clearly print your full female name on a single line along with the best means of contacting you.” There were concerned looks, but no one voiced a complaint. I had to tell them why we were collecting the names.
I took in a deep breath, looked to Skip for the slightest bit of support, and spoke. “It seems that the killer is indicating his next victim when he does his work. He is doing this in a sort of cryptogram. He’s hiding the names within sentences. The first piece of this clue was given to us by S’Fonda Heels.”
At the mention of S’Fonda’s name, there were some nearly inaudible hisses and catty remarks. I looked around and tried to listen for anything specific. The sounds were instantly stopped by Delancy’s irritated voice.
“That is unnecessary and highly unladylike. I expect nothing but complete cooperation with these officers, and I don’t want this group seen as anything but courteous, polite, and giving. Anyone who cannot follow those guidelines, please leave now.” Instant quiet fell over the room. Not one person stood to leave. “Thank you. You may continue, Officer.”
I passed the tablet of paper to my left, and the first member carefully put pen to paper and wrote his name. I made a mental note to try and find out why the group had such contempt for S’Fonda. “Once we are able to discern who the killer has targeted for
his next victim, we will certainly make sure that person has the full protection we can offer. We are also hoping this will allow us to set a trap for the killer. Until that time, we need you to all live your normal lives, but we must ask you to refrain from…” I looked at Skip, who picked up the ball.
“Girls, we need you to can the femme for a while.” The reaction was worse than dropping a crate of garlic into a crypt full of vampires. Skip stood and placed his hands on his hips; he was working up to working it. These girls did not want to get Skipper going.
“Okay, so let me get this straight, your lives aren’t worth untucking the boy-bits and tucking the girly-bits away for a short while? Is that what I’m hearing?” There was no response. “I know it’s no shopping spree, but it beats the consolation prize of a funeral tux and shitty makeup to cover up your permanent five o’clock shadow of death. Now, what’s it going to be ladies, drab or death?” I adored Skip’s way with words.
A single nervous hand went up. Skip pointed to the owner of the hand. “Yes?”
“What about those of us already in transition?” I had no idea what the man meant, but obviously Skip did. “Good question. Because pre-ops are required to live as a woman for a full year prior to sex-reassignment surgery, that’s not exactly an option for those of you with that status. I would say you should either take a short vacation or shack up with some friends or family.”
God, what a confusing life some of these men led. My heart went out to them. To look at them, most people would initially think they had happened upon a Halloween party gone horribly wrong. But once they spent a bit of time with the men, they would quickly realize how genuine and honest they were. In fact, I had come to the conclusion that these men were the most honest people I’d ever met. They knew themselves like no other. They had soul-searched when others would rather live in ignorance. They accepted the reality of who and what they were when others would shun even the deepest truth inside themselves.
One of the men stood up. He was fighting back tears and losing the battle. “I just don’t understand. We’ve done nothing wrong. What we do is harmless to others. We just want to live our lives in the way that makes us most comfortable with ourselves. Why would someone want to kill us?” He lost the battle, and the tears started flowing. He sat down, and the man next to him put an arm around his shoulders.
What I was seeing was heart-warming. These were just normal men who happened to be in touch with something other men aren’t. The more I thought about it, the more flattering it became. For so long, women had been repressed, used as tools, manipulated, embarrassed, and turned into objects. Yet all along, there was a cross-section of society that saw strength in the very things most people saw as weaknesses. These men celebrated womanhood, and I couldn’t find a single thing wrong with that.
I stood up and spoke with a calm and strength I didn’t realize I had. “We will solve this case, and you will be free to be yourselves again. My partner and I will not allow such atrocities to happen to such a fine group of citizens, and I will personally bring back your safety.” Even Skip was wide-eyed. “Until that time, we need your full cooperation. It won’t be easy on anyone, but you must not let this killer know who you are. So for the time being, closet your female persona to keep yourself from being a walking target. If you can’t closet yourself, then lay low. Don’t visit the clubs, don’t hold your meetings, don’t answer the door.”
By the time I finished, the list of names had returned to me.
Another hand was raised. This time it was nearly impossible to actually tell the gender of the very attractive apparent-female. It wasn’t until he spoke that I knew for sure it was a man.
“This is terrorism. I understand your point, but some of us have fought a long, ugly battle to get to where we are. I’m only two months away from my SRS, and I’m not about to let some psychopath take back from me all the hard work, soul searching, and effort I’ve put into becoming who I am. How can you expect us to all just willingly crawl back into the closet from whence we came until you capture this killer? If that’s the case, why did we even bother to come out in the first place? I can’t do this. I just can’t.”
There was a chorus of “You go, girlfriend” and “Amen, sister” that dropped my heart into my stomach. These men had no idea what they were dealing with. I had the feeling there was no convincing these people, who had only recently been able to come out from the shadows and live the normal life that most take for granted, to sneak back into the shadows, even for a short time. I felt my only recourse was to offer what help we could give them.
“Ladies…” The term came out of my mouth without even thinking. As soon as the word came out, I noticed that nearly every member in the group sat up a little straighter, and their eyes focused on me a little tighter. “I understand your needs. I wish I could assure your safety, but I can’t, not if you’re going to go on as if nothing has happened. But I can at least arrange some self-defense training, as well as a bit of security for your meetings and events. At least that way, when you gather together, you’ll be safe. I would like to think that when you are alone, you’ll keep everything I’ve said in mind.”
It was an older ‘woman’ that stood this time. “My name is Jean Ann Kelly, no relation to the dancer I might add. I’m one of the elder members of this group.” Someone said something about Jean being an old biddy, but Jean ignored them. “I’m a cross-dresser with no intention of undergoing SRS. I’ve been out of the closet now for probably thirty-five years. I’m happy this way. In fact, it’s about the only way of life I’ve known. But I do love life. So much so, that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to continue living it. If I have to put Jean in the closet for a bit, then so be it. There are so many other ways to explore the world, so many other things to enjoy and love. I hope you catch this monster, and if there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know. So if you need Jean to stay out of the public eye, you have my word she will. Now, my home life is different. At home, Jean will flourish as she does now. But for the time being, I will gladly do as you suggest.” She sat down, crossed her legs, and smiled.
I breathed a small sigh of relief. These men were starting to grow on me. They were stronger and more courageous than the majority of the shirt-and-ties I knew. We could use some of these men, skirts and all, on the force.
I spoke in a much more relaxed tone. “The first thing we have to do is to check the names on the list you just created with the evidence we have. Once we’ve done that, we’ll take the necessary steps to ensure everyone’s security.”
After the meeting was over, Skip and I were heading out when we were confronted by a younger ‘girl.’ She was very perky wearing pink floppy sweats, a white strappy tank, a pink doo-rag on her head, and a messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Her name was Missy, and she spoke as much with her hands as her mouth, but her point was very clear. Missy had overheard S’Fonda talking about how she wanted to wring the neck of Tye Siam and a number of other girls, both from the stage and in the Belles. Missy had also seen S’Fonda nearly run Tye over in her car. She didn’t know if it was intentional, but it didn’t look much like an accident.
We thanked her and told her if she had anything more to offer us to call as soon as possible. She smiled a cherub-like smile and danced off. There was something tragic in her walk that made me want to get to know her story.
Once we were out of earshot of the group, I started in on my suspicions of S’Fonda. Skip agreed, and we decided it was finally time to question the man himself.
TWENTY-SIX
Lakmé knew his next victim. Jean Kelly was an older man holding on for dear life in the hopes he would someday see his true self looking back in the mirror. Jean would very soon look into that same mirror and see the perfect beauty he knew should be staring back at him.
Once again, Lakmé had the plan set down to perfection in his mind. Jean Kelly lived alone in a brownstone-type ranch off of River Road. The house was near a boat-slip rental, an
d the back porch overlooked the Ohio River. The house looked small from the outside, but like many of the riverside homes, it would probably be larger than life inside.
Gene Kelly, Jean’s male persona, worked as a mortgage broker with US Power Brokerage. He had a very predictable schedule:
6:00 am - 4-mile jog along the river
7:30 am - shower
8:00 am - breakfast
8:30 am - on the road
8:45 am - arrive at work
1:00 pm - lunch at desk
2:00 pm - resume work
6:00 pm - leave for home
6:15 pm - arrive at home
6:30 pm - peel off male clothing and don female clothing
7:30 pm - finish makeup and hair
8:00 pm - dinner
10:00 pm - news
10:30 pm - undress
11:00 pm - in bed
Every Monday through Friday, Gene was obsessive about his schedule. That obsession would make it so for Lakmé easy to deliver his gift. All he had to do was alter the schedule just a fraction, and the surgery could begin. So, at six-thirty, as soon as the male clothing was shed, he would come out of Gene’s own closet, restrain him, and begin the process to permanently change Gene to Jean.
Getting into the house was a simple task he would complete as soon as Jean left for work. On the back side of the house facing the river, there was a small second-story patio that had a glass door with a standard locking handle, nothing that could keep a lock-pick from doing its duty. Once inside, Lakmé would make his way to the bedroom, hide in the closet, and mentally prepare himself for the coming event.
With hours to wait, Lakmé was packing his doctor’s bag with the necessary tools. Fortunately, he had enough of the tranquilizer and sutures to do a fine job. He checked to make sure the CD-player batteries were in working order. He pushed play, and the beautiful duet gently poured from the speakers. Enjoying the lullaby-like sounds, he let it play through. His mind drifted back to his beautiful mother singing the duet along with the old, scratchy LP. For the moment, the world and everything in it disappeared. He and his mother were the only living beings, and they danced on a cloud of music. It was perfection and nothing could harm them: not his father, not his stirred-up brain, not his memories, not the echoes in his head. Nothing.
