by Jack Wallen
“You gay men are worse than little girls,” I joked.
Skip acted astounded by my remark. He sat there, tucked under the dash, shaking his head and gasping. “Straighty, you’re lucky you’re my partner, or else you would be feeling big gay wrath right now.”
“Thank God for small miracles, eh?” I smiled. I turned my attention to an old Toyota that pulled up in front of us. The car was, at one time, brown. The years had decided that the car should be rust in color as well as texture. I couldn’t see the driver over the back seat and the fogged-up rear window. No one seemed to be in a hurry to leave the car.
Skip finally pulled himself up from the floorboard and shook off the embarrassment.
“Is she okay?” I asked of the clearly over-dramatic Skip.
“She is okay now.” He sat back into the seat and wiped off the sweat that gave his face a fresh-looking sheen. “She just doesn’t want that little hunk of queer to think she might be stalking it.”
I wanted to continue playing around with Skip, but I found myself too consumed with Evan walking down the sidewalk toward his house. I had no idea how far he had walked. If he had walked the mile or so from the university, he definitely didn’t realize how much danger he was in.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Lakmé pulled his old car into a parking spot in front of the house on Seventh Street. The normal routine was to hang out and observe the traffic patterns of the people and cars, so he could find out when it was safe for his little breaking and entering trick.
This time, he wanted to just make a beeline for the door, bust in, plant himself on the couch and wait for Mary Capri to come home. But he knew he couldn’t pull it off. With Mary Capri, there was a wife attached, and Lakmé had no idea if she would be home or not. He had to be careful. Although his gift was a blessing to the patient, he couldn’t afford to ruin the mission by frightening the wife. So he used caution. Even in his current state of exaggerated emotions, he was able to refrain from jumping the gun so as not to destroy his role of messiah.
“Even the greatest gods could fall to the weakness of humans. Even messiahs have their kryptonite.” He impressed himself with his own prose. “I am the last true artist. I am da Vinci with flesh. I am a god with your gender. I am the genie in the perfume bottle waiting for you to spray me onto your flesh. And you are but a blade away from your truest self.”
His words began to jumble together and become meaningless. Poetry would have to wait for another day; the real art was at hand, and all else must wait in the shadows.
Lakmé’s eyes were on full alert. His peripheral vision seemed to expand, and he could see all. A child falling in the mud on a playground. A dog chasing a squirrel underneath an abandoned car. An old woman trying to hobble up the curb with her cane in one hand and a small sack of groceries in the other. A man and a woman sitting in the car behind him and watching the house of Mary Capri.
He looked back into the mirror. It couldn’t be. Why were they watching the same house? What was going on? Who were these people? Why wouldn’t they leave? Why were they ruining his day? Why? Why? Why?
He punched the dash of his car hard enough to send a shockwave of pain zipping up his arm. He thought he might have fractured a bone. He hated his temper. So many times his temper had put him into tragic circumstances, and he felt it boiling over. Heat was rising from his face, threatening to unleash a fury of blows to the dash or to his own body.
He looked again, certain they would be gone. They were not. They were still sitting in the car. All smiles and stares. Talking. Laughing. Man and woman.
Lakmé tried to will them to leave. He thought hard. “Leave.” Nothing happened. He was becoming frantic and had no idea what to do. Lakmé rocked back and forth in his seat and started counting. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…. He knew when he reached ten they would be gone. 10. He looked back. They were still there. Joking. Dancing. Making love. Devouring each other. Pointing and laughing at the poor idiot in front of them. Another strike to the dash. His hand was bleeding. He had to stop swinging before he ruined his hands. His surgeon hands.
And then, the unthinkable happened. Mary Capri came home. He was too late. His next patient had beaten him home. He couldn’t get in now. He couldn’t perform the procedure. He couldn’t rush the door with the lovers watching. They would surely see him. Damn them. Again, his hand punched the dash.
“Damn you!” He yelled and punched again. “Damn you!” His voice had reached a fevered pitch, and his body was shaking violently as he started the car and sped off. His mind was racing out of control. Why couldn’t he just do it? Who were they? What were they doing? Did they have the same idea as Dr. Lakmé? Was that who he really was? Dr. Lakmé? He was a doctor. He could have graduated from med school. He was the best of the best. He was the only true messiah. And he would have his revenge on those who stood in his way of bringing new life to Mary Capri.
His rage brought him thoughts he hadn’t had since he was a very young child watching his father beat down his mother. “You will pay for this!” he yelled, and then rolled down his window and began yelling the same thing to anyone he passed. “You will pay for this! You will all pay for this!”
Lakmé finally punched the gas and sped away. He hadn’t felt such rage in so long; it felt like a friend who had never left. The anger was honest and real. The anger drove him and lifted him above the unwashed masses. But he knew the anger was tragic and would threaten to still his blade. He had to retain control, or he would lose everything.
THIRTY-EIGHT
The car in front of us erupted in a violent explosion of screams. Skip and I looked at each other and simultaneously decided to get out and see what was happening. But as soon as I put my hand on the door handle, the car started and sped away.
Skip turned to me. “What the hell was that?”
I wanted to follow, but I refused to leave before I knew that Mary Capri was safe. I shrugged the man off as someone who had missed an anger-management class and let the idiot go. Sometimes officers were accused of going after the wrong crimes. Not this time.
There was a long silence in the car. Both Skip and I were just looking toward the Capri house. All was quiet, all but our minds.
Skip got a concerned look on his face. His brow was furrowed, and his lips were in a permanent pucker. “What gives, Skipper?”
He held his thought, and for a moment, I was afraid of what was going to come out of his mouth. “I was just thinking about how hard it is to be stuck in the closet. People don’t understand how much emotional energy it takes to secret the biggest part of yourself away from society out of fear you’ll be hated…or worse.”
I wasn’t expecting such a heavy topic to spill from between his lips, but I certainly welcomed the distraction.
“I’ve done a pretty good job of keeping my real self away from work. It’s not easy, and it’s certainly not fair. To think that I would be persecuted because I don’t follow the standard way of life that came out of our dear Puritan heritage.” Skip was surprisingly calm. He usually got pretty worked up very easily. “It just has never made sense to me why I can’t just be the real me when the real me is a law-abiding, moral, upstanding citizen.”
Skip continued addressing his disdain for the closed-minded social norms until, after about thirty more minutes, Mary Capri exited the house. Instead of walking to work, he walked down to his car, got in and drove off. I was glad to see him driving this time. It was much easier for a killer to take down his victim on the sidewalk. Even with Mary in a car, I thought it best to follow and make sure there was no ambush waiting along the way.
There was no ambush. There was no one waiting to ram the car, break off the door, steal the driver, and carry him off to some grotesque freak-show of an operating room. Mary Capri made it to work safely, and we waited around for a while to make sure all was clear.
I looked over at Skip who gave me the all clear, as if I needed it. We were both on edge. We had thought we were so close, but it t
urned out we were no closer than before. I wanted to scream.
“So, what now?” Skip questioned with exasperation.
I wasn’t sure if we should head back to the precinct or sit here and wait for Mary Capri, a.k.a Evan Caprini, to leave for home again. More than likely, the killer would only strike at the victim’s home. Unfortunately, ‘more than likely’ was the best I could do, so we couldn’t really be sure of anything.
For the first time in a long while, I had no idea what to do. None. I felt like a lost little girl looking for her mommy. I just wanted someone to walk by, take my hand, and lead me around.
Being an adult could really stink sometimes.
We finally decided, after much hemming and hawing, that our best bet was to head over to The Usual Coffee and discuss the what-to-do-next over some hot caffeine for me and some hot ass-watching for Skip.
THIRTY-NINE
Lakmé was cursing himself for being a coward. It was not his way. He knew what he had to do, and he couldn’t let his fear get the best of him. How could he remain the Christ of the cross-dressers if he was afraid? Messiahs didn’t fear. The only fear of the messiah was disbelief, and soon everyone would believe in Lakmé. Everyone.
With those thoughts, he was able to build up his strength, turn around, and head back to the house of Mary Capri. He relieved himself of all anxiety, and when he arrived, the other car was gone. The coast was clear. The traffic had faded, there was no sign of anyone not minding their own business, and he was feeling the power flowing through him once again.
Lakmé got out of his car, opened the trunk, and retrieved his doctor’s bag. He gingerly walked to the front door. Once there, he didn’t hesitate in pulling out his lock picks and opening the front door to step inside.
Immediately, he felt that something was wrong. It was as if he was overcome by some superhuman sense of perception. Electricity was jolting his senses, telling him to run. His eyes were wide, taking in every minute detail.
Lakmé stood motionless and waited for something to strike. A dog. The wife. A bat upside the skull. But nothing came.
His eyes darted about in his skull as if they would fly out of their sockets like ping-pong balls. There was nothing obvious. What was happening? His senses were attacking, and it felt as if his skin was about to be shed from his body. Blood was pumping far too quickly. The synapses between his eyes and his brain were burning.
And then it hit him. A tiny LED blinking over the door frame. Alarm. The blinking was growing faster. More than likely, the police would be notified of an intruder and would be in attendance shortly. This day was not going well at all. It seemed that the more obsessed he became with his goal, the harder it was to reach.
The blinking LED had now become a steady light. Fear set in. He had to leave or risk getting caught. He took one last deep breath; he wanted to inhale the soul of Mary Capri before he left, to breathe in his life so that he might better know his patient.
He exited the house quickly and stomped his way back to his car. His eyes were still darting about. He could feel the wash of emotion about to overtake him. “This is not my day,” he repeatedly whispered as he got in his car, slammed the door, and turned on the ignition.
The car roared to life, and he sped off down Seventh Street. He was driving without purpose, but soon realized he was headed toward the University of Louisville campus where Evan Caprini was an instructor in the drama department.
Lakmé pulled into the blue-tag parking lot designated for faculty and staff. With no real plan in mind, he grabbed his bag, got out of the car, and started walking toward the building that housed the drama department. The fire had ignited, and only the blood of Capri would hush the roaring blaze.
When he entered the building, he went straight to the directory to look for Evan’s name. He started toward Room 131. The halls were sparse with young adults. Their smell was nearly intoxicating. The emotions running rampant in his chaotic mind were shifting and pitching.
A tall, slender woman walked by him. She was wearing low-rise jeans, and her white belly greeted him as if to say, “Taste my fruit, partake of my flesh.” He averted his eyes. The soft underbelly of a woman would not tempt him from his task.
A young male shuffled past. He was lost in the thumping music pouring out of headphones neatly tucked under a stocking cap. The youth bumped into him and gave him a threatening look. Lakmé wanted to tear the boy’s head off for disrespecting a god. But he let him pass. Again, the distractions.
The door to Capri’s office was open, and the soft glow of an incandescent bulb was pouring from the crack. Lakmé peeked inside and saw his patient sitting at a computer. He strolled in and walked right up to him. He bent to whisper in his ear, “It’s time, Mary Capri.”
Evan Caprini spun in his chair. “How did you—?” Evan stopped mid-question and stared dead into his eyes.
“I know your very deepest wishes. I know your dreams, and I am here to make those dreams a reality.” Lakmé shoved the needle into the neck of the unsuspecting man. Mary Capri looked as if he was trying to scream, but the tranquilizer had instantly rendered his voice useless. His eyes turned up into his skull to take a closer look at his own gray matter, and he fell out of his chair.
“Nighty night. Take a little nap, Evan Caprini. When you next awaken, you will truly be Mary Capri, and you will know a happiness you never thought you could know.”
Lakmé turned to shut and lock the office door. Then he began what he thought would be his best work to date.
FORTY
As I reached to put the car in gear, the radio went off, informing us of a possible breaking and entering at none other than Mary Capri’s address. I turned to Skip and said, “Looks like we got him,” then I put the car in gear and blasted out of the parking lot. The lights on the car began their hypnotic dance. I went without the siren in order to not alert the killer of our approach. I wasn’t going to take a single chance this time.
A full two minutes later, we arrived at the scene, jumped out of the car, crossed the street and made it to the front door. My Glock was at the ready. I motioned Skip to the other side of the door.
I reached for the doorknob, but the door glided open easily at my touch. It hadn’t even been completely closed. I gave Skip a look that must have registered as frightened because he returned to me his best calming look.
I opened the door, and with my Glock leading the way, I slowly walked inside. I stood and listened. I heard nothing but the normal sounds of an empty house. I took a look around the first floor. There was a kitchen in front of me, a television room and a closet to my right, and a stairway to the left. I nodded for Skip to take a look in the kitchen. His weapon at the ready, he silently made his way forward.
I turned to the stairs and, hugging the wall, slowly made my way up. Before I turned the corner at the top, I surveyed the layout of the floor below me. Everything looked to be in its place. With my gun still leading, I turned the corner and saw a messy bedroom, a bathroom strung with drying pantyhose and bras, a rather large dressing table cluttered with every type of makeup item imaginable, but no killer.
I checked the closets and under the bed. Nothing. Back at the stairwell, Skip was looking up, shaking his head.
“All clear up here as well. Looks like he got away before we arrived. Damn it!” My frustration was getting the best of me. “This guy is either the smartest or the luckiest criminal this town has ever seen,” I said as I walked down the stairs.
Skip and I stood in the middle of the living room. The sound of the doorknob rattling startled us both into grabbing our weapons and diving for cover.
Behind the sofa I tasted my own heart as my arms locked the gunsight on the door. I wasn’t about to let this asshole catch me off guard.
As soon as the door swung open, I jumped from behind the couch. “Freeze! Police! Put your hands in the air.”
There was a shrill shriek, and I realized that it wasn’t the killer, but who I had to assume was Mrs. Cap
rini. She stood trembling with her hands in the air. The groceries she had been carrying were rolling around at her feet.
I aimed my weapon at the floor and said, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Caprini. I’m very sorry. I’m Detective Davenport, and this is my partner.” Skip crawled out of his own shame to join us. “I’m the officer who spoke to your husband. We had a report that your alarm had gone off and we came to check it out. Your front door was open, so we were afraid that someone had broken in.”
I helped Mrs. Caprini pick up her groceries and take them into the kitchen. “Please forgive—” She didn’t let me finish.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” She was obviously a little shaken, but her voice had a calming effect on everyone present. “I know you’re just trying to protect my husband, bless his heart. He’s really been shaken up by this whole mess.” She started putting grocery items away. “I can’t believe that someone would do anything to harm him, or any of these men for that matter.” I wanted to smile at her charm and her honesty. Instead, I chose to offer my own bit of honesty.
“Mrs. Caprini, we think the killer broke into your house with the intention of attacking your husband. He was probably deterred by your alarm system. But I don’t think that’ll keep him away for long.” She stopped and put her hands on the counter. I could tell she was fighting back tears. I wanted to console her, but I felt my time was better spent on handing out facts at the moment.
“You and your husband aren’t safe right now. Can you get in touch with him and tell him that we’ll pick him up and bring him back here? We’ll place an officer on guard near your home, and you’ll be safe for the time being.” I put my hand on hers.
“Certainly.” She dialed the phone and put the receiver to her ear. After a minute, she looked at her watch and then concern filled her face. She hung up the phone. “He didn’t answer. It’s his office time, and he’s never out of the office then.”
“Maybe he has a student with him.” It was a shot in the dark.
