by Patti Larsen
It felt like déjà vu to stand over a body in the filthy alley behind the Starlet Lounge. Even more so to see the multiple stab wounds in the woman’s chest, the pool of blood stirring Gerri’s hunger. Worse, the familiar face, staring up at her with milky eyes behind violet contact lenses, giant blonde hair spread out around her.
Roxy looked almost peaceful lying there, arms up, legs turned sideways, her micro mini showing her short legs, the tattoo of a butterfly on her left thigh. Gerri took a step back and a deep breath, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach and sudden urge for a fresh steak as Ray took her place, the snap of her gloves loud in Gerri’s ears.
Only two nights later, but the same crowd gathered, a mimic of the first time she’d been here. Gerri’s attempt to call Kinsey went to voicemail, though it didn’t matter much. She had a feeling the biker gang they’d identified were the culprits. That Ray’s missing body and info was tied to some federal investigation, something maybe the FBI was looking to cover up. She’d seen it before, been stonewalled in the past. The one case she’d been unable to solve. Or, hadn’t been allowed to solve.
She wouldn’t think about little Missy Spence or her weeping mother. She didn’t have time for tears of her own.
Gerri just wished she’d gotten to Roxy first. But the night she’d spent hunting down the queen ended with a phone call and her last stop, here in the alley behind the Starlet.
Ray looked up at her, the flash of a camera lighting her eyes as she did. The press finally came out to play, though the unis were holding them back. Gerri skimmed the crowd with her gaze, looking for more familiarity, and found it. The preacher and his female companion. The same queens from the other night. And, this time, Salvador himself stood by the tape, hands clasped before him, lips a thin line, moisture on his cheeks. Gerri returned her attention to Ray when she spoke, only half listening.
“Looks like the same weapon and attack pattern,” the medical examiner said. She wanted to comfort Ray, to tell her what she suspected. All this paranormal mumbo jumbo she and Kinsey bantered around gave Gerri the creeps. So did the memory of scales and fangs the night Joe died, but she’d shoved that so far down under the story of the drug dealer who cut up and disposed of her partner in the lake, she barely registered it as a flicker of irritation. “I’ll have to take her back to the morgue to check her heart.” Gerri looked away at the not-so-subtle tone in Ray’s voice. Whatever. Clearly the X-Ray had been developed wrong. No one was born without a heart. And Ray’s stress must have messed her up when she did the autopsy.
Because a trained and experienced medical examiner like her would miss such an important detail. Gerri tried to shake off her nervous mind’s whisper by focusing again on the crowd. She really needed a look at the shots the unis took from the first scene. There would be time to compare them to the second.
Maybe she didn’t need to. She spotted tall, tattooed and bald before he noticed she was watching, taking in the heavy leather jacket, the big boots. He even wore those tacky half gloves, with his inked fingers showing. When he met Gerri’s eyes, his widened and he backed off, slipping into the crowd behind him. Time to have a little chat with the Divinities.
She was almost to the tape when Jackson appeared out of nowhere, stepping into her line of sight and stopping her in her tracks. She tried to dodge around him, cursing softly for his interference, but too late. Her prey was gone, out of sight, and the distant rumble of a motorcycle engine told her chasing him down on foot wasn’t an option. She had his pic. That was all Gerri needed for the hunt.
“What?” She glared up the three inches Jackson had on her, in no mood for his shit.
“Somebody’s in bitch mode,” he shot back.
“You just got in the way, dipshit,” she said.
Jackson grumbled something before jerking his head toward the side of the building, where the preacher held what looked like a prayer meeting with some of the queens. “That dude,” Jackson snarled, “is getting on my nerves.” He stepped back, hands wide. “You’re welcome to him.”
Gerri shrugged and stifled a sigh, waved Jackson off. Let him be a slacker. Besides, she’d been meaning to track the preacher down, since hate crimes came up empty. Gerri watched Jackson go, still wishing she could get away with shooting him right then and there. Would be a public service, in her estimation. She was sure the young uniform he chose to hit on—the same one from the other night—instead of doing his damned job agreed with her. She could have gone to the woman’s rescue, but didn’t. As sad as it was, being a woman and a cop, she had to learn to take care of herself, just like Gerri did. Turning her back, the detective headed for the preacher and his flock.
Time he answered to a higher power. Gerri crossed under the police tape line, covering ground quickly, reaching the small group just as he finished up the last of the sermon.
“—and he shall bring light and love upon you,” the man said, silver hair shining in the streetlights, benevolent smile reminding her of an aging soap star with his charisma still intact. “And when you accept his salvation, he will welcome you home, forevermore.”
Gerri clapped with slow, cynical enthusiasm. The preacher turned around, startled, the woman next to him in her plain brown cardigan and comfortable shoes staring with eyes wide and mousy face tense. The queens scattered, whether grateful for the distraction so they could escape or afraid of a cop, Gerri didn’t know. Or care. The tall, handsome minister with the clear hazel eyes and actor perfect smile was the focus of her attention.
Her gut told her he wasn’t guilty of murder. But he was damned well guilty of something.
“You must be the detective on the case.” He offered one big hand which she accepted, his grip firm but warm. He looked trim in his suit coat, if casual enough in his jacket and jeans. Not a priest, but definitely a preacher of some kind. She could tell he’d likely have luck with some of the less confident LGBTQ, if only because he exuded charisma. “Such a tragedy, losing both Adam and Thomas like this. They were both on their path to return to the fold. I just can’t believe they’re gone.”
Gerri doubted very much if either the queen or the transsexual were remotely interested in this man and his church, but let it go. “Detective Geraldine Meyers,” she said. “You are?”
“Forgive my rudeness, my grief, you understand.” He fished in his pocket, pulled out a rectangle of black and white cardboard. She glanced down at the plain writing as he went on. “Reverend Russell Sterling, Collective of All Souls. I live in the area and minister to the community here.”
Gerri tucked the card into her front pocket, observing him with her gut as well as her detective’s eye. While she still worried using her weird ability made her a freak, as long as she only tapped in when investigating a case, she could live with it. He didn’t seem nervous or stressed, not even particularly upset by the deaths. But that didn’t mean he killed anyone.
The woman next to him, on the other hand… she carried guilt with her, but not for the dead women. The way she hung her head, stayed behind Sterling, told Gerri her guilt was older, more ingrained and highly personal. She didn’t need her gut to tell her that, just good police work and observation. For some reason, that made her feel better. So the woman had old sins she needed to atone for. It had nothing to do with Gerri.
She shifted her attention back to Sterling as the man went on. “Horrible, simply horrible.” His small smile oddly didn’t feel out of place with the compassion brimming in his eyes. “I’ve worried ever since I took over this community something terrible might happen. These men put themselves at great risk of attack, by denying their true nature.” What the hell did he know about their true nature? Gerri bristled slightly, but stayed focused on how he was speaking, not what he was saying. The way people acted was more telling than the words they spoke. “If only they would learn to reject the demons inside them, to embrace the true teachings of the Collective.” He sighed with great dramatic effect while Gerri did her best not to roll her eyes. There was nothing here. He was just
a pompous ass with old-world ideologies she wished would take a hike and die. Dude sounded like her grandfather.
“What are you doing here?” Salvador pushed his way past Gerri, tiny body vibrating as he glared up at Sterling in obvious rage. “Get away from my girls, you sick bastard!”
Gerri lunged forward, grabbing Salvador before the club owner could strike Sterling. The preacher stared down at the old cross dresser with sympathy and his little smile. Gerri was really starting to dislike the guy, even more so when Salvador sagged, broken, in her grip.
“You’re looking for the murderer,” Salvador choked, “look no further than this man and his hate.”
Gerri released Salvador, but kept a close eye on him when she refocused on Sterling. “Maybe it would be better if you left.”
“This is a free city,” Sterling said, disapproving. Did he really just chastise her like she was a bad little girl? Gerri grinned, tight and dangerous, leaning close to the preacher whose smile faded as he backed away.
“Sure is,” she said. “Until I tell you to leave.” He just stared at her. Didn’t get it yet. Gerri loved teaching others how things went. “I’m not asking.”
Sterling and his female companion turned and retreated to the end of the alley, but they didn’t leave completely. Fine with Gerri. She’d be talking to them again, anyway. Not that she really believed Salvador’s accusation. But because Sterling pissed her off. She now had plans to make his life miserable, to uncover what it was he hid from her behind his smile and his minister’s compassion.
She'd make it her mission.
She turned back to find the young bartender holding Salvador. Curtis’s eyes were so full of his own hurt, Gerri flinched from his pain, but she had a job to do. “I take it no one saw anything this time, either?”
Salvador shook his head, sighing out his sadness before patting Curtis’s muscular arm in thanks. He visibly pulled himself together, jabbing one sharp nail at Gerri.
“Mark my words,” he said, “that man and his hateful congregation were involved. I know it.” He pounded his chest with one fist. “I can feel it. In here.”
“The state of California needs more than your heart’s word for it,” Gerri said, though gently, even while squirming in discomfort over her use of her own instincts. She solved crimes with science and investigative skills. So what if she got a little help from something she didn’t quite understand?
Totally different situation. She just had to keep telling herself that.
Gerri reached out and caught Curtis’s sleeve, pulling him back when he moved to leave with Salvador. “Anything,” she said, softly, for his ears only. Did he know something? But all she got back from him was grief.
He shook his head, fresh tears in his eyes, before following his boss back into the club. She tried to go after him. There was something… but what?
“Leave him alone.” A pretty woman with a nose too long and thin for her face cut Gerri off. Two others crowded behind her, keeping her from pursuing Curtis.
“These are our friends.” The first queen crossed her arms over her chest, hot-chocolate skin covered in glitter. Her companions muttered agreement, a few more joining them. They were still dressed for the stage, Gerri guessed, a rainbow of angry show queens in towering heels and feathers and sequins. “You’re looking up the wrong skirt if you think anyone here would hurt a hair on Roxy’s head. Or Aisling’s for that matter.”
Gerri sighed, held up both hands. “You want the murderer caught, don’t you?”
They all nodded, a sea of bobbing hairdos and fluttering, overlong lashes.
“Then let me do my job.” Gerri pushed past them, heading for Ray and the body while her detective’s gut told her she was still missing pieces of the puzzle.
***
***
INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE - MORNING
Kinsey dropped her laptop bag onto her desk and stared down at the Bible, lit by the early morning sun. The campus bustled this morning, despite the fact it was Saturday. She’d spent her entire Friday evening after leaving her grandmother focused on the tome. She’d shoved Margot’s control, whether paranormal or just ordinary smothering, aside. Who was she kidding? There was nothing normal about what her grandmother did to her. Still, time and distance had a habit of making her doubt what she’d felt until she was so confused she half-convinced herself nothing happened and she imagined all of it.
Easier to read about the paranormal in a freakish Bible than admit her own flesh and blood had been manipulating her since she was a child.
Instead, she waffled between calling Gerri with her findings and stomping from one end of her apartment to the other while her phone rang, her friend’s face mocking her as she tried to decide what to do.
By the time Kinsey woke, stiff and unhappy in the overstuffed chair tucked into the corner of her living room, she’d made a decision. Convinced there was nothing to the “discovery” after all. Simply conjecture. Any mention of six races? Just pagan myth someone inserted into this version of the Bible. All talk of transformation from man to creature, wearing skins? Superstitious hearsay. And mention of a master race of night shadows bent on dominating everything? Old world fears turned to bogeymen. What was she thinking, going all ape shit over some imaginary “proof” there were paranormals, all because she read it in one of the most fictional books ever written?
And yet, doubt lingered, as she drank a gallon of coffee after a long, hot shower, ignoring her stomach begging for toast and cereal to fill her stomach with something more substantial. She barely remembered driving to work, aside from the odd beep of an irritated horn behind her when she was so lost in thought she didn’t notice the light turn. Kinsey felt like a coward as she crossed the quad with her bag over her shoulder, hand on her phone, deep in her jacket pocket. She should have answered Gerri’s call.
Especially when she finally checked her messages. And found out there’d not only been a second murder, but the victim was Roxy. Gerri needed her and Kinsey chickened out, all because she thought she found something that had to be a misunderstanding.
And yet, as she sank to the top of her desk with the Bible in her hands, she couldn’t shake her unease. She could pick out the passages, do a full study. See if she could cross reference—
What was she doing? Kinsey set the book aside as someone knocked on her door, pushing it out of the way and forcing a smile as Mitchell entered.
“Did you get a chance to read the proposal, Dr. Dan?” Kinsey stared at him, blank and with a small ball of panic in her chest. Proposal? When realization dawned, she smacked herself in the forehead.
“I didn’t,” she said, spinning to look on her desk. Where had she left the black folder? There it was, on top of her pile of “I really have to tackle this right now but don’t want to”. The moment her fingers brushed over it, it spun away from her, sliding from the top of the pile and landing on the floor. It had enough weight it tilted sideways, slipping under her desk.
“I’ll get it.” Mitchell was already on his knees, reaching for the folder. Emerged with it and a slip of paper in his grasp. “I think you dropped this, Dr. Dan,” he said, handing it over.
Kinsey stared down at the familiar symbols on the paper and held her breath. Shaking ever so slightly, she took it from him, heart pounding again as she finally sucked in air.
“Thanks,” she said, barely a whisper. “I have to go. Take care of the Saturday morning for me.” She missed Mitchell’s surprised expression as she gathered the Bible and her laptop, scooted out of her office and ran for her car.
No more holding back. This wasn’t just about her ego or her need for proof any longer. What she’d thought a mere curiosity in a dead woman’s apartment turned out to be far more than that.
With the discovery of the note, everything changed. Now she really needed to talk to Gerri.
***
EXT. to INT. – FREDDY’S BAR - AFTERNOON
Gerri stepped out of the driver’s seat into th
e California sunshine, squinting as she tossed her sunglasses onto the dash before slamming the door. Jackson exited the passenger side, his own mirrored shades still in place. Such a poser as he looked around with his broad jaw set, all Hollywood.
He’d missed his calling, the jackass.
She ignored his grumpiness as she stared across the street at the dive bar on the corner.
“You should have let me drive.” He would just not let it go. He bitched about her taking the keys from the moment they hit the garage at the precinct. Whined and complained the entire way over.
“I let you come with me,” she said, walking past him, glancing both ways as the traffic slowed to allow her to cross.
“I found the biker guy for you, didn’t I?” Jackson said, jogging to catch up, giving an angry driver the finger when the man honked his horn.
Gerri wasn’t sure she could handle his company much longer. “Just shut up and let me deal with this.” She hated Jackson was right. He’d dug up Oz’s real name: Oswald Tyler, a lowlife scumbag who, from what they could tell, left a trail of unsolved crimes back in LA. Jackson’s contact in vice told him Oz was a part of the Divinities, a Neo-Nazi skinhead gang who leaned heavily toward dogma and drug sales.
“Maybe I should go in first.” Jackson stopped her with his hand on the door. The glass was filthy, covered from the inside with what looked like black-painted cardboard. About as classy as Jackson, so she hesitated before pushing the door open with one shoulder and moving past him.
Like hell. She had this.
Gerri’s phone rang as the darkness of the interior engulfed her. A quick glance at the screen told her it was Kinsey. She’d been calling since this morning, but Gerri ignored her much as Kinsey had her own calls last night. Petty. Gerri was over it. Her thumb lifted to press answer when Jackson’s nasty whisper interrupted.
“You just take that call,” he said. “I’ll go have a chat with our friend over there.”
