by Lee Geiger
MAC PULLED UP IN front of the ragged Roosevelt Hotel. A small crowd of sleazy panhandlers worthy of a “Grapes of Wrath” audition huddled out front. Mac couldn’t tell if they lived on the street or in the hotel, which was notorious for its filth and squalor.
Reyna led Mac up the creaky stairwells. They were soon standing in front of room 408, and Reyna knocked on the door while Mac hid a couple doors down the dark hallway. Ashley came to the door.
“Reyna! What a surprise,” she said, sounding pleased to see someone she recognized who wasn’t armed or stoned. “What are you doing here?”
“Strictly business, girl. I’ve been asked by the Mayor’s office to get some signatures for an initiative supporting transgender rights in the workplace, so I’m asking everyone I know for help. I realize you’re new in town, and I thought you’d want to do all you can to help. Do you mind signing my petition?”
“I’d be happy to. I love the fact you’re so involved, Reyna. I don’t know where the trans community would be without someone like you to lead them. You’re the best.”
Ashley signed the petition. After handing it back, Reyna shouted in a voice loud enough to alert the media, “Ashley, I didn’t know you were left-handed.”
Mac bolted down the hallway and slammed opened the door with his shoulder, knocking Ashley’s amazingly proportioned body to the ground. From a far corner of the room, a tiny dog ran out from underneath the bed, barking furiously and jumping up and down at Mac’s feet. The yappy little creature was small enough to fit in his coat pocket. Mac picked up the dog and, sure enough, there was a tiny diamond stud in her right ear. It was Misha, Michelle Osher’s missing Teacup Yorkie.
The wind knocked out of her, Ashley got back up and reached into her nearby purse and pulled out the Balisong switchblade Reyna had given her on her first night at Pearls of Asia. Ashley tried to lunge at him, but not before Reyna tackled her and forced her to the ground, knocking the knife away. Mac picked up the Balisong and put it in his pocket. While Mac made another phone call, Reyna made herself useful and sat on top of Ashley like an office paperweight, waiting for help to arrive.
“Dispatch. This is Inspector Fleet calling again. Yes, second time today, I know. Listen, I need you to send a car over for an arrest.”
HOURS LATER, THE REINSTATED Inspector Mac Fleet was at his desk spinning his Rubik’s Cube. After Jim Grisham arrived at the precinct, Ashley was paraded in front of a mirrored window along with four prostitutes the vice squad had arrested the night before. Grisham took less than two seconds to identify Ashley as the “tall blonde” who had come to his party.
“What a shame,” lamented Grisham. “She could have been a model with a body like that. Maybe if she had taken that guy up on his offer to fly her over to Dubai, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Tough break.”
Ashley was led into the interrogation room, where she began shaking and crying hysterically. The thought of spending the rest of her life behind bars terrified her. Left alone in the room, she screamed and pleaded to see Paul Osher, saying that he would make things right. Thirty minutes later, her sobs had settled to shudders.
“Let’s get her statement,” Mac said to Mayes, peering into the interrogation room through the one-way mirror. Then he remembered how Sheyla had once described Ashley. “Care to join me in the shark tank?”
Ashley spent the next hour telling the detectives her story. She had befriended Nadia over the Internet while she was still living in Los Angeles. Nadia told Ashley she knew a man who would love to meet a special girl like her, and she arranged for Paul Osher to meet her during one of his jaunts to L.A. He courted her by buying her groceries and sending her flowers, and she immediately became infatuated with him. Over time, Ashley believed Osher’s false declarations of his undying love and promises to leave his wife. Growing impatient, she decided the best course of action was to move to San Francisco to be closer to him. Two weeks ago, Ashley surprised Nadia by showing up unannounced at her home, and Nadia got her the audition at Pearls of Asia. She was hired right away, and on her first night at work Reyna welcomed Ashley by giving her a Balisong switchblade.
Perhaps because she was now physically closer to him than he ever wanted her to be, Paul Osher ignored her text messages and stopped returning her calls. This only made Ashley more intent on getting her way. She believed she was the one for Paul Osher, and she resolved to do whatever it took to have him all to herself.
On the night of the murder, Nadia had asked Ashley to come with her to Jim Grisham’s party. Nadia had been hired to escort one of her customers, and he asked Nadia if she could bring along a date for one of his friends.
“The guy who wanted to take me to Dubai told me Michelle Osher lived upstairs, so after I blew him off I went upstairs and knocked on her door. Michelle Osher herself answered the door, so I pretended to be a fan of hers and asked if she could give me an autograph. She said she would and invited me in. I couldn’t believe how nice she was to me. We talked for a few minutes, and I kept looking around this beautiful apartment, thinking how wonderful it would be to live there forever, to be Mrs. Paul Osher. She was the only person standing between me and my dream. Paul always said that you had to take risks if you really wanted something, so I knew what I had to do.
“Michelle was looking for a pen, so I followed her into the kitchen. I don’t know what came over me, but I started to get very angry. This person…this woman…this blonde bitch… had everything I wanted. I kept getting madder and madder. So when Michelle had her back turned to me, the instincts from my Army training kicked in. It was like I was in Afghanistan again. I pulled out my switchblade, grabbed her around the shoulders, and slashed her throat like there was no tomorrow. It all happened so quickly. It was over in the blink of an eye. She fell to the floor and blood started gushing out of her neck. I felt so relieved. I had finally done it. Soon, Paul Osher would be mine.
“Then all of a sudden, this cute little dog came running into the kitchen, barking and jumping and sniffing all around my shoes. I had always wanted a dog, especially a Teacup Yorkie, but never in my wildest dreams could I afford one. She was darling, and the earring was precious. So I picked her up, hid her under my jacket, and walked out of the building.”
Mac looked up from his note taking. “So are you telling us you killed Michelle Osher because you fell in love with her husband?”
“Yes. I love Paul Osher, and I know he loves me.”
Mac shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. “Of course he does.”
A quick knock came from the one-way mirror. Mayes left the room and spoke to Captain Longley, who informed him that Paul Osher had arrived and was waiting in the lobby.
“Do us a favor, Captain. Tell Mr. Arrogance he’s going to have to wait for us for a change.”
Mac waited for his partner to rejoin him before continuing the interrogation. “Ashley, when did you learn that Paul Osher was also seeing Sheyla Samonte?”
Ashley’s face turned red. “I only found out when you came to Pearls of Asia the other night and told me. I guess I hadn’t been there long enough for the girls to let me in on all their dirty little secrets. I felt betrayed by Paul, but I still loved him. It just meant I had one more job to do.”
“And what was that?” asked Mac.
“Kill Sheyla.”
MAC AND MAYES HAD just a few questions for Paul Osher. He was wearing khaki shorts, a green polo shirt and a green short-sleeved golf sweater. He looked more like an avocado than a golfer. “I was just walking off the eighteenth green at Lake Merced when Stone called. He said you caught the real killer. Claims she loved me and that she killed Michelle just to be closer to me. What a stupid bitch. I hardly knew the girl.”
Mac would have none of it. “Why should we believe anything you say, Mr. Osher? You lied to us about your affairs and you lied to us about the checks you wrote to Nadia. Even your marriage was a lie. If we wanted to, we could run you in for obstruction of justice.”
“Go ahe
ad and try,” Osher said with a smirk. “You guys can’t touch me. Stone would never let that happen.”
Mac knew Osher was right. “I have just one more question to ask you, Mr. Osher. How do you feel now that you’ve lost the three most important woman in your life?”
“I feel pretty good, actually,” answered Osher, sounding slimier than a Richard Nixon tape recording. “Sheyla often told me I was the most desired man in this town, and that all of her girlfriends wanted to go out with me. I’m sure they’ll be lining up outside my door in no time.”
Despite overwhelming odds, Mac managed to keep his mouth shut.
THE FOG WAS ROLLING in, and a breeze began to pick up around the plaza in front of the San Francisco County jail. It was early in the evening, and the lights from the nearby skyscrapers started to twinkle.
Sheyla Samonte was released on a $5,000 bail on charges related to possession of an illegal Balisong switchblade. As she stood on a corner to hail a cab, a tall handsome man with blue eyes and salt and pepper hair approached her carrying a dozen red roses. He gave her a hug and a kiss, and then took by her by the hand and escorted her to a waiting Horizon Blue 1960 Chevrolet Kingswood Estate Cruiser.
“Who put up your bail?” asked Mac.
“Some woman named Victoria Parker. Do you know who she is?”
“Of course I do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
One Year Later
THE GORGEOUS LADIES STANDING behind the cosmetic counters at Macy’s do more than sell bottles of paint and compacts of powder. They sell dreams. Armed with pencils and brushes, makeup consultants are gifted magicians adept at turning ducks into swans. They are the Mistresses of the Makeover.
It was 5:45 on a busy Sunday afternoon, and Sheyla was at the register ringing up yet another fat sale. She had spent an hour convincing an overweight middle-aged woman that by purchasing almost a thousand dollars worth of skin-care crèmes, lotions, lipsticks and eye shadows, she could be mistaken for Halle Barry. Sheyla Samonte wasn’t just good at making a sale; she was outstanding. She could sell sidewalk space to the homeless.
The clock on the wall said the store would be closing in fifteen minutes, while Sheyla’s feet said it had been another long weekend. She appreciated the benefits of returning to work at Macy’s, but they didn’t come close to the benefits she received from being Paul Osher’s girlfriend. A modest studio in North Beach had replaced the luxurious hi-rise in South Beach, and the Mercedes Benz was redeemed with a Muni Bus Pass. Life for Sheyla had seen many forks in the road, none more dramatic than the day her mug shot was flashed across the globe. The charges against her may have been dropped, but they were far from forgotten. At this point in her life, there were only two things Sheyla could count on: MAC cosmetics, and Mac Fleet.
Sheyla lingered at the busy corner of Post and Stockton, listening to the whimsical bells of the nearby Powell Street cable cars. She waited impatiently for Mac to pick her up and take her home. She jokingly called the hundred yard stroll from Macy’s Geary Street storefront through San Francisco’s historic Union Square “The Walk of Shame.” She had to traipse past many of her old haunts, including the boutiques of Chanel, Dior, and Gucci, where her credit cards made such an impression the sales clerks knew her by name.
Mac pulled up in The Sub and greeted his girlfriend with a casual kiss. “Let’s grab something to eat,” he said. “I’m in the mood for sushi.”
“I’m in the mood for a foot rub,” complained Sheyla, exhausted after spending the entire weekend on her feet. A Saturday night stint at Pearls of Asia had been sandwiched between her regular weekend shifts at Macy’s. “I’m beat.”
“C’mon, babe. Nothing a couple of drinks and some raw fish won’t take care of.”
Ten minutes later they were seated at the dimly lit but sexy bar at Ozumo’s, located near the Embarcadero. A sexy Vietnamese bartender with a mysterious dragon tattoo that ran from her shoulder up to her neck was mixing their favorite cocktail, a “geisha martini.” Sheyla said the lychee fruit in the bottom of the glass reminded her of growing up in Cebu. Mac joked the drink’s twenty-dollar price tag reminded him why he couldn’t retire.
“How was work today, babe?” inquired the perkier-than-usual detective.
“It was okay. Today’s drama was limited to where we should have lunch. The girls lobbied for Jollibee, but I just wanted to curl up somewhere and eat in private. They got all glammed up last night and went out to that rowdy nightclub, Ruby Skye. The last thing I wanted to do at lunchtime was listen to a bunch of gaggling girls trying to out-brag each other over how every hot looking guy at the club was staring at them, or how so-and-so was about to hook up with Mr. Six-Pack Abs until she got clocked. It’s always the same old story with them. I just wasn’t in the mood to hear their competitive bullshit.”
Mac picked away at a bowl of hot edamame, listening to Sheyla with less-than-half an ear. The bulk of his attention was focused on the big screen television broadcasting the hard-hitting Sunday night football game between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Baltimore Ravens. “Keep venting, babe. That’s what I’m here for.”
And vent she did. “I’m just so tired, Mackey. Two jobs, bills, rent, the girls. I’m just wiped out. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth it. I live in a crummy little studio, but if I want a bigger place I have to make more money. To make more money, I have to go to school. In order to pay for school, I need more time. I’m frustrated, Mackey. I don’t know what to do next. I feel like I’m trapped.”
Sheyla’s frustration was spilling over like a pot of boiling egg noodles. Miss Vietnamese Bartender asked if they wanted another round, and Mac nodded his head, hoping a second cocktail would calm the nerves of his girlfriend.
“I hear you, sweetheart. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and you’ve got Alpo for underwear.” Mac took his eyes off the TV screen to scan the menu. “How about a spider roll?”
Sheyla loved to eat, but the last thing on her mind right now was soft shell crab and avocado. “Hey, are you listening to me? I feel like my life is stuck in the mud. What am I working toward? What do I have to look forward to? I’m starting to freak out here.”
“The 49ers are playing the Raiders tomorrow night on Monday Night Football,” replied Mac, whose attention was more focused more on the gridiron than his girlfriend. “We can look forward to that.”
Sheyla slammed her glass down onto the bar. “Dammit, Mac! Will you be serious for a change? This involves us, too. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Where are we going as a couple? We’re best friends and we always have fun when we’re together, but what about the future? I love you, Mac, and I know you love me too, but there are no goals, no commitment.”
“What’s the matter with you?” asked Mac. The casual Sunday night dinner he had hoped for had just turned into an allout scrum. Up to this point, Mac thought he’d been the model boyfriend, calling and texting her often, bringing her flowers, and massaging her aching feet. He had even bought language tapes from Rosetta Stone to learn Tagalog, though the box was still on his desk. Unopened. “Did you take a hormone shot this morning?”
“Look at us, Mackey. Whenever we go out, it’s always just you and me, or we double date with Reyna and her boyfriend. Whenever we spend the night together, we always stay at my place. You talk about Mayes all the time, yet the only time I met him was when he arrested me. Come to think of it, I’ve never met any of your friends. What’s the deal, Mac? Are you trying to hide me? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”
Mac held up his empty martini glass and waved it at Miss Vietnamese Bartender. He wasn’t going into battle unarmed. “First of all Sheyla, the reason we stay at your place is because I’m still living with my mother. As for meeting Mayes and my friends, I rarely see them outside of work as it is. But if it will make you happy, I’ll try to set something up.”
Sheyla didn’t want to hear Mac’s excuses. In fact, she didn’t want to hear anything from him at all. “I’m ti
red of the same old story, Mac. I’ve been hearing empty promises from guys all my life. That’s why I don’t trust men. I always make them a priority, yet they always treat me like an option. Deep down Mac, you’re afraid. Afraid to tell the world you love me. Afraid to admit that you’re in love with a transsexual woman.”
Mac looked at his glass and began stabbing a toothpick at the lychee fruit floating at the bottom. The last thing he expected to have tonight was an argument with his girlfriend. All he wanted to do was relax, have a few drinks, and watch the game. Sheyla had turned it into a couple’s counseling session. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Sheyla screamed at Mac, oblivious to the crowd of strangers doing their best to pretend they were watching the game instead listening to their argument. “I want you to fight for us, dammit! I want you to believe in us, to believe in our love. Real love means not being afraid, of having the strength to overcome adversity, of wanting someone so bad you’ll do whatever it takes to have that person complete your life. I love you, Mackey Fleet. I love you so much it hurts. But while you say and do all the right things, you haven’t shown me that you’re willing to love me completely, that you’re willing to risk everything that’s important to you just so long as I’m in your life. Remember our first date at Fleur de Lys? You asked me that night what I wanted, and I told you I wanted a love story. Well now it’s my turn to ask you that question, Mackey. What do you want?”
The Raven’s defense had just recovered a Steelers fumble, but Mac wasn’t paying attention. Marvin Gaye was drifting over the bar’s sound system, but Mac couldn’t hear him either. Sheyla had just asked him a question, a question he had asked himself a thousand times during the past twelve months. A question he pondered while spending hours alone in a dark shower, searching for an answer he still hadn’t found.
