A few miles later, I turned to Joel. “Tennyson?”
“He’ll live. The hip, man, I’ll be surprised if they don’t replace it. I fucked that shit up bad.”
I thought back to the sadistic shit standing in the RV, telling me what was about to happen to me. “Good.”
Because death was too kind for him.
I had assumed that Thorn had been arrested, but I asked anyway.
Joel shrugged. “Maybe. But we talked about that risk. We wanted it to look like I was the madman. That I had tricked Thorn into helping me, telling him there was an active shooter, so we had to protect Tennyson. He’ll claim he discovered too late that I was after him myself, at which point he was already caught in the middle. I think it’ll keep him out of jail. Oh, and he dropped his ID in the room, so now he can say I made him leave it there.”
“You two, what a team.”
“Fuck you.”
“No seriously.”
A shrug. “He’s alright, I guess.”
“Should we go find him?”
Joel shook his head, kept his eyes on the road. “He’ll show up. Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you later.”
“Why not now?”
“Because first we need to figure out how to get to Marquette without any further interference.”
“That’s easy.”
His head snapped around to me. “How?”
“We can’t.”
After a glum silence, the radio lulled me back to sleep. Manhunt reports between country-radio hits. I preferred them calling me a Godless Freak to such soul-numbing tunes like “You Look Like I Need a Drink”.
When next I awoke, Joel’s question was still at the front of my mind. How could we get to Marquette? They were calling Tennyson’s near death an assassination attempt — even though the would-be assassins were the ones who took him to the hospital. Regardless of our random act of kindness, however, security around Marquette was raised to nuclear fallout shelter levels.
Although, yeah, that sounds a little melodramatic. The man was unlikely to have sought refuge in a nuclear fallout shelter. Knowing him, he was probably still doing what he always did, just in an interior room with a few extra guards.
I wondered if we could intercept him on his way to a speech or an interview, maybe get him while the reshuffle of his safety crew was at its most chaotic.
His home was out of the question.
The events? Nonstarter.
I was never going back to either of the campaign headquarters, so …
I turned to Joel. “Did you say Thorn turned off the bugs at the townhouse?”
“Yep. The whole thing, alarms and all.”
“Hm.”
“What?”
“If he thought there was something at Hans’ place that he didn’t want anyone else to know about, maybe we could lure him there.”
“Like what?”
Another good question. I yawned.
When I woke again, the car was off, cold, and Joel was gone.
But then I heard the gas nozzle slide into the tank, and caught my breath again. I looked in the side view mirror and there, haloed by the bright neons of the gas station island, was Joel, leaning against the car, and suddenly I saw him in a different light.
He’d come to get me. Risked so much to come and get me. Again.
I could never repay him for that.
I guess it hadn’t occurred to me that he considered me a real friend. I thought he was still brainwashed into rejecting anyone who didn’t fit the binary system of his own life, be it his political life, his personal life, or indeed his sex life. But wow, he’d really gone out of his way for me.
If only the Marines had a measure for a man of his caliber. He should be up for a medal.
While he was gassing up, I noticed a real antique in front of the Casey’s General Store. I stretched and shook myself awake. Climbed out of the car. I was still in my jail clothes, but Joel had found a sweater for me along the way, so at least it covered the obviousness of the shirt I was wearing — name and location of the trooper’s station splashed across the back.
“You need something?”
I turned to Joel. “Some M&Ms, plain. And a Dr. Pepper. I’m going to make a phone call. Got some quarters?”
He looked past me, at the payphone hooked to the front of the building. “Well, how about that?”
After he finished gassing up and getting our snacks, he handed over the change and followed me to the phone.
Remember when I said I didn’t really memorize phone numbers anymore, since we really didn’t need to, not with ready access to smart phones? Well, there was one exception to that rule, one number I’d heard and known right away that it would come in handy one day. I had committed it to memory with the focus of a girl in love, and Tennyson could erase it from my phone all he liked, I’d still be able to recite it as well as the landline I’d grown up with at the farm.
It rang a few times. Went to voicemail.
We weren’t going to give up that easily.
I called back. Then again. Then again. And finally someone answered.
“Manny.”
“Senator.”
“What do you want?”
“I have a message from Hans. It’s a shame he couldn’t give it to you before … you know. But he inadvertently left it for me to give you.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’ve heard everything that happened so far today. You want to risk it?”
Quiet. Then, “Where?”
“You know where. And I’m about to give you the When, so listen up. Eleven forty-five, tonight. You’d better come alone. We’ll know.”
I hung up. It felt good, actually hanging up a phone instead of just thumbing a button on a screen. It felt real.
We headed back to the car. The Dr. Pepper was waking me up, but it was also aggravating my acid reflux. Seemed like nothing good ever came without a price.
“You know it’s just me and you,” Joel said over the top of the car. “If he calls our bluff—”
“I think he already has.”
“It is a bluff, right?”
“Yeah. But this gives us three hours to figure out a way to rig the game.”
8
It also meant Marquette had three hours to figure out how to screw us over, again. And loath though I was to admit it, he was much better at it than we were.
So, what did we do? Like the serial killer profilers tell us, to catch a killer it’s necessary to think like one. And Marquette, regardless of how many layers he put between himself and the actual deaths, was a killer.
We talked it over in the car, with a short break to nearly shit our pants over a state trooper who for some reason took it into his head to follow us for a good twenty miles. Until he just as inexplicably overtook us and sped away. Which had to mean that the owner of this Honda hadn’t noticed it was gone yet.
Or maybe there was someone out there helping us stay hidden? Perhaps the Senator was afraid we might have the goods after all and had decided to grant us safe passage.
Either way, I told Joel to stop at the next gas station with a payphone. I had an idea. Several, in fact, but they were all tying together. But for even the slightest chance of success, I had to make a few calls, quickly, and I hoped everyone would pick up the first time. Three hours suddenly didn’t seem like nearly enough time.
But just when I’d given up on the moody minx, lady luck was back!
We were heading back to my townhouse, hoping Marquette would be curious and worried enough to come alone, but almost certain he wouldn’t take the risk. We would need our own countermeasures to keep us safe, since we didn’t have Joel’s ex-soldiers, god help them, and we didn’t know where Thorn was, or how to get in touch with him. Or, in all honesty, if he was even on our side. And Nice, well, without my phone, I had no way to reach her.
Which was when it dawned on me — when they go high-tech, I go low-tech.
“Joel, do you know a
ny particular place Thorn might head if he’d been set free?”
“Other than back to HQ?”
“No, wait, that’s good. If Tennyson went straight to surgery, maybe Marquette doesn’t know the whole story. Maybe he doesn’t know about Thorn’s involvement. So, yeah, I bet Thorn went right back to HQ.”
“But I can’t go after him there.”
“Maybe we can get him to come to you, though.”
Closer and closer to the Cities we drove.
I told Joel where we needed to go first. Nice’s place.
And I hoped to God we wouldn’t be interrupting another one of her orgies. I’d had enough wanton perversion for the rest of my days.
We had to be quick. Had to assume there were eyes everywhere — literal and electronic — so Joel dropped me off at Nice’s building. If I didn’t show up again in ten minutes, he was to go on without me.
Up to the apartment, hoping she was here, rather than working late at the Capitol. I knocked. Her pathetic boy-toy answered. And his jaw dropped at the sight of me.
“She here?”
A nod. Couldn’t even find the words.
Five minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, I waited inside the front doors of the building. Time was ticking away and I was getting as jumpy as the second hand of my watch.
“Excuse me, Manny?”
Startled me. I was on the brink of a brain aneurism. Just one more fright, one more snap of the fingers.
The boy-toy. Fergus. He was holding an old flip phone. Held it out to me. “She told me you might need this.”
I took it with two fingers. “For what?”
“Direct line to her, if something goes wrong.”
I nodded, flipped it open. Very old. A green glowing screen with black block letters. I pocketed it and nodded at Fergus. “Tell her thanks. And you too, thanks.”
He shook his head — more like he shook his hair. “I do what she tells me.”
I cut my eyes towards the door. Joel still wasn’t out there. Back to Fergus.
“What’s the deal with that? You just can’t help it?”
A weak grin. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. You of all people.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean, you’re becoming a woman. Aren’t you doing that because that’s who you are?”
I felt stripped. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, I know what I am. I’ve always known. When a woman takes charge, treats me like shit, makes me do what she wants, that’s everything to me. I worship her.”
“Seriously?”
“How can you find that so hard to believe?”
I frowned. “And what do you get out of it? Sex?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes. Sometimes I watch her with other men, other women. Sometimes she lets me help. My direct involvement isn’t the point, though, is it? This is what I want. The power dynamic. The subjugation. It’s who I am. Day to day, I’m a prick, I know. I used to be one of those ‘nice guys’ who in truth was anything but and secretly wondering why I couldn’t get a date. Turns out, I was denying what I really wanted.”
“Which was?”
“I wanted them to humiliate me. I wanted to be laughed at. I wanted to serve.”
I blinked. Several times. “You and me, that’s way different, pal.”
“Whatever you say, miss.” And he turned on his heel, headed back to the elevator.
Seconds later, Joel pulled up outside, and I ran for the car.
On the way to stop number two, I told Joel about my talk with Fergus. He shook his head.
“What a pussy.”
“Really? I mean, if that’s the sort of relationship-”
“Shouldn’t it be equal? Isn’t that the difference between a fetish and real love? How can she respect that?” Really got under his skin. Cheeks blotching up.
I wondered about that. I could’ve — jokingly, sort of — mentioned that his own relationship with Robin was lopsided in its power dynamic. Just because Joel didn’t like it didn’t mean he didn’t stick with it. But what did I know about love? I kept quiet.
When he calmed down a little, I asked, “But, that’s not the same as me, right? What I’m doing, that’s not just … a sex thing. You know what I mean?”
He nodded. “Sure. Don’t have to convince me.”
“Is it just that anyone feeling a little differently about their own sexuality lumps themselves in with gays, transsexuals, lesbians? Even sadists? Even Fergus?”
“Weirdos.” Joel says. “The word you want is weirdos.”
“Am I a weirdo, is that what you’re saying, you fucker?”
He shrugged. Not a hint of a smile. “Oh, shit yeah.” Then he let out a deep breath. “And the closer we’re getting to the final showdown, the more I’m thinking that the weirdoes are our only hope. Ain’t that a bitch?”
I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. But I grinned anyway. “Asshole.”
At least he was my asshole. We all need one.
Fergus got me thinking. All that talk about ‘us’ being the same. I didn’t feel part of anyone’s ‘community’. I felt violated. I felt hurt. I felt all alone. The few trans people I’d met so far had lied, beat me up, or disappointed me in some way or other. Sure, one or two had been kind to me, but I had to wonder how it would’ve been different if I hadn’t been a cop at the time, or involved with Marquette. Would it have been open arms? Would it have been support groups and online discussions? Would it have been shared coming out stories? Would it have been just a little bit good?
Instead, it took a dead, frozen transwoman to point me this way, and despite the rough road, if given a chance to do it again, I would still make the same ultimate decision. Okay, maybe some small adjustments, and I’d certainly erase the rape and the beatings, blot those right out of my head, but I would still go through with it.
Which meant doing it the right way. Not trying to speed things along.
The exact opposite philosophy of what we were about to put into practice by going back to the townhouse.
And to make it worse, I had too much time to think about it, since we made several further stops on route. First, I huddled in the car, in a dark corner of a parking garage, while Joel went to see if he could find Thorn. That was a frightening twelve minutes. Every sound, every shadow, a threat.
Think, Manny. Think.
Fuck, my thoughts were all over the place. For as long as I could remember, I’d always felt like the odd one out. I couldn’t put a reason to it until much later. My teenage years, not sure why I’d felt a disconnect between myself and the guys talking about sneaking porn on their parents’ computers, or the fumbling attempts at sex in after-school bedrooms or movie theaters.
As I knew now, my problems hadn’t just been about sex. Sex was an alien concept — something that drove everyone I knew back then, only most of them weren’t getting any, and if they were, it wasn’t what they had expected. That came later. For me, it was like watching a video tutorial, only they were speaking Mandarin and the subtitles were Russian.
And now, here I was, stuck in the middle, the no-man’s-land between male and female.
I had thought, you know, once I knew, once I was absolutely certain in my gender, that I would feel complete. A snap, man to woman, just like that. But I hadn’t counted on everything I’d learned in life — the way I’d held myself, the way I walked, the way I turned my head, moved my hands, sat in a chair — getting in my way. My brain was telling me You’re a woman. My guts were telling me You’re a woman. But my body was laughing, asking, Who do you think you’re fooling?
Rearview mirror. A shadow. Moving. I shrank in my seat and held my breath, a kid’s panicked strategy to make the monsters stay away.
Luckily, it was just Joel. He climbed into the driver’s seat, cranked up.
The heater started where it had left off. I cupped my hands over the vent.
“So?”
I didn’t think he w
as going to answer at first, but finally, “No dice.”
Shit. If he hadn’t been able to talk his way out of the cops’ hands … well, shit.
I let out a sigh. It hurt. “Now what?”
He shrugged. “Onward.”
When we arrived at the townhouse — hard to call it ‘home’ anymore, but then it really never had been — I told Joel to forget the circling, forget watching for the watchers and just assume they were there.
By then, I was slumped against the cool glass of the passenger’s window, fighting off sleep.
We parked in the underground garage, shuffled out, and walked to the elevator like we had all the time in the world.
I imagined there was some excitement surrounding the building. Someone shouting “Got them! We got them!” into a handset. Or, “Reinforcements, take your places.”
Way I pictured it, these watchers were all separate from the Senator’s own watchers. After all, Joel and I were wanted by plenty of other people besides Marquette, and a multitude like that wasn’t as susceptible to Andrew’s charm. I expected to soon hear helicopters, sirens of all varieties, and boots stomping down our hallways. But right then, I didn’t care about any of that. I just sleep-walked into the elevator and pushed the red button.
When we stepped into the apartment, nothing. So I took a shower. A long hot one. I never wanted to leave. I swear, after washing my hair and arms and chest, I stood there and let the water envelop me until, until, until … there were no words. The only thing left to do was feel it, not try for a metaphor or even imagine a soundtrack to underscore just how re-humanizing this shower was.
I didn’t have time to shave, neither my face nor my legs. I didn’t have time to apply make-up. A lost opportunity, I thought. I wanted to put on a good face for Marquette, and for the officers who would be arresting me shortly afterwards. But here I was: Herman ‘Manny’ Jahnke, freshly scrubbed, in comfortable but still elegant loungewear, luckily free of bullet holes — Joel apologized for taking out my closet door like that — as I emerged from the bedroom to find him standing right beside it, facing the Senator and — goddamn it — Thorn, both standing in the living room like they owned the place. Yes, I was aware of the irony of my indignation. But if the Senator was, he wasn’t showing it, certainly not with a smile. He was just standing there, staring at me in his usual friendly uncle costume — jeans, loose sweater, and a U of M cap pulled low across his forehead.
Castle Danger--The Mental States Page 25
