Mary, Queen of Scotch

by Rob Rosen

Until it wasn’t.

  Until it wasn’t fun to witness.

  Until it had been necessary.

  Which is to say, the drag queens rose. The hangers-on rose. The bad guys tried to rise but slipped on the pool that was the floor. Lester rolled over. “Die, motherfucker,” he said, aiming the gun at the first person in his line of sight.

  I watched it all happen. I saw Lester. I saw Lester aim. I saw Lester fire. I saw Lester fire at Jeff. I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. Mainly because I knew that Jeff was my entire life. There was a whoosh of action. It looked like a whoosh because I’d gone to leap on Lester but slipped and fell instead. So, yeah, all I saw was a whoosh. And all I heard was a loud, painful groan, which I knew was not my own.

  Which isn’t to say I didn’t let out a loud, painful groan when I slipped and fell, but the groan I heard was someone else’s, someone who had been shot.

  I fell. I heard the groans, mine and the other one, and then, well, nothing.

  Just black.

  Black, black, black.

  And then a pinprick of light.

  I blinked my eyes open. I was no longer in the dressing room. I was no longer wet. I was alone. I was alone because I was in a hospital room. “What the…” Oh the pain. Two words spoken and two massive throbs in my noggin. I slid my hands across my gown covered body. I was alive. I felt whole. Aside from the pain in my head, I didn’t think I’d been shot.

  “Jeff,” I moaned.

  A nurse came in. “You’re awake,” she said with a smile. “That’s good.”

  I nodded. Or at least I tried to nod. Moving my neck hurt like a sonofabitch. In my head. “Jeff,” I repeated.

  She shrugged. “Sorry, no Jeffs around here.” She walked over and checked my vitals, the smile ever-present. Her name was Meghan. It said so on her ID badge. “You have a concussion. You’ve been out for a little over a day.”

  I frowned. My head pounded again. My heart pounded in sync. “Jeff.”

  She smoothed my forehead. “You were brought in by ambulance. Your friends, your parents, were all here, but it’s late now; they went home. Maybe one of them was named Jeff. There were quite a few of them.” She moved an inch away. “It was a, um, lively bunch.”

  “Jeff was shot.”

  Her smile vanished. It was there one second, gone the next. “Oh.”

  A weight crashed down upon me. Oh. Oh might as well have been an anvil dropped down on me. “Is he…”

  She shook her head. “No. He’s in ICU. You were brought in one ambulance, your friend in the other.”

  “More than a friend.” I locked eyes with her. She knew what I meant. “How is he?”

  She sighed. “He’s in ICU. I’m not an ICU nurse.”

  “But he’s in ICU, so he can’t be all that good.”

  Her sigh repeated. “He’s getting the best care possible.” The smile returned. It looked fake this time. Forced. “You need your rest. I’ll be outside monitoring you.” She pointed at the myriad of devices hooked up to me. “You can check on Jeff in the morning.”

  “But what if he…” A tear welled up and spilled over. “Please, I need to see him. Please. Please.” I hadn’t been hit by a bullet but it sure as hell felt like it. Morning was probably hours away. What if Jeff had less than hours? “Just for a few minutes. Just so he knows he’s not alone.”

  She stared into my eyes. She seemed to be thinking it over. “How do you feel?”

  I managed a lopsided grin. “Like I could run the Boston Marathon.” In heels. Which I neglected to add.

  “Really?” The ensuing smile seemed less fake.

  I nodded. I winced. “Maybe the half marathon.”

  She left the room for a few minutes. She came back with a wheelchair. “Your vitals are fine. You’re not going to get any sleep; might as well go for a ride instead.” The monitoring devices went all mobile-like, as did I. Nurse Meghan had me up and, um, wheeling in no time flat.

  Down the hall we went. Place was silent. Place was lifeless. Place was creepy. In an elevator we went. Abba was playing. “Dancing Queen.” Or at least a sanitized, wordless version, but still. I took it as a sign. My heart pounded just the same. My heart and my head. Nurse Meghan patted my shoulder as she wheeled both me and my jangling accoutrements out of the elevator and down another silent, lifeless, creepy hall.

  She left me at a nurse’s station and went to talk with another nurse twenty feet or so away. They whispered. They both turned in unison to look at me and frown. That couldn’t be good, could it? The smile returned on Meghan’s face. I couldn’t read this one. Fear was making me loopy. Fear and a recent concussion.

  She was behind me again, behind me and wheeling me into a nearby room. I blinked at the bed, at the blanketed feet rising above, at the man in the chair next to said bed. “Chad?”

  He looked at me with a weary nod. “You’re up.”

  “Seems to be the foregone conclusion.” Meghan left us alone but waited just outside. “Thank you for staying with him. Is he…is he going to be…”

  “Jeff is fine, Barry.”

  I pointed at the body to our side, to the mess of tubes and blinking lights and various life-saving machines. “Nice of you to say, but…”

  He shook his head. “Barry, Jeff is fine.” He stood. He walked to the bed. He stared at the still man atop it. I couldn’t see Jeff. I was still in my wheelchair. I tilted my head up. My eyes went wide, wide as saucers, wide as that big saucer you got for winning Wimbledon. “I…but…what?”

  It wasn’t Jeff in the bed; it was Arthur. Chad turned and put his hand on mine. “Auntie fired the gun. Arthur jumped between the bullet and Jeff.”

  “Nuh uh.”

  “See why I love him?”

  I was beginning to. “Arthur saved Jeff’s life?”

  He managed a smile. “Seems to be the foregone conclusion.”

  My chest heaved. I began to cry out of part relief, part guilt. Mostly the former. Like sixty-forty. “Will Arthur be…okay?” I whispered it, just in case Arthur could hear me.

  “The bullet missed his heart and didn’t damage any organs, but he lost a lot of blood.” We were both crying now, two grown-ass men bawling like babies. “I can’t lose him, Barry.”

  I squeezed his hand tightly in mine. “You won’t. He’s a tough one.” I left out the standard asshole part. I owed Arthur. I mean, sure, he tried to kill me, but he also saved me by saving Jeff. “Besides, he already has an angel, why go all the way to heaven to find another one.”

  He sniffled. The bawling turned to laughter. “Oh my God, Barry, did you really just say that?”

  I grinned. “I’m concussed; I don’t know what I’m saying.” My heart momentarily stopped. With all the drama, I’d forgotten to ask about the rest of them. “Auntie—”

  “Jail.”

  “Pearl—”

  “Jail.”

  “Jackson. Hall.”

  “Jail. Jail.”

  “But not the girls. Not you? I mean, you’re all drug dealers.” Yep, again with the whispering. See, while I knew the plan would work, sort of, mostly, the part about them not getting caught, yeah, not so much. I mean, that could’ve always gone either way, even if the plan had gone off without a hitch.

  He sat down. He stopped laughing. Still, he was oddly smiling. I mean, given the circumstances, that seemed out of place. “That’s the weird thing.”

  “What’s the weird thing? Something is weirder than all the other weird things?”

  He nodded. I envied him. Nodding was not my friend right about then. “We were all taken in for questioning, but before we could give any answers, Auntie confessed to everything.”

  I scratched my head. Even that hurt. “But you’re all free. I mean, you and the other girls.” I looked up at Arthur, who clearly was not in cuffs.

  “Again, weird,” he said. “Auntie confessed to the shooting, to the drug dealing, to Pearl and Jackson and Hall, but not to us, to our involvement. With a full confession, there
won’t be an investigation, at least into us. Without an investigation, they’ll never know about what we did.” His smile reappeared. “Like I said, weird.”

  “Maybe Auntie was also concussed at the time.”

  His laugh also reappeared. It seemed to soothe my pain. “Maybe, but, either way, we all seem to be in the clear, unless Pearl or Jackson or Hall say something, which, considering the fact that we’re all not in prison right now, seems unlikely.”

  I shook my head. Nope, the pain was still there. It must’ve temporarily been in hiding. “Chad, to tell you the truth, I don’t have a clue what’s happening now. I thought Jeff was shot. I was wrong. I thought Arthur was the bad guy. I was wrong.” Again, mostly, and again, sort of. “You should all be in jail, but you’re not. It’s weird, like you said. But if a whole day, plus some change, has gone by and you’re all still free, I’m guessing, for whatever reason, none of the four of them are ratting you all out.”

  He reached over and again grabbed my hand. “But what about you? You’re a detective. Don’t you need to turn us all in?”

  I stared his way. I stared and stared and then smiled. “For what? Bad lip-synching and awful fashion choices?”

  “Bitch.”

  I shrugged. Yep, it hurt. Duh. “Seems to be a forgone conclusion.”

  Chapter 13

  I was released from the hospital two days later. Arthur was released three weeks after that. We’d almost lost him. It had really been that close. But before that, I visited him in the hospital. I didn’t bring him flowers; I brought him a small cask of whiskey.

  He grinned when he saw it. “Never going to drop it, are you?”

  I shrugged. The pain was no longer there. Neither was the animosity. Near-death experiences will do that to a fellow. Even a fellow in a dress. “And ruin our stellar dynamic?” I put my hand over his. “Thanks.”

  “I owed you one.”

  “That’s why you did it?”

  He smiled. “Nope. Good guy. Remember?”

  “I remember, Arthur. I remember.” And won’t soon forget.

  “I also have a surprise for you.”

  “Bigger than saving my boyfriend’s life?”

  He shrugged. “Close.”

  “Close? Really?” He handed me a slip of paper. I read it. I read it again. I read it a third time because I didn’t believe my eyes the first two. I folded it and handed it back to him. “I…I don’t get it.”

  “It came this morning, from her lawyer.”

  “But why?”

  He smiled. He looked tired, but the smile held hope in it. “You’ll have to go and ask her. I haven’t a clue.”

  “And what do you plan on doing about her offer.”

  The smile grew wider. “I need the money. I need to go straight, so to speak. So, of course, I’m going to accept.”

  “But you don’t know the first thing about running a bar.”

  His eyebrows rose and fell. “I hear there’s an online course for almost everything these days.”

  My smile matched his. “Tell me about it.”

  * * * *

  And that’s how I wound up in prison.

  Well, that’s how I wound up visiting a prison. The one holding Lester. Because the letter Arthur showed me informed him that Lester deeded the bar his way—lock, stock and smoking barrel. It didn’t make sense, which is why I needed to go see him. A detective likes to make sense of things, needs to unravel a mystery. Plus, the case was almost over. This was the last and final piece of the puzzle.

  I’d never been to a prison before. It was bleak. It was somewhat terrifying. Dismal would be a good word for it. Still, I was intrigued. Not to mention relieved at sitting where I was sitting. As opposed to where Lester was sitting. Namely across from me, behind a thick pane of glass, holding a grimy phone in his hand. Orange, by the way, is so not the new black. Orange only looks good on traffic cones. Or, you know, on oranges. On Lester, no. Not even close.

  He looked awful. Beaten down. By time, by circumstances. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite. He did shoot Jeff, after all. Or at least tried to.

  “Why did you leave Arthur the bar?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Nice to see you, too, Mary.”

  I sighed. “Why did you leave Arthur the bar? Why did you…” I needed to tread lightly here. I figured our conversation was being taped. Or someone somewhere was listening. “Why did you leave the girls out of all this?” I pointed at all this. It was a short point. It landed on him behind the glass. “Did you see the light? Are you suddenly saved? Were you nice all along but simply hiding it behind a wall of bitch?”

  He rolled his eyes. “More a matter of I scrub your back, you scrub mine.”

  It wasn’t a pretty image. I tried to shake it from my brain. “What is there for me to, um, scrub?”

  He shook his balding head. I bet he missed his wigs right about then, flammable though they might have been. “Not you, all of you.”

  “Lost.”

  “Shock.”

  I sighed. “Can we please make this reunion brief? I have my freedom to enjoy.”

  He sneered my way. He played the villain part oh so well. Kudos to him. “You’re going to testify that I tripped, that I accidentally fired the gun. All of you are going to say that.” I pointed at the phone. “No,” he said. “They can’t hear. I still have some rights.”

  My sigh repeated. “I sense an or else.”

  “You know the or else, Mary. Or else they all fall right along with me. You, too. Aiding and abetting. Failure to go to the police. Awful makeup choices.”

  “Pot, kettle, you’re in fucking prison.”

  He shrugged. “In any case, you scrub my back, I scrub yours, just like I said. Plus, I copped to the drugs. We all did. That was the plan if caught. We’re all repeat offenders. Nonetheless, they go easier on you if you make it easier on them. Also, we have names, numbers, whereabouts of our contacts. That back scrubbing thing works in a lot of ways. Play nice and they lessen the sentence. Play even nicer in here, and that sentence gets cut in half. I didn’t try to kill Jeff; it was an accident. You’re all going to say that.” He managed a self-satisfied smile. And still it looked all sneer-like. “I’ll be out of here in ten years, max. My cohorts the same. Maybe even less. We have good lawyers. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”

  My belly tightened. Ten years for almost killing Jeff. Life wasn’t always fair. Then again, Jeff was still alive, and Arthur had one mean looking scar, so, occasionally, life was at least a tad bit generous. “I get it now.”

  “Another shock.”

  I stood to leave. I’d give him another minute. It was all I could muster. “You left Arthur the bar so that you’d have something to come back to.”

  He nodded. “It’s in the contract. Arthur gets the bar, I have a job waiting for me. In perpetuity.”

  “Your old, Auntie. Perpetuity, thank God, ain’t all that, uh, perpy.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m a drag queen, Mary.” He also stood. “I’m timeless.”

  I hung up the phone, then shot him the bird.

  I turned, hoping to never see him again.

  Life, of course, probably had other ideas in mind. Generosity has its limits, after all.

  * * * *

  Three months went by. The trial came and went. We all played our parts, as did the four bad guys. Auntie got ten-to-twenty for being the ring leader. There was no attempted murder charge. Jeff asked the court for leniency, thereby hedging our bets. Meaning, backs were indeed, yuck, scrubbed. Loofahed even. The other three got five-to-ten, their sentences cut in half for voluntarily surrendering information. In other words, they ratted out a whole slew of people, though, thank goodness, not us. Phew.

  Their cases and mine were officially closed.

  I received six new five-star Yelp reviews. I guessed they were from my recently acquired friends. Or maybe my mom created a bunch of aliases. Either way, I’d take them. Those and the three new cases I landed. Oh
, and the job proposition—part time though it would need to be.

  “You’re hiring me at the club?” I asked Arthur, my heart beating out a lively Madonna tune in anticipation. We were at the bar, all of us, drinking our scotches. It was suddenly everyone’s drink of choice.

  “We have two less queens now.”

  “That’s a rousing offer.”

  He grinned. Chad was standing next to him. Chad also grinned. I stared at Chad’s grin instead. That shallow end is so much easier to tread in. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

  Chad handed me a new wig. Lace-front. Expensive. “Flame-resistant.”

  Jeff was by my side. He squeezed my hand. I planned on never letting it go. Well, to wash and go to the bathroom, but that was it. Maybe eating, but, yeah, then never again. “We all voted,” he said. “You’re going to be the permanent host of the show!”

  I turned, smiled, then glared at him, at all of them. “Wait, but that means less tips.”

  They all lifted their glasses my way. “Exactly, Mary,” said Luna. “Exactly!”

  “Bitches.” I shrugged and downed my scotch in one fell swoop. “I guess I can live with that.”

  Better than dying in a barrel of whiskey, anyway.

  Afterword

  I hate afterwords, much like I hate prefaces, but if you’re gonna have a preface, you gotta have an afterword. It’s a yin and yang kind of thing, and, by now, you all know my predilections for yangs. Plus, a bird can’t fly on one wing. Ditto for a novel. In any case, this is going to be brief. Lucky for you. And me. Because writing a novel is tough stuff as it is.

  Anyway, since I brought it up way back there, I thought I’d give you the definition of three of my all-time favorite words:

  A craw is the part of a bird’s throat where food is prepared for digestion. If something is stuck in your craw, may I suggest a shot of scotch to unstick it with.

  A crook is the place that a body part bends. The irony was not lost on me that Barry found himself in the crook of Ray’s arm, what with Ray being a crook, and all. Was the irony lost on you? If so, then thank God for this afterword, right?

  Lastly, petard. What a great sounding word, and so rarely used. Shame really. So, thank God for my book then, too. I mean, look at me, using craw, crook, and petard, and all in the span of one chapter! Merriam and Webster are both avidly rolling around in their graves in delight. In any case, a petard is sort of a bomb used to blow open doors and gates with. To be hoisted by your own petard means to have said bomb fuck you up, and not the door. Mostly means, that is. Sort of means.