Twice as Dead

by Sue Ann Jaffarian

  When he realized he couldn’t talk me out of going, Greg had been adamant about my not going alone. The discussion had dragged on long after the coffeepot was empty and the remaining cheesecake had been slipped into the fridge. Clark wanted to go, but Greg pointed out that he might be recognized as having been with me at the service. Greg, of course, had volunteered first, but Clark had nixed it, saying there wasn’t much clearance for a wheelchair if something bad went down and a quick getaway was needed. No one disputed the fact that it might be a good idea for someone to go and nose around, just that it probably shouldn’t be me and especially not on my own.

  Steele acted like an antsy kid raising his hand in class for permission to pee. “Let me go,” he’d insisted. “I’ve been there before.”

  Everyone looked at him with surprise. Billie’s Holiday didn’t exactly look like Steele’s usual bottle of designer beer.

  “Hey, don’t be so surprised,” Steele said, acting like we’d just found out he’d spent five years in prison. “I live nearby, and bingo night is a fun thing to do with out-of-town guests. It draws quite a crowd.” Steele looked at me. “Besides, you can’t go alone. You’ll stick out. No one goes alone to drag queen bingo—it’s something you do with friends for fun, like a bunch of girlfriends or in groups. The only people who come in alone are those sitting at the bar just to drink and watch, and they’re usually guys.”

  “Too bad I can’t call Zee. We could officially make it a girls’ night out.” My voice trailed off in sadness at the thought of the woman who no longer wanted to be my BFF.

  “Don’t you have other girlfriends, Grey?”

  “Of course I do,” I snapped. “Kelsey and Joan, for starters, but I don’t think I should ask Joan to get involved with this. Plus, she’s too timid. And Kelsey’s on vacation until Tuesday. She left Friday to attend a wedding in Texas.”

  Steele nodded. “I did see an e-mail about her being out of the office.”

  A thought occurred to me. “I know who’d be perfect—Sally. Sally Kipman. She even called me this week asking if she could help.”

  “And she’s teamed up with you before,” Greg added. He glanced at my boss. “It was that time you went missing, Steele.”

  Steele turned to my hubby with raised eyebrows. “Missing? You make it sound like I went on a bender and had a lost weekend.”

  Clark rubbed his hands together. “This sounds good.”

  “I was kidnapped, Littlejohn,” Steele said, setting the record straight.

  Greg straightened his shoulders with pride. “And it was Odelia who found him.”

  Clark looked up at me. “This I gotta hear.”

  I waved him off and got up from the table. While Steele told the story with great embellishment, I went into the house and grabbed my cell phone. Sally, a no-nonsense type, accepted her call to duty with her usual aplomb, sounding ready to take on anything thrown at her.

  I felt it my duty to give her the small print. “Before you get too enthusiastic, General Patton, you should know that Saturday I was there for a memorial service and ended up being shot at.”

  “That was you?” The question came out as a laugh choked short by the horror of what could have been.

  “Yes, me and Zee Washington. So if you want to back out, I’d certainly understand. Seems I’m not only a corpse magnet but a bullet magnet as well.”

  “No chance, Odelia. I offered my help and I meant it. Besides, we’ll be inside a crowded bar—no room for drive-bys.”

  I wished I shared her confidence.

  “And I’ve heard,” she continued, “that drag queen bingo is a lot of fun. There’s a very popular one up in West Hollywood at a place called Hamburger Mary’s. Ever been?”

  “Afraid not. It’s a new thing to me. Guess I’ve led a sheltered life.”

  “Jill and I have been talking about going for a long time. All the proceeds go to charity. Too bad she has a French pastry class tomorrow night. It’s the first class in a series, so she won’t want to miss it.”

  “I wouldn’t want her to miss it either. Her cooking classes usually mean treats the next day at the office.”

  On Monday night, Sally swung by the house to pick me up. Clark was off to meet Greg at his shop in Huntington Beach to help him out. Steele met us by the front door of Billie’s Holiday. He was just a few minutes late, but standing out front, just yards from where the shooting had occurred, gave me the heebie-jeebies. I couldn’t wait to go inside and take our seats.

  “Quit fiddling with that wig,” Sally whispered to me, “or people will know it’s a wig.”

  She was seated to my right, Steele to my left. Our table was in a prime spot. Close to the stage, with a clear view of the entire room.

  “Yeah, like there’s any real doubt.”

  I’d bought the wig earlier in the day, right after leaving Rambling Rose the second time—the time I left with my tail between my legs and my brother gloating at my side. The wig hung just past my shoulders and had bangs. The color was lighter than my real hair—a very light brown with pale highlights. It was also not very expensive. Clark had wanted me to go platinum blond.

  “With the lighting in here, it will do,” Sally said out of the corner of her mouth, “so quit fidgeting.”

  Steele looked very Southern California casual in jeans, a tee shirt sporting a surfing logo, and his topsiders without socks. Of course, the jeans bore a high-end label. I also noticed he hadn’t shaved his usual five o’clock shadow. Sally wore navy Dockers and a tucked-in Hawaiian shirt on her tall, slender frame, while I had opted for a green knit tunic over khaki capris and sneakers.

  The unmod squad going undercover.

  We ate our burgers with onion rings and fries and washed them down with beer and soft drinks. The burgers were, as Corey had claimed, pretty damn good. The place filled up quickly, with most folks arriving by seven thirty to grab some grub before the bingo started. Betty Rumble was one of the waiters, dressed tonight in leather hot pants and a lime-green sequined halter top. There were three waiters, all in drag, all dressed similar to Betty in flashy hooker wear with either platform shoes or go-go boots. Two wore wigs, one didn’t. Betty was sporting his own natural blond spikes. I studied him as covertly as I could, comparing his face to my memory of Amber Straight’s. They definitely had the same coloring, facial structure, and build, although Amber seemed more sturdy. Our waiter was Corey. I was worried he and Betty would recognize me, but they didn’t seem to.

  The clientele was pretty eclectic, ranging from middle-aged, older tourists to groups of young adults. In one corner was a gaggle of very young women having a bachelorette party—the bride obvious by the short wedding veil on her head and the tight scoop- neck tee shirt with the word bride printed across her hearty bosom. While he ate his burger, Steele’s eyes remained glued to the wedding party. I could almost see him calculating the number of shots the girls were slamming down.

  I kicked him under the table and hissed, “You’re not here as a scout for Girls Gone Wild. Remember that.”

  He glanced my way, wearing a sappy grin. “I can multitask.”

  “You’re disgusting, Steele. Those girls are about twenty years younger than you. They’re barely legal to drink in this state.”

  “And your point?”

  “They are pretty cute,” Sally added.

  I shot an evil eye her way. “You’re not helping, Sally.”

  “You’re right,” Sally admitted. She fixed Steele with a serious eye. “Keep your mind off your pecker, Steele, at least for now. After, if you’re a good little spy, maybe Odelia will let you pick up a drunk chick in the parking lot.”

  I took a huge bite from my burger to squelch the obscenities on the tip of my tongue. I knew I should have come alone. Hell, we could’ve bought Clark a hairpiece and he could have made the trip.

  Shortly before eight o’clock, Marvin Gunn appeared onstage with a microphone. He thanked everyone for coming and made an enthusiastic pitch for the charity th
e evening’s proceeds would be going to. He also thanked the various sponsors who’d donated the prizes, which ranged from things like dinner for two and bottles of wine to a bay cruise and theatre tickets.

  When we first came in, Steele had bought each of us a pack of bingo cards at the door and picked up three bingo daubers—the small plastic bottles of ink with sponge tips for marking the bingo cards—from a box they had on hand. True to his word, Steele did know his away around drag queen bingo. He’d even suggested either the Hawaiian burger with grilled pineapple or the pulled pork sandwich as some of the tastier items on the menu. And he’d insisted we try the onion rings. It was news to me that he even ate fried foods.

  When the announcements were over, Gunn introduced Lillian Cherry, the bingo caller for the night. Making his way to the stage was a tall, slender man dressed in a lavish red sleeveless gown edged with green fringe. The gown was slit from the floor almost to the family jewels, revealing a pair of nicely toned legs—legs a lot more shapely than my own thick stumps. On his head he wore a platinum-blond wig adorned with green and pink feathers. His make-up was garish but skillfully applied to elicit maximum laughs. He faced the crowd with wide-open arms as if giving a group hug.

  “Hello, bingo babes and bingo boys!” Lillian Cherry announced into the microphone with over-the-top flair. “We’ve got a great night of bingo ahead with faaaaabulous prizes, so grab your daubers.” He gave the crowd a lascivious wink. “And while you’re at it, grab those thingies you mark the bingo cards with, too, and let’s get balling!”

  The crowd went wild. Clearly, Lillian Cherry was a favorite with the regulars.

  Standing behind the bingo-ball mixer, Lillian Cherry got the first game rolling, calling out the numbers in a smoky, sexy Lauren Bacall voice. He had it down pat, knowing when to move along and when to pause to give folks time to mark their cards. His comments between numbers were timed perfectly.

  The games were raucous and interactive, with the audience calling out smutty references to some of the numbers called. Whenever O-69 was called, the crowd howled and hooted for a full five seconds. The regulars knew what was expected of them and delivered, just as Lillian did his job with expertise. Between dotting my sheets to mark the numbers drawn, I continued to survey the crowd, looking for any faces that might look familiar or suspicious. I found none.

  I didn’t know what I was hoping for by coming to the club tonight. Maybe the off chance Scott Johnson would return to the club, preferably with Roslyn by his side. Or that Clarice would stop in for a drink. Clarice was toying with me, and I didn’t like it one bit. If it weren’t for my promise to Joan, I’d walk away and not give a damn. Well, that wasn’t true. Knowing what I knew about Scott Johnson, I was as eager as Dev to find Roslyn Stevens.

  I was also determined to find out who had put the hit out on me and why. I wanted to personally slug the person who’d nearly killed Zee and shattered our relationship, providing I got to them before my husband did.

  Steele nudged me. “Look, Grey, all you need is O-69 to win.”

  “Really?” I looked down at my card. I had been so focused on scouting the crowd, I hadn’t noticed. Game after game, I had been marking my numbers on autopilot and not paying attention to my progress. But Steele was right. Sally looked my card over and confirmed I was closing in on the prize—dinner for two at La Brisas, a lovely Mexican restaurant in Laguna Beach.

  Lillian Cherry continued calling the numbers. I held my breath, sure someone else would get it before the outrageous O-69 could be called.

  B-4.

  N-35.

  G-57

  B-10.

  O-69.

  “Oh my gawd!” I jumped up amidst the wolf whistles and hooting from the crowd. “I have it! I have it!”

  Lillian Cherry pointed a ridiculously long fingernail at me. “And what do you have, girlfriend?”

  “Bingo! I have a bingo!” I hopped up and down on my cushy-soled shoes.

  “Well, get that tooshie of yours up here so we can verify it.”

  Picking up the card, I wiggled my way through the few tables separating me from the stage. Once there, they began repeating the numbers that gave me my win.

  “And that’s a good bingo!” yelled Lillian Cherry to the crowd. Everyone clapped and cheered as they handed me the gift certificate to Las Brisas. Lillian put an arm around me for a photo op, and Sally took the photo with her phone’s camera. Done, I turned to Lillian to thank him, but the words didn’t come out as smoothly as I had planned. My attention was riveted to his face.

  “You okay, sugar?” Lillian asked. “Did winning fry your brain?” He tittered.

  I shook it off and laughed. “No, sorry. Just wanted to say thanks.”

  When Sally and I got back to our table, I spied Steele standing by the bachelorettes’ table, chatting them up. As soon as I’d received my prize, Lillian Cherry announced a short intermission, and Steele had wasted no time making his move. Whatever he was peddling to them, it must have been clever, or at least clever to drunken young women, because they were all giggling, especially the bride.

  When we sat down, Sally nudged me. “He’s exactly as Jill described him, except for the clothes.”

  “Yeah, those are his slumming togs.”

  “I thought she was making some of it up.”

  “Knowing Jill, she’s taming it down for your consumption.” After a second, I turned to Sally in surprise. “But you’ve met Steele before. Several times, I’m sure.”

  “Yeah, but not around his natural hunting ground. It’s like watching a hungry hyena on the Discovery Channel.”

  “Let me see the photo you took, Sally.”

  Sally pulled out her cell phone and brought up the photo of me with Lillian Cherry. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  Corey showed up at our table. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

  The occupants of the table next to us flagged him down. “Hey, our waiter’s disappeared,” a guy with a military haircut said. “Can you get us drinks?”

  Corey turned and flashed a becoming smile. “Be with you in a jiff.” How pretty Corey was as a woman was disturbing my female vanity.

  We placed orders for another beer for me and Steele and a soft drink for Sally. Before Corey left, I stopped him. “Change my order from beer to a Coke,” I told the waiter. “I think I’ve had enough alcohol tonight.” Corey gave me a nod and turned on his platforms to go, but I stopped him again and showed him the photo taken a minute before. “Lillian Cherry looks so familiar. Does he play at other clubs in the area? Or maybe I’ve seen him on TV?”

  “No,” Corey replied with a shake of his head. “Lillian doesn’t do drag very often anymore. Mostly he calls bingo for the club as a favor to his brother.”

  Inside my head I heard a spring snap. I looked back at the stage, but Lillian Cherry was gone. “His brother?”

  “Marvin Gunn,” Corey replied, “the owner of Billie’s, is his brother.”

  Steele returned to our table wearing a grin, pleased as punch with his performance.

  “Take it easy, Steele,” I whispered to him, “or I’ll tell those girls you have an incurable STD.”

  He winked at me. “And I’ll tell them you’re my dried-up, old- maid aunt visiting me on a three-day pass from the Betty Ford Center.”

  He looked across the table at Sally, then at me. “You ladies having fun tonight?”

  “We’re not here to have fun, Steele,” I snapped.

  “Oh no? Looked like you were having fun when you collected that prize.”

  Ignoring him, I poked a nail under the wig at the back of my neck and scratched. “I swear, tonight when I get home, I’m burning this thing.”

  Intermission was nearly over, and most of the crowd had reclaimed their seats. I handed my dauber to Steele. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. Watch my card and stay out of trouble.”

  “Okay, but if your card wins, I’m keeping the prize.”

  With a roll of
my eyes, I excused myself and made my way through the crowds toward the sign that said Restrooms. The sign led to a long hallway under a lit Exit sign. It was the same corridor through which Scott Johnson had made his escape. The restrooms were on the right-hand side. On the left was a door to the kitchen on which a sign was posted Employees Only. It must have been a service door, because it wasn’t the one through which the waiters went back and forth with food and dirty dishes. At the far end on the right, just past the restrooms, was a door over which was another lit red Exit sign. At the very far end of the corridor was a door marked Private. It seemed more than a fifty-fifty chance that door would lead to Marvin Gunn’s office, the place from which he ran his kingdom of investments and deals. The door was closed. Glancing to make sure no one was around, I secured my bag higher on my shoulder and tiptoed to it, putting my ear close to the painted wood. Nothing. Not a peep. Hmmm, this might be a good time to have a little chat with Marvin Gunn and see if I could jar some information loose.

  I looked at the door to the ladies’ room with longing. I really did have to pee. The beer I’d had with dinner was running right through me. I looked back at the closed office door, not wanting to miss a golden opportunity. What to do? What to do?

  Telling my bladder to suck it up, I knocked on the office door gently. No answer. I knocked again, a little harder. Again, nothing. “Mr. Gunn,” I called, keeping my voice low. I tried the doorknob, expecting to find it locked. It wasn’t. With a simple turn, I opened it a few inches and peeked in.

  A scream caught in my throat like a chicken wing going down sideways. I looked over my shoulder. No one was in the hall. I could hear Lillian Cherry onstage, calling to customers to get ready to start the next game. Without entering the office, I surveyed the room from the doorway gap. The room had been ransacked. Drawers and cabinets were open, papers were on the floor—the debris was a backdrop of clutter framing the corpse.

  Marvin Gunn was sprawled backward in a wooden swivel desk chair, his arms draped over the sides. His eyes were staring at the ceiling, his mouth open in surprise or maybe a last call for help. Stuck directly into his chest was a long, sturdy knife.