“You’re dead, Kimberley,” was his parting shot before his voice was drowned out by the return of the music.
I raced over, wanting to get her out of harm’s way. Wilkes was unpredictable and I worried he would suddenly reappear. “Come over here and let’s have a look at your face.”
“It’s nothing, really.”
She moved her hand and I could see the bruise forming under her eye, snaking down her cheek.
“Shit!” I said, wanting to beat the living daylights out of him. “Samuel, can you get me some ice in a tea-towel, please?”
Samuel handed me the ice bucket and a cloth.
I wrapped the ice in the cloth and placed it on her face. “What was all that about?”
“He reckons I owe him money.”
“And do you?”
“No.”
“He seems pretty adamant you do.”
“Darren used to help me out and he insisted I paid him in kind.”
“Ugh,” I replied.
“He’s off his face and horny and because I won’t go home with him he’s decided to change the terms of our agreement.”
“Do you need money?” I was concerned for her. “I can help you out.”
“Nah, not at all. I won’t tolerate him bullying me. I owe him nothing.”
“Does he know where you live?”
“Yeah, but he’s all mouth. He’ll go home and sleep it off. I’m not worried.”
“The bruise forming under your eye tells me another story.”
“He’s pissed and drugged up to the eyeballs. Trust me, this isn’t the first time. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow.”
“How are you gonna get home?” I briefly considered blowing my cover and making sure she got there safely.
“Same way I got here, on foot. I don’t live too far away.”
“Here, drink this.”
She slugged it back. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“Look, I’m worried he’ll be waiting for you. Please get a taxi home.”
“You’re sweet to worry, but I’ll be fine, really.”
“Do you want me to get on that stage and forget my routine, ‘cos that’s what will happen if I have to worry about you?”
She rolled her eyes and grinned. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“Exactly,” I replied. “I’ll speak to security and make sure they see you safely into a taxi. That way, if Darren is outside your place when you get there, you can tell the driver to bring you back here then I’ll take you home myself. I’m not scared of that idiot.”
“My own personal protector.”
I grinned. “Let’s swap numbers so you can text me when you’re home.”
Thirty-Two
With her face still throbbing, Kimberley left Dorothy’s on the arm of a hulking great bouncer who made sure she was safely inside the taxi.
As the taxi pulled up outside her house, she sent a quick text to Dylan, thanking him for caring. It felt nice to have someone giving a damn about her, even if she didn’t really know him. He’d been sweet, making sure she didn’t leave the club alone.
The security light flashed on as she approached the front door of her quaint two-bedroomed end terrace she rented off her uncle Merv. Pulling the key from her jacket pocket, she opened the door and stepped inside.
A sudden flurry of movement startled her, and Felix, her house cat, made a dart for the door, escaping through the gap in a flash.
“No, Felix, come back!” She chased after him but the naughty cat was too fast and launched himself over the small brick wall and off into the bushes that bordered the piece of woodland beside her property. Totally frustrated, she headed back inside.
Felix had been getting smarter recently. She’d made the decision to keep him as an inside cat because the Ragdoll breed was usually laid back and too trusting—unaware of danger, and Kimberley didn’t want him run over or eaten by the neighbour’s dog. But since he’d snuck out a couple of weeks ago, entering and leaving the house had become like a military operation. She’d just been distracted tonight because of that dickhead, Darren.
She hung her jacket on the hook just inside the door and eased off her shoes. She’d need to wear something a little more suitable if she was going to have to climb trees to rescue a frightened cat. This was where being born a boy came in useful, her tree-climbing skills were second to none.
She headed upstairs to get changed, and, after slipping out of her dress, pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and her running shoes. She’d need to go and look for him otherwise she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep tonight.
Back downstairs, she headed to the living room window, opening the heavy cream-coloured curtain just far enough to peek outside.
There was no sign of him.
She puffed out a breath, frustrated and exhausted. She’d been on breakfast duty all week and found the early morning starts a killer. She could do without this, tonight of all nights—her face and jaw throbbed like a bitch.
Grabbing a pouch of cat food, she emptied it into a saucer and headed back outside. “Come on, puss, puss, puss,” she called quietly, hoping not to wake the neighbours.
She walked along the tree-lined street to the clump of bushes. Tapping the fork onto the saucer she expected him to appear. Nothing kept Felix from his food, but it had no affect this time.
Meandering through the bushes to the larger trees at the back, she stopped, listened, and prayed he’d appear so she could get her arse into bed.
Nothing.
She gave up and headed back inside, to make a hot drink, leaving the saucer on the door mat. She clearly wasn’t going to get to sleep anytime soon.
After making herself a strong black coffee, she settled on the sofa and reached for her phone.
She trawled through Facebook, liked a few posts, and checked her messages. Being a bookaholic, she was an active member of several online book clubs—her virtual family. A lot of her best friends were members of these groups, and the sad thing was, she’d never actually met any of them in person.
My cat has done a bunk, she posted to her own page with a gif of a cat running out of the door.
Oh no! Naughty pussy. One sleazy smart-arse said.
Lock her out, that’ll learn her, another person suggested.
She’s a he, and Noooo! He’s my baby, Kimberley responded. Cats aren’t supposed to be kept inside—that’s cruel.
Kimberley shook her head, “Shoot! They’re all on form tonight,” she muttered.
The sound of something outside had her on her feet and back at the window. She swished the curtain aside again and scanned the doorstep. The saucer was still there and full of food. “Where are you, Felix, you rascal?”
Closing the curtain, she drained her cup and returned it to the kitchen. Then, slipping her jacket back on, she headed out the front door once again. “Chh, chh, chh,” she called into the night.
Picking up the saucer again, she walked down the side of the house. It was much darker down there suddenly, and she felt wary, wishing she’d brought her phone for the torch app to light the way. “Felix! Chh, chh, chh. Come here boy.”
Something moved in the bushes startling her. “Felix, come on, puss, puss, it’s late,” she groaned, and tinkled the fork on the saucer again.
Ten minutes later, frozen to the bone, she headed back to the house, horrified to see the front door swinging open. “Bloody hell, Kimberley, you’re asking for trouble tonight!” she whispered.
Stepping inside, more than a little freaked out, she felt wired and every detail seemed to jump out at her in the tiny hallway. The scratch marks on the carpet at the bottom of the stairs that Felix insisted on using as a scratch pad—the three-globe light fitting had two of the bulbs blown—the scuffmarks on the wallpaper caused by her neighbour, Carly’s, feet when she’d fallen down drunk after popping over for a bottle of wine one night. All so familiar, yet strangely different somehow. What had changed?
Was she b
eing paranoid?
Had Darren followed her home after all?
She’d been stupid for not locking the door when there was a potential killer after her. Not that she actually thought Darren was capable of murder, but the police clearly did and, after his crazed antics tonight, maybe he was.
Closing the door behind her quietly, she locked it, and picked up the cast-iron doorstop standing beside the wall that was shaped like a quaint cottage. It would certainly give an intruder a terrible headache if she clocked them with it.
She methodically went through each room of the house, looking under beds, in wardrobes, even behind the shower curtain but there was nothing. Feeling pretty silly, she returned to her place on the sofa.
Maybe she should’ve just given in to Darren. Her new hormone supplier had let her down and she’d approached Darren to score. She’d always identified as a female, even as a youngster, but her parents wouldn’t hear of it. As highly respected members of the community, they had been mortified their only son would embarrass them like that—as though that was the only reason. Idiots.
She first met Darren while she was still in school and he introduced her to hormones. Taking them at such a young age had prevented her voice deepening too much and helped to shrink her testicles. She’d been lucky—being so young, she hadn’t developed an Adam’s apple and the leathery jaw of most men. Her skin was smooth and feminine looking, and her breasts well-developed. She’d never be an underwear model, but she was happy with what she had. She wouldn’t need a boob job to accentuate her curves, put it that way. All she’d needed was an endless supply of the drugs and she’d be happy as Larry—or Lucy, as the case may be.
But, a few months ago, Darren began holding out on her, making sexual demands that, at first, she had no choice but to accommodate. So, she asked around and found another supplier online. Darren hadn’t been best pleased. However, he’d approached her last week and seemed relatively friendly, and tonight, with her new supplier messing her about, she mentioned, in passing, she might need some goodies from him. He’d demanded sex right away. His usual line up of trannies were thinning out rapidly—all murdered and she told him there was no way she would become his or some other crazed killer’s latest victim.
He’d gone berserk, resulting in his fist connecting with her face, and a tirade of filth spewing from his mouth. He liked to be the one in control.
Easing out of her shoes, she rubbed her achy feet. Where the hell was that cat? He’d probably got the scent of a floozy in heat and gone around there trying to woo her with his ultra-groomed hairdo and batting his baby blues. No lady cat would be able to resist, she was sure.
Resigned to sleeping on the sofa, she got to her feet for one more peek outside.
She pulled the curtain aside and froze—a scream caught in her throat.
A man dressed in black stepped out from behind the curtain, a knife raised above his head.
She screamed as the blade slammed into her forehead.
Thirty-Three
I felt better seeing Kimberley escorted out by security. They weren’t pleased having to play babysitter, but I was prepared to take her home myself if they didn’t play ball. Let them explain to Blanche why the closing act had walked out.
Roy and Bella arrived.
She looked amazing, and I was surprised to see only a hint of a baby bump. People wouldn’t have a clue she’d not long given birth.
I kept my distance, not wanting to be seen with Bella, but as per usual, she had no problem speaking to strangers. The last I saw, she was engaged in animated conversation with Blanche and a young guy who was hanging off his arm like some sort of trophy husband.
With only twenty minutes until show-time, I waved Roy over to go backstage. He whispered something to Bella then sauntered toward me. Thank God he was back in time because I hadn’t worn my performance outfit in full yet and he’d offered to help me into it to make sure I looked the part.
“Are you nervous?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I replied, stepping out of the sequinned red number I’d been wearing.
“Just do it like you did earlier and you’ll be fine.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Ten minutes later, I was ready and said goodbye to Roy. “I’ll wait outside the stage door for you, darling.”
“Thanks.”
I hung about and watched as another of the drag queens galumphed around the stage to a Lady GaGa number. There was nothing graceful about the performance and I suddenly realised why I was closing the night again—most of the acts lacked a certain finesse.
The song faded as the DJ’s voice boomed out of the sound system. “Let’s give a big cheer for the fabulous Polly Wanakracker.”
A smattering of applause rang out as she took her bow and pirouetted off the stage.
The curtains closed and I rushed to my spot and waited for the music to start.
“And now, let’s welcome a class act.” The room was silent. “Give it up for the divine Miss Avaline Saddlebags.”
I heard the roar from the crowd and adrenaline exploded and coursed through my body.
The opening bars of the music kicked in as the curtains parted, revealing me in full-on Madonna mode. Another roar lifted my spirits, pushing me to give it my all.
Come on girls, do you believe in love?
I used every part of the stage, just like Roy had taught me, and allowed my inner showgirl to burst forth.
Before I knew it, the song was over and the place erupted. Cheers and screams from the crowd almost deafened me, and as I took my final bow, feeling elated, I watched Roy and Blanche hugging each other at the side of the stage, obviously pleased with the performance. Bella was jumping up and down on the spot. She whooped and hollered with the rest of the crowd.
The curtains closed and I made my way back to the dressing room to collect my gear from the locker.
Polly Wannakcracker was waiting for me, a cigarette dangling from her bottom lip. “That was shit hot,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it in this dump.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “You were great too.”
“Where d’you learn to dance like that—stage school?”
“God, no,” I replied. “Just practising at home.”
“Come off it, you’re a pro. Anyone can see that.” Polly looked me up and down. “I mean, look at that outfit. Quality that is.” She pawed at the jacket. “Is it Gaultier?”
“Eh?” I had no clue what she was yapping on about.
“That outfit, you know, is it couture, you know, designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier?”
“Christ, no,” I said, finally cottoning on. “Nothing like that. I have a friend who makes my stage outfits for me.” I was lying through my back teeth, but I didn’t have time to go into the specifics.
“Lucky bitch. I wish I had a dressmaker.”
“There was nothing wrong with your outfit,” I said, trying to make her feel better about herself. “You looked good up there.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but it’s hard when you’re carrying a few extra pounds, you know, trying to get something that looks good. Mind you, I save a bleeding fortune on padding–these hips and thighs are all mine.”
“Don’t knock yourself.” She seemed sweet if a little naïve and eager to please. I looked down at the impressive cleavage. I bet that was all hers too. No breast plate required.
“It’s not that honey, I just wanna be the best at what I do. It’s hard work being this fabulous, but for some it comes easy.”
Was she having a dig at me? I wasn’t certain. “Not for me it doesn’t, trust me on that. Tonight was the result of hours spent rehearsing, and I don’t even get paid for it.” I pulled my phone out. Thankfully, Kimberley was home safe and sound. There was a text from Roy too. I didn’t read it because I’d guessed what it would say. Gossiping with Polly, I’d forgotten the time and the fact Bella and Roy were waiting outside for me. “Shit, I gotta go, sorry, my lift is waiting, but
if you’re here next week we can have a drink and a chat at the bar if you want?”
“Sounds good to me, doll.”
“Okay, Polly, see you next week.” I tottered past her and headed for the stage door. I felt bad because I didn’t know if I’d be here next week.
At the car I noticed Bella was in the back and so I climbed in beside her.
“You took your time,” she said. “Were you signing autographs for your adoring fans?”
“Ha bloody ha, Bells,” I said. “One of the other drag queens collared me.”
“You were amazing tonight,” Roy piped up. “I just wanted to tell you.”
“Thanks, Roy.” I was chuffed. “Did I spot you and Blanche hugging?”
“I was flabbergasted, darling. I tell you.”
Bella tittered in the back seat. “Oh, dear,” she said.
“You’re a big softie, Roy,” I teased.
“He’s right, Dylan, you were bloody fantastic. It’s like you’ve been doing it all your life.”
“It’s just me up there pretending to sing a song I don’t even particularly like.”
“Matters not, Avaline, love,” Roy said. “You wowed us all, and if that’s you performing something you don’t like, then find something you love and the drag world will fall at your feet.”
It was weird hearing him call me Avaline and not Dylan. “I’m a copper, or did you forget that part?”
“I know, but don’t you think DI Saddlebags has a nice ring to it?”
Bella burst out laughing.
“Piss off the pair of you,” I said. “Roy, drive, I need to get this bloody wig off, my head’s itching like mad.”
“Yes, m’lady,” he teased. “Right away, m’lady.”
After dropping Bella off at her gate, Roy turned the car around and headed directly to my house.
“Do you want to come in?” I asked, remembering the farce of last week. “I could make you a bit of supper?”
Avaline Saddlebags Page 20