Mary, Queen of Scotch

by Rob Rosen

I again rose. “Look, for now, Auntie doesn’t know that we’re here meeting like this. If you all leave now, there’s no hope. So long as we stick together, there is.”

  Connie squinted my way, the glower returning. “Forgive me, Mary, but what’s in it for you.”

  “Yeah,” said Luna. “Technically, you’re not part of this group. Temporary replacement, last I heard. If we go down, you stay up. Heck, you’d be the last queen standing. Is that your angle? Star of the show?”

  “No,” I replied, pointing at Chad, at Jeff, at Ray, at all of them. “You’re my friends.” I chuckled. “On a good day.” My point returned to Jeff. “And him I love.” Jeff’s eyes went wide. Here was a public announcement. It came unexpected. For both of us. “So, no, if you all fall, I don’t stay standing; I fall with you because I fell for all you a few weeks ago. More or less. Again, on a good day.”

  “Schmaltz much?” said Bobo.

  I nodded. “Much.”

  Jeff nodded, wiping a tear from his face. “Much. And I love him, too.” He looked at the group. “And I trust him. Which is far more than I can say for Auntie.”

  Ray nodded. “Ditto.”

  Chad nodded. “Ditto on the ditto.”

  I looked from them to the others. “Please, let’s just give it a try.”

  Connie managed a grin. “Do we get salsa?”

  I ran to the kitchen and returned with two jars. “Habanero or chile verde?”

  She sat back down. The others did the same. They all lifted their glasses for me to fill. See, I knew my audience. “Fine,” said Connie. “Chips, salsa, margaritas, no prison. Deal?”

  I nodded. “Deal.”

  And I prayed I could somehow keep the promise.

  * * * *

  We met for thirty more minutes, discussing each of their roles in Auntie’s operation. Here’s what we discovered:

  Jeff picked up the drugs along his sales route, buying it from various dealers, and then handed said drugs off to Auntie. These particular dealers also sold legit jewelry, so the trade-offs appeared, to anyone who might be watching, like they were on the up-and-up.

  Luna Tic, Bobo Van Ness, Maureen Povich, and Connie Hung bagged the shit up. Jeff handed it off in one large chunk to Auntie. The girls broke it up and weighed it out, all from the comfort of the dressing room. They worked different nights, so there was always someone dividing it, sometimes when I was on stage, even.

  Auntie Bellum then stocked the drugs in the filing cabinet, keeping tabs on what went in and what went out—out being the drugs, in the cash that Lucy would dump in, which was why Auntie always performed before Lucy.

  Lucy, meanwhile, collected the money for the meth. On her hand was written a two-digit number. The number changed every performance. Drugs were only sold on the nights Lucy performed, hence her being the star, hence the massive tipping I witnessed. Drugs weren’t sold every night so as to not call too much attention to the illegal shenanigans. Auntie, after all, was a lot of things, all of them bad, but dumb wasn’t one of them.

  As for Ray, he distributed the meth. He also had a key to the filing cabinet and the office. Since he was the first one at work, he had access to both, all unnoticed. In any case, when a customer ordered a drink, they would say the secret number. A small baggie was then taped to the bottom of the glass. Meaning, Auntie got money for both the drugs and an additional drink. Genius! Evil genius, but still.

  It was a well-oiled machine. That is, until I spotted the oil stains.

  “But why hire me?” I thought to ask Jeff when we were once again alone.

  He shrugged. “Why not? We’ve been doing this for a long time now. We know our parts. It’s easy, really, what each of us does, and so there was little fear we’d be found out. Heck, I didn’t even know the whole routine until today. Also, it seems that the office is always guarded, or the filing cabinet is locked. Plus, you’re not the only employee who’s not in on the action. If no one else found us out in all this time, why would you, a lowly drag queen?”

  I sucked in my breath and batted my lashes his way. “Lowly?”

  He smirked. “That’s what concerns you in all of that?”

  I nodded. “Duh.”

  He sat down and sighed. “Look, Barry, it’s not a big operation. I know because I buy the shit. We sell little bags for little money. There are no big transactions. Auntie tries to keep everything on the down-low as much as possible. We’re all being blackmailed, but we also all split the profits, so while we hate what we do, the grumbling is kept to a minimum.”

  “You split it equally?”

  He rolled his eyes my way. “Please, uh, Mary. Seventy/thirty.”

  “Fuck.”

  Jeff’s sigh repeated. “That we are. Fucked.”

  “And what if one of the customers gets caught? What if one of them rats you all out? Guys on drugs get sloppy, after all.”

  “Pearl Necklace,” he replied.

  It was then I realized she’d been left out of that scripted play of theirs, that she wasn’t buying, selling, or stocking the shit. “What about Pearl Necklace?”

  He looked up at me. He looked sad. Hot, sure, but sad just the same. “The other girls, they’re basically good people. Good people making the most out of a bad situation. But Pearl, like Auntie, is a criminal through and through. If there was any good in her, you’d need a microscope to find it.” He grinned. “Ditto for her dick. No tucking needed.”

  “She was married to Lucy’s husband, Arthur. They say opposites attract. I guess they were wrong when it came to those two.”

  He nodded. “In any case, Pearl hunts out the customers, finds the weakest of the herd. It’s easy when you’re a drag queen. Gay guys love to dish with queens. Pearl simply waits for a clue to be dropped and then sinks her teeth in. Soon enough, she tells them to wait for Lucy to go on, to look for the number, to tell Ray the number. She tells them that only a few of the best customers know about this, that they do it mostly for fun, barely even turning a profit, but…”

  “But?”

  “But if they should ever tell…” I put an imaginary knife to my throat and made a similarly imaginary slit. He nodded in reply. “Exactly. And you’ve seen Pearl out of drag. Scary.”

  “She’s scary-looking in drag.” Understatement meet gross.

  His nod continued. “Again, exactly. And I think the whole gay thing helps. Meaning, a gay guy is apt to look out for another gay guy, or even a bar made for gay guys, even if illegal activities are underfoot—or, um underheel, as is the case.”

  “So, no loose lips sinking ships.”

  He blinked. “Not yet.” He blinked again. “They mean business, Barry, those two, Auntie and Pearl. Those loose lips would sink you six feet under, easy.” He pointed my way. “You. Not the figurative you. You. Sunk. Forever.” His sadness spilled over, filling me from head to toe, until said toes curled inside my sneakers. “Please don’t sink, Barry. I love you too much to bury you, or any of them, the other girls. We’re all connected in this now. It was dangerous before, but now it’s deadly. They find out what we’re doing and…” Again, my finger made the dreaded slitting motion. “Uh huh. And blood is a bitch to get out of taffeta.”

  “I promise, Jeff,” I said, crossing my heart, “no sinking.”

  “Auntie carries a gun, Barry.”

  I gulped and wondered if they made bulletproof taffeta.

  I had a feeling not. And yes, it was a sinking feeling.

  * * * *

  So, what was my plan? I mean, I had to keep them all safe while getting Auntie and now Pearl arrested, and I had to make sure Auntie didn’t spill the tea, let alone anyone’s blood, while doing so. Again, so, what was my plan? It bears repeating because said plan was dangerous. For me, that is. Mainly because my plan involved the man who just recently tried to kill me.

  Yep, Arthur Slade.

  Ugh.

  Ugh.

  Which, yes, also beared repeating.

  And that’s how I wound up back at the m
ansion the very next morning, sweating as I stood on the front porch, praying lightning wouldn’t strike twice. But, just in case, I brought a hammer, a small one, hidden in my front pocket. One that, if need be, could help break my way out of an overly large whiskey cask.

  I rang the bell. He answered it. Arthur. My almost-murderer. “Oh,” he said.

  “Yeah, oh.”

  “I, um…”

  I nodded. “You tried to kill me. Thankfully, you’re not a very good killer. You are good at being an asshole, however. If they ever start giving out awards for that, you should invest in a trophy case.”

  “I was protecting my husband. You would’ve done the same. For Jeff. Or your parents. You do what needs to be done to protect your loved ones.”

  “Doubtful.” Probably. “In any case, that’s why I’m here.”

  “Not to gloat?”

  I shrugged. “You’re an asshole. You’re old and will hopefully die soon. You’re almost broke. Your husband will probably leave you when you run out of money.” I paused and stared up at a passing cloud. “There. Gloating complete.” I paused again. “And I’d never kill. Never. Not for anyone.”

  He sighed. “I hope you won’t have to find out if that’s true, Barry.”

  I blinked. Was he being…human? Gave me the chills just thinking about it. “Did Chad tell you everything?”

  He nodded. “I told him everything. He told me everything. He forgave me. Is that why you’re here? To forgive me?”

  I laughed. It was an actual LOL moment. “Girl, even Mother Teresa would’ve given you a wide berth.”

  “Bitterness creates wrinkles, Barry.”

  I pointed at his face. “That explains it.”

  He groaned. “Why are you here, Barry?”

  “We have similar goals.”

  “To insult each other?”

  I managed a smile. “Fun as that is, no; to save the ones we love, yes. Chad. Jeff. The other girls. Minus Auntie Bellum and your ex-partner, Tom Nolan.”

  He cringed. “I learned my lesson a tad too late on that one. His dark side was a turn-on, until I realized there was no light side to balance it out. Guy belongs in jail. Or worse.”

  “Then at last we agree upon something.”

  “Miracles do happen.” He pointed to me standing there. “See.”

  My smile widened. Was there hope for him yet? Probably not. A rose is a rose unless it’s an asshole. “That cam. You know about everything going on down at the club. You know more than I do. You know secrets about Tom Nolan, I’m guessing. Maybe even Auntie. Maybe we can work together then to bring them down while keeping our friends up.”

  “Why do you care about them? You don’t even know them.”

  I nodded. It was my turn to point at him. “Asshole.” I pointed back at me. “Not an asshole.”

  “Must you?”

  And my nodding continued. “I must. I still smell like scotch, by the way, Arthur.”

  He winced. “Fine. I’ll help. Come in.”

  “Said the spider to the fly.”

  “I promise to keep away from your fly, Barry.”

  I pushed past him. “First good news I’ve had all day.” I locked eyes with him as I entered. “Asshole.” I grinned. “There. Quota met.”

  “Thank God.”

  I headed for the living room. “Yeah, I hope he’s listening, but, based on recent events, I have a feeling he’s busy elsewhere.”

  Chad was in the living room sitting on a sofa. He tilted his head my way when he spotted me. “Oh.”

  “Been there, done that,” I said. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

  He smiled at me. “You came to borrow a dress.”

  I shook my head. “Different business.” I blinked. “But which dress?”

  Arthur walked in and sat down next to his husband. They looked like Mutt and Jeff. Guess which one was the Mutt? “Barry here wants to work as a team to take down Auntie and Pearl.”

  Chad smiled. The room lit up like the Fourth of July. “Miracle.”

  I sighed. “Again, been there, done that.” I turned to Arthur. The room dimmed. “Tell us what you know. Maybe then we can figure out a way to make all this right.”

  “Including our recent, uh, misunderstanding?”

  I frowned. “Not all so much as most.”

  Arthur sighed. Or maybe wheezed. Hard to tell which. “We need to bring them down without them knowing we brought them down. So long as they don’t know what we know, what we’re about to do to them, the others will be safe.” He stared at me until it was unnerving. “I’m sorry, Barry. It was all I could think to do, to protect Chad.”

  Chad nodded. “Please, Barry. For now, let’s just push it to the side.”

  Usually, I liked sides. Coleslaw. French fries. But this? This was hard to push. Sisyphean, in fact. Still, to the side it would need to go. For me, for my friends, for Jeff. Yes, for Jeff especially. Love really did make you do strange things.

  I managed a flicker of a smile and said, “Let’s bring those mother fuckers down.”

  And pray they don’t take us down with them.

  * * * *

  I never expected to find myself in their basement again, but the basement is where we wound up, just the same.

  “Oh,” I said, because it seemed the word of the day. The massive barrel was gone; the memories were still vivid. My entire body cringed. “Why are we here, Arthur? This some kind of masochistic bent of yours? I didn’t manage to kill you, but I’m gonna rub it in anyway?”

  “I thought we moved past that?” said the almost-killer himself.

  I shrugged. “Sorry. PTS disorder. Happens when you almost die.”

  Chad rolled his eyes. “Why are we down here, hon?” he asked his husband, thereby wisely changing the subject.

  To which Arthur replied, “When Tom and I were together, we, well our business, I mean we—”

  “Were crooks,” I interjected.

  Arthur frowned. Or maybe he’d been frowning the whole time. As usual, hard to tell with Arthur. “You’ve been talking to your father.”

  I shrugged. “What with him being my father, yes. In any case, you and Tom were and still are crooks.”

  Chad sighed. “Arthur has gone straight.” I giggled. “You know what I mean.”

  I did. But a leopard, spots, you know the drill. “Fine. And?”

  Arthur pulled up an old stool and had a seat. He looked tired—or, at least, tireder. I almost felt sorry for him. Nah, nix that. Fucker deserved to be tired. Fucker deserved hot coals shoved up his tired ass—without lube. “Crooks. Fine, Barry. We were sometimes not on the up-and-up. In any case, we also hung around other people who were also not on the up-and-up.”

  “Trash associates with trash,” I interjected.

  “Must you?” exhaled Arthur.

  I grinned. “Again, I must. In any case, what do these trashy people have to do with us now?”

  “The cam I had you wear, I saw what you saw, but I also saw things you couldn’t have known you were seeing.”

  “Trashy people?” I asked. “From the good old days?”

  He nodded. “Twice. Twice I saw two of our old, shall we say, colleagues talking to both Tom and Auntie. These men helped Tom and I in some real estate dealings, but when the market turned south, I heard that they turned to drug dealing, which is consistently lucrative. I’d heard the same about Tom, that he’d also switched career paths after we parted ways. I found such dealings beneath me.”

  I chuckled, perhaps a bit meanly. “I thought you only found Chad beneath you.” Chad glared my way, also more than a bit meanly. “Sorry. I’ll try and stop.” Not try hard, but I’d try. Maybe a day or two later—once the stink of scotch left my pores. “So, how does this help us? Maybe they were there for a drink. Maybe they were simply catching up with old friends. It’s a bar; it happens.”

  Arthur shook his head. “These men were never our friends; they were business associates, nothing more.” His eyes locked with
mine. “Look, I saw them talking, the way they were talking, hunched over, huddled together. It wasn’t a friendly-looking gathering. If you knew what to look for, you’d recognize it for what it was.”

  “An illegal dealing?” I asked. “Of the drug kind?”

  He shrugged. “Hard to tell. I could only see them through your cam, which wasn’t even aimed their way. Still, based on my personal opinion and past experiences, they were up to no good. Given Auntie’s side business, I would presume they were, at the very least, talking about drugs, if not arranging the sale of them. Maybe Auntie is looking to expand.”

  “Fine,” I said. “So, how does this help us? And again, why are we down in this basement? For a traipse down Attempted-murder Lane?”

  Chad tapped his foot. “It’s getting old, Barry.”

  I tapped my foot a tad faster than Chad’s. “Is it, Chad? Is it really? Still seems fresh to me.” It came out nasty-sounding. Apparently, the wound ran deep. Go figure.

  Arthur lifted his hand up in truce. “These men, Barry, these men might be our salvation.”

  Both sets of feet stopped their tap-tap-tapping. I sighed as I looked around. “And this salvation starts in a basement?”

  He nodded. “We, the good guys, can’t turn against Auntie, against Pearl, not without dire consequences, but what if Auntie’s connections, the bad guys, turn against them?”

  I smirked. “And you’re a good guy now, Arthur?”

  “I always was,” said Arthur. “My heart was in the right place. Can you say the same for Auntie?”

  I started to reply with something snarky. I stopped. He had a point, I supposed. Probably not a good point, but my head was still a bit cloudy from the whiskey fumes. “Fine,” I relented. “And how do we get the bad guys to turn against the even worse guys?”

  A shrug appeared atop his bony shoulders. “Damned if I know.”

  “Well, that was helpful,” I lamented.

  “You’re the ace detective,” he replied.

  Chad’s head rose up and down. “Yeah. Ace. Or at least queen.”

  I stared at both of them and grinned. Pride before the fall? Probably, but they were right; I was the detective. This was my case. Now all I had to do was crack it—hopefully without cracking my skull in the process. “So, again, why are we in this basement?”