The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  He paperclipped the appropriate amount of cash to each statement to pay the telephone, electric, gas, and water bills on his trip to see Buddy. Luke threw in an extra ten dollars over the minimum payment for two of his four credit cards. While he was out, he’d pick up money orders and stamps to mail payments for his car loan and two credit cards. The other two credit cards, the cable bill, and his record-of-the-month club payment would have to wait.

  Luke jumped when the phone rang. He gathered the statements and legal pad into a stack that he placed on the coffee table and then hurried to the wall phone in the kitchen.

  “Tanner? Vince Patrick here. Can you stop by? Got something to show you.”

  Luke glanced at his watch. “Sure. I’ll be right there.” He grabbed his keys and, as soon as he left his apartment, saw Mr. Patrick waiting for him outside his door. “Is something wrong?”

  He waved Luke into his apartment and closed the door behind him. “Somebody was sneaking around outside late last night.” He shook his head and shuddered. “I’ve lived here for twelve years and never had any kind of trouble. I called the police, but the prowler was long gone by the time they got here.”

  “Wow.” Luke didn’t know what else to say. He furrowed his brow. “What made you think he was sneaking?”

  “Instead of walking on the sidewalk,” Mr. Patrick said, “he hunkered down low and stayed in the shadows.”

  “That would do it,” Luke said, nodding. “Any idea who he was or what he looked like?”

  “Taller than you I’d guess, with broad shoulders. Dressed all in black with one of those ski masks covering his face.” He shook his head. “It was a little chilly out, but it hasn’t been that cold since March.”

  “Creepy,” Luke said. “Wonder what he was up to.”

  “Anyone out that time of day is up to no good,” Mr. Patrick said. He gestured for Luke to follow him to the bedroom where he pulled back the curtains and pointed. “I told Sinclair the locks were broken on both bedroom windows and the one in the bathroom several years ago, but he never did anything about it. Until last night, I had no cause to worry.”

  Luke examined the lock. Wear and tear had ripped the screws loose and half the lock was no longer attached to the window. Identical locks on the other windows had the same problem. He dropped the loose piece into his pocket. “I’ll stop at the hardware store while I’m out running errands.”

  “I’d take the measurements if I were you,” Mr. Patrick said. “Might save you a trip back out.”

  “Good idea.” He paused. “Have a yardstick or something?”

  “Sure do. Hang on.” He returned a moment later with a tape measure. Luke wrote the measurements for all three windows on his hand.

  “Thanks, Tanner.” Mr. Patrick walked with him to the door. “I’ll sleep better when those locks have been fixed.”

  Back home, Luke stuffed the statements with money clipped to them into a large manila envelope salvaged from the trash, and, with his receipt and Ruby’s rent in hand, left his apartment and headed for Bertha. He sat on the cash and placed the envelope and receipt on the seat beside him. Starting at the hardware store made the most sense. Then he’d be able to give Buddy both receipts and have his money back before the end of the month. He pulled two tens from the envelope and placed them in his wallet. Surely fixing the locks would cost less than the extra twenty dollars he’d allocated to his credit cards.

  When he turned onto the street from the parking lot, he had to hit the gas to avoid being rear-ended. He grabbed the receipt as it slid away from him, but the envelope slipped between the seat and the passenger-side door to end up somewhere on the floorboard behind him.

  Luke shrugged. He’d get it when he stopped.

  Traffic was light. Mr. Gilbert, the helpful hardware man, explained that the wooden window frames were the problem and that any repair to the lock wasn’t likely to last. “Dowel rods on each side will keep the window from opening, but you need the measurements.”

  Luke couldn’t believe his luck. The rods were so cheap, he bought twenty—enough for all the first-floor windows in the building—and got change back from a ten-dollar bill. He waited as Mr. Gilbert cut the three-foot long rods to the appropriate lengths and, a few minutes later, practically skipped from the store to his car.

  One stop down, five to go. The way his luck was going, were it not a Monday when the track was closed, he’d run out to Keeneland to bet on a few horse races. If his lucky streak continued, maybe he’d hit the track on Wednesday.

  After dumping the dowel rods into Bertha’s trunk, he retrieved the manila envelope from the back floorboard and headed for Buddy’s office. Not seeing his Mercedes in the parking lot when Luke pulled in was a relief. He parked, pulled the keys out of the ignition, grabbed the receipt, and—

  Where was Ruby’s rent? His heart jumped into his throat. He checked his pockets and the glovebox then looked under the seat. A frantic search of the car turned up forty-two cents.

  “Fuck!”

  If only he’d locked the car, or put the cash in his pocket, or stashed it in the glove box…. If only, if only, if only. He closed his eyes and rested his head between the white-knuckled fists clenching the steering wheel.

  No matter how hard he tried, changing the past wasn’t an option. He’d learned that lesson in the years following the disappearance of his parents. Then and now, the way forward was to face the facts, accept what had happened, and deal with it.

  He sat up, massaged his temples for a moment, and then tensed and relaxed his shoulders a few times. The money was gone. He wasn’t about to ask Aunt Callie to pay for his mistake, and Donald Sullivan was no longer an option.

  Calling the police was pointless and unlikely to get his money back. Nobody broke in, and he didn’t want to confess he’d left hundreds of dollars on the seat of an unlocked car.

  Good thing the envelope had fallen behind the seat. He removed the contents and counted the cash. Paying Ruby’s rent would keep her from being evicted but would leave him with less than fifteen dollars for the same stack of unpaid bills he’d started with a few hours earlier.

  He counted it again and got the same result. Losing his own money would have given him more options. Losing Ruby’s money left him with only one choice. She shouldn’t have to pay for his mistake—even if she’d handed him the money herself, which, of course, she had not.

  Before he could change his mind, Luke got out of the car, shoved the cash into his pocket, grabbed the receipts, and made a beeline for the office door. Glenva Scully, the receptionist, who Luke suspected did all the work, smiled when he came in.

  “Hello, Mr. Tanner. You sat out there so long I was about to come and check on you.”

  “Oh.” His face grew hot. “Sorry, Ms. Scully.”

  “It’s Glenva. What can I do for you?”

  He handed her the receipts. “These are for things I bought to make some repairs at the Sinclair Arms.”

  “I see.” She set them to the side.

  “I also have the rent for Mr. Bonnet in Apartment 2.” He pulled the cash from his pocket. “Can we take the money to reimburse me out of this?”

  “As I’m not privy to any arrangement between you and Mr. Sinclair, I’m afraid not.” She smiled. “Would you like a receipt?”

  Luke nodded and watched as she wrote it out. “Got a question for you about my insurance.”

  She handed him the receipt. “I’m not a licensed agent, of course, but I’ll answer if I can.”

  “If I left my car unlocked and somebody stole something from it, would my insurance cover it?”

  “Subject to your deductible, of course, maybe.” She shrugged. “You’d have to file a claim. I’ve seen it go both ways.”

  Luke saw a ray of hope. “Deductible?”

  She rose from her chair, pulled open a drawer on one of a half dozen big filing cabinets and pulled out a folder. She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for and then returned the fo
lder to the drawer. “Your policy has a thousand-dollar deductible, so you’d have to have lost more than that to file a claim.”

  His heart sank. “Oh, okay. Thanks.” He forced a smile and returned to his car.

  Fifteen minutes later, he was back at the Sinclair Arms. He gave Mr. Patrick the rods for his windows and placed the rest in the windows for Mrs. Maxwell, Ruby, and himself. Mrs. Maxwell hadn’t noticed the broken lock and patted Luke on the back for being on top of things.

  She had no idea how wrong she was. Luke fell into bed. He’d think about what to do about the money tomorrow.

  Chapter 14

  Tuesday, October 26, 1982

  LUKE WASN’T sleepy, but until hunger or nature’s call changed his mind, getting out of bed was too much trouble. He pulled the covers up to his chin and stared at the ceiling. Just the day before, he’d believed “dismal” to be the worst his financial situation could get. Trying to think of the right label for this new low gave him something to do. He rejected gruesome, miserable, and ghastly before settling on disastrous.

  Prostitution wasn’t an option. The hundred-dollar offer had been a fluke and wouldn’t have happened had he not declined two previous offers. Had he been hustling, he probably would have accepted the first offer or maybe negotiated for another ten or twenty dollars. At thirty bucks a pop, earning the money he needed in time to pay his bills was physically impossible.

  Adding another job to the mix wouldn’t change his situation this month and would leave him no time to work on his novel. Not having to work Sunday through Wednesday every week would also make going back to school easier.

  He cringed.

  There had to be a better way….

  Even if he’d been interested in sports, becoming a professional athlete had never been an option. He was too short for basketball, too small for football, too big for a jockey, too uncoordinated for baseball, golf, or tennis, and too much of a pussy for hockey, boxing, or wrestling.

  Entertainment was out too. He couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, had no rhythm, and, having failed to memorize the Gettysburg Address in junior high, was unlikely to find success on the stage or screen.

  The telephone interrupted his thoughts. He let it ring twice and, so it wouldn’t be obvious he’d waited, reached over and picked up the handset in the middle of the third ring. “Hello.”

  “Wake you up?” Pixie asked.

  “No,” Luke replied.

  “What’s wrong, honey? Somebody die or something?”

  Luke sighed and shook his head. “I did something really stupid.”

  “You gonna tell me or make me guess?”

  “You’d never guess…. Not in a million years.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “I left Ruby’s rent money on the front seat while I ran into the hardware store, and when I got back, it was gone.”

  “Are you shittin’ me?”

  He shook his head. “I wish.”

  “Buddy filin’ eviction papers?”

  He shook his head again. “No, I paid her rent instead of paying my bills.”

  “Well, Luke Tanner! I do declare!”

  “It was the least I could do for being so stupid.”

  “Darlin’, I’m proud of you!”

  “Proud?” Luke furrowed his brow.

  “Saved us a trip to Oz,” Pixie said. “Done grown a pair all by yourself.”

  Luke laughed, then shook his head. “What am I going to do, Pixie? I can’t ask Aunt Callie to pay for my mistake any more than I could let Ruby foot the bill.”

  “Borry what you need from Ruby’s suitcase,” Pixie said. “She’d lend it to you herself if she knew you needed it.”

  “But she doesn’t know.” Luke shook his head. “She doesn’t even know me.”

  “Hmm. I was wrong. Guess we gonna hit the yellow brick road after all.”

  “I’m not going back in there alone,” Luke said. “It’s just not right.”

  “I see.” She paused for a muffled conversation with someone on the other end. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Aw, come on, Pixie.” He flung himself back onto the pillow. “Getting up is too hard. Let me stay in bed.”

  “Your legs broke or something?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so. Haul your ass up out of that bed and make yourself purty before I get there.”

  Luke groaned. “Are you shitting me?”

  “No, and unless you want a good ass-whuppin’, you’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when I get there.”

  “Okay, okay, okay.” He hung up the phone, rolled out of bed, and staggered into the bathroom to brush his teeth and shower. Blow-drying his hair was mandatory, but shaving required more effort than he was willing to expend. He slipped into a pair of jeans, pulled a T-shirt over his head and socks onto his feet, and curled up on his bed to watch MTV until Pixie arrived.

  None of the guys in the videos wore his hair like Luke did. Maybe he should change from the style he’d worn since high school. Nothing too Flock of Seagulls or anything, but something long in the back and short on the top and sides like Rod Stewart or Rick Springfield might work.

  The sound of pounding launched him from the bed. He hurried to the living room and opened the door to find Pixie holding a foil-wrapped plate in one hand and the handles of two big shopping bags in the other. She pushed past him, set the plate on the kitchen table, and removed the foil. “Sit here and eat before it gets cold.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Luke said, pulling the plate closer. “This smells great!”

  “I figured you ain’t had no home cookin’ for a while,” she said. “Didn’t know if you liked white or dark meat, so you got both. Daddy whipped up his special cream gravy for the biscuits and mashed potatoes.” She pointed to a small plastic container. “Try some on your green beans—it’s good on everything.”

  She grabbed the shopping bags and headed for the bathroom.

  “Thank you.” He poured cream gravy over his plate. “What’s in the bags?”

  “Just a little something the Trailer Park Fairy left for your bathroom.” She smiled and then closed the door behind her.

  The chicken was crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside, and delicious through and through. Bacon, onions, and black pepper elevated the green beans from edible to incredible. Fluffy biscuits practically melted in his mouth, and the cream gravy was so good, he set the bones aside so he could lick the plate.

  Pixie came out of the bathroom and caught him in the act.

  Luke slammed the plate to the table and gave her a sheepish grin.

  “Honey, don’t be embarrassed. I told you that shit was good. You ain’t the first to go down on a plate for more, and you won’t be the last.” She set a shopping bag beside the utility closet. “Your old stuff and the other bag.” She motioned him toward her. “Check out your new bathroom.”

  Luke stepped into the bathroom and let out a low whistle. She’d replaced the cheap vinyl shower curtain with a paisley print fabric featuring maroon, gold, and forest green drops on a navy background. An assortment of matching towels of various sizes were artfully draped on the towel bar and a rack on the back of the door. Little balls of green and maroon soap filled a small navy bowl. A matching tumbler held his toothbrush and another toothbrush that hadn’t been opened. A trio of big square candles in each color sat on a navy placemat on the toilet tank.

  “You had all this sitting around your trailer?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “A few things was in a utility buildin’ out back. Some was underneath the trailer.”

  “Why have all this stuff you’re not using?”

  She shrugged. “Thought maybe one day I’d get me a real job and my own place.” She shook her head. “But I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Nobody wants to hire a drag queen, and Daddy needs me too much.” She paused for a moment. “Reckon I need him about as much as he needs me.”

  Her sad look nearly brought tears to his eyes. He patted her shoulder. “Ev
er thought about giving it up?”

  “What?” She pulled back and gaped at him. “This is who I am. That guy you met the other day? Well, he disappeared years ago, and I’d just as soon he stayed gone.”

  “Sorry,” Luke said. “I didn’t know….”

  “Don’t apologize for sayin’ what’s on your mind.” She shook her head and patted his knee. “Considerin’ you ain’t never put on a wig, dress, and high heels, how would you know?”

  “Whether you’re in drag or not makes no difference to me.”

  “Thank you,” Pixie said. “Nobody pays attention to Hank Johnson. He may as well be invisible.”

  “Pixie Wilder is kind of hard to miss,” Luke said. “Unless you’re in a room full of tall people.”

  “You need to hush.” She slapped his shoulder. “Ready to go to Ruby’s?”

  “Ruby’s?” Luke gaped at her. “I told you, I’m not going back unless Ruby is there.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “You said you weren’t going alone. That’s why I’m here.”

  “But—”

  She put her hand up. “No buts about it. Grab your keys and come on.”

  Luke took a deep breath, let it out slow, and then did what he was told. The hinge squealed as he opened Ruby’s door. He turned on the light and they hurried into Ruby’s bedroom. Pixie dropped to her knees, reached under the bed, then stuck her head under the bed, popping up so fast a second later that the color drained from her face.

  “It’s gone.”

  “What?” Luke lowered himself to the floor and peaked under the bed. Shoe boxes and plastic containers surrounded an empty spot where the suitcase had been.

  Pixie looked around the apartment. “Everything else is here.” She shook her head. “No sign anyone broke in. Whoever took it had a key.” Her eyes narrowed, and she studied his face. “You swear you ain’t been back in here?”

  “I swear!” He paused. “Wait. Yesterday I ran in for two minutes to put rods in the windows.”