The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  Contrasting styles kept the show interesting. The always energetic Simone gave Chaka Kahn a run for her money with “I’m Every Woman” for her first number and “(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman” for her second. A wistful Kitty Galore posed her way through “I’ve Never Been to Me,” followed in round two with Barbra Streisand’s “Woman in Love.” Cammie Towers morphed into Deborah Harry to perform “Heart of Glass” and “Call Me.”

  Butch Manley opened with “Folsom Prison Blues” and closed with a crowd-pleasing “Kentucky Rain.” Pixie kicked butt with “Sleeping Single in a Double Bed” and wiped it with “Harper Valley PTA.” The double dose of country was unusual but went over well with the women in the crowd.

  After the show, Pixie stopped by the bar. “Hear anything new?”

  Luke shook his head. “You?”

  “Nope.” She paused for a moment. “You okay on your own tonight?”

  “Sure.” Luke smiled to hide his disappointment. They hadn’t made plans, but he’d assumed they would get together after work. “What’s up?”

  “Momma’s gonna make some waves.” She grinned. “An old fuck buddy is in town. Got a room out at the Continental Inn. You know, one of them by the pool with a waterbed.”

  Luke smiled. He’d never seen Pixie so excited. “Must be a special guy.”

  “Oh, honey. He’s special all right. Got the biggest damn dick I’ve ever seen.” She glanced around and then turned back to Luke. “I’m gonna fuck him cross-eyed.”

  “You’re a top?”

  “Mostly.” She smiled. “Does that surprise you?”

  “I guess so.” He shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but if asked, I would have guessed bottom.”

  “I’ll prove it if you want.” She winked.

  “You’re too young for me, remember?”

  She dismissed him with a wave. “Don’t forget yer taking me to work tomorrow.”

  “I won’t.” He waved. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Shit.” She laughed and headed for the corridor. “Count on that.”

  Luke glanced around the Gilded Lily. Charlie had slipped out while Luke and Pixie were talking. He was alone. The booth was dark, the bar back had already cleared the tables, and Russel Clark was nowhere to be seen. Luke finished breaking down the bar and then ran the deposit and bank upstairs to Frank. As little had changed, updating him on the search for Ruby didn’t take long. Frank said Tippy was the first contributor to the reward; Michael Dean was the second.

  Luke retrieved his jacket from the coatroom and left the Garden in relatively good spirits. Ruby’s absence made a difference, but the Gilded Lily had been busier the past two nights than he or Pixie had expected. He couldn’t relax until he had the money he needed in hand, but the pressure was off. Unless the Halloween party was a total bust, he was on track to make what he needed with no help from Pixie or Aunt Callie.

  When he reached the car, he put his key in the door and stopped. Something was wrong. The lock was lower than it should have been. He stepped back and looked Bertha over. Both tires were flat. He didn’t need to step around to the other side to know they were both flat as well. The hood was level.

  Luke fought back tears and kicked a tire in frustration. The light at the end of the tunnel had been yet another train barreling down the track to knock him down again. He fisted the tears away and kicked another tire. Giving up was not an option, Pixie was long gone, and he’d sooner find a unicorn than a knight in shining armor at two in the morning in this part of town.

  He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and headed for the Garden. If he pounded hard enough, maybe Frank would hear him and come to the door. If not…. He shook his head. No point getting ahead of himself.

  A white BMW slowed beside him and the window came down. “Hey man. Need a lift?”

  Charlie Ross? Luke did a double take. “A ride home would be great.” He explained about his car.

  “Oh, man.” Charlie shook his head. “That’s low.” He waved him in. “I’ll take you home.”

  Luke slid onto the seat, and Charlie sped toward Main Street. Luke fastened his seat belt, pushed his imaginary brake pedal through the floorboard, and held on for dear life as Charlie fishtailed around the corner.

  “That’s a pretty big reward they’re offering for Ruby. Think it’ll get any bigger?”

  Luke shrugged. “Hard to say.”

  “With everybody telling you what they know, I bet you and Pixie get it.” Charlie nodded. “Gonna split it with the little bitch?”

  Luke turned to him and stared.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know what your deal is with Pixie, but she’s my friend, and I don’t appreciate you trashing her.” He shook his head. “You don’t even know her.”

  “You’re the one who doesn’t know her.” Charlie nodded. “We went to school together until she quit.”

  Luke bit his tongue. Guys like Charlie Ross were likely the source of the bullying Pixie had endured.

  “You better watch your back,” Charlie said.

  A shiver ran down Luke’s spine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Drag queens are fucking crazy, man.” He shook his head. “Can’t trust them farther than you can throw them.”

  The car came to a stop outside the Sinclair Arms.

  “Thanks for the ride, Charlie.” Luke stepped out of the car. “And the advice.”

  “No problem, man.” He revved the engine.

  As Luke watched him drive off, Charlie’s warning echoed through his head. He pulled his keys from his pocket and moved slowly toward the entrance. Misplacing his trust wasn’t the issue. To out-and-out lie was so foreign, he accepted what people said without suspicion.

  Identifying a problem was half the solution. He needed to be more skeptical. He let himself into his apartment and glanced at the pad with Pixie’s notes. Maybe they’d ruled somebody out who should still be on the list. He’d take another look first thing in the morning.

  Chapter 23

  Saturday, October 30, 1982

  LUKE JUMPED out of bed a little after eight o’clock and picked up the telephone book. Reviewing the list of suspects could wait. Getting Bertha up and running was first on his to-do list.

  He arranged to have her towed to a nearby garage and followed the sympathetic service writer’s suggestion to call the cops and his insurance agent. The police obtained his contact information, asked a bunch of questions, and then sent an officer to the scene. Luke’s insurance agent was Buddy Sinclair, and his office was closed until Monday.

  Luke poured a mug of coffee and got comfortable on the sofa. Rather than mope about his money woes, he picked up the pad and turned to a clean page. With pen in hand and a healthy dose of skepticism, he thought about what he knew about the disappearance of Ruby Dubonnet.

  Anything might have happened, but until proven otherwise, Luke believed she was alive. Her disappearance, the prowler, and the missing suitcase of money were not coincidences, but evidence for the kidnapping theory. But who?

  Everyone at the Garden the night of Ruby’s last performance was a suspect. And that was only a partial list. Anyone in Lexington that night could have snatched Ruby off the street.

  Somewhere he’d heard random abductions were rare. Given Ruby’s celebrity, the abductor very likely knew her, but she may not have known him.

  Or her. Luke shook his head. Anything was possible, and he wasn’t ruling anyone out, but the kidnapper was most likely a man. Women who wanted children sometimes stole babies from hospitals. Mothers occasionally abducted children after a divorce. Kidnapping a middle-aged drag queen seemed unlikely.

  Three loud raps echoed through the living room. Luke got up, opened the door, and gaped. The uniform and sheer size of the officer wearing it caught him off guard and took his breath away. Tall, beefy, and rugged with reddish-brown sideburns, blondish-red hair, and copper eyes, Luke guessed he was forty, give or take a yea
r or two.

  “Luke Tanner?”

  Luke gulped. “Yes, sir.” He wished he’d showered, blow-dried his hair, and worn anything but the worn sweatpants and stained T-shirt he had on.

  “I’m Officer Rusty Gates. Checked out your vehicle as they were loading it onto the truck and have a few questions.”

  “Sure.” Luke waved him in. “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks.” He shook his head, sat on the edge of the sofa, and gestured for Luke to sit beside him.

  Rusty Gates was fantasy material—the kind of cop he hoped would pull him over one day. And right here in his living room, this handsome hunk of a cop was inviting Luke to join him on the sofa. Signaling interest without getting arrested was too tricky to think through under pressure. Luke reined in his imagination and perched as far from Rusty as he could get without falling off the sofa.

  “Relax,” Rusty said. “I don’t bite. Usually.”

  Luke whimpered. The humiliating sound escaped without his consent. His face grew hot, and he resisted the urge to fan himself as he settled onto the sofa.

  “Your vehicle was the only one in the area to sustain any damage,” Rusty said. “Looks like the perpetrator singled you out.” He looked Luke in the eye. “Any idea why?”

  Because I’ve been a very, very bad boy? He pushed the thought out of his mind and shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “You haven’t broken up with anyone recently or slept with someone’s boyfriend?”

  What? Had Rusty just read him? Luke studied his face a moment then shook his head. He was overreacting. Parking behind the queer bar on a Friday night was a dead giveaway. “I’m single and haven’t dated since I moved here a couple of months ago.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you,” Rusty said. “Chances are, you know the person. Slashing tires is personal.”

  Luke furrowed his brow and rubbed his temples. Telling Officer Gates about Ruby’s disappearance would be the right thing to do. The prowler was likely responsible for the damage. But then Luke would be arrested for breaking and entering. Besides, Frank had reported her missing. The police already knew. After a moment, he shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Rusty nodded. Then he picked up the legal pad. “Suspects? What’s this?”

  “Oh,” Luke said with a dismissive wave. “Notes for a mystery I’m writing.”

  “You’re an author?” He smiled when Luke nodded. “That’s great. I’ve always wanted to write a book. What’s it about?”

  “Um.” Luke furrowed his brow. “The search for a missing… singer who disappeared after a concert. Her friends think she was kidnapped, but she has no money, and nobody knows who would kidnap her or why.”

  “Ah,” Rusty said, nodding. “For revenge. Like Dirk and Fontana on Day After Day.”

  “Yes. Something like that.” Was Luke the only one who didn’t watch the show? “Actually, I could use your help.”

  “Sure, if I can.” He smiled and looked at Luke expectantly.

  Luke gulped. Rusty Gates was hot in a totally different way than Michael Dean. Anyone would be hard-pressed to pick the better-looking man. The silence was getting awkward. “What do you do when everyone is a suspect?”

  “Rule out the people closest to the victim.” He nodded. “And go wherever the evidence takes you. Does that help?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Luke nodded. “Very helpful.”

  “Glad I could be of service.” He stood, pulled a card from his clipboard, and handed it to Luke. “Here’s my card. If you think of who might have slashed your tires, give me a call.”

  The moment Luke closed the door, the telephone rang. The mechanic confirmed his tires had been slashed, couldn’t be patched, and replacing them would take a couple of hours. The cost took his breath away.

  After giving the go-ahead for the new tires, Luke retrieved the coffee can from the closet, emptied the contents onto the living room carpet, and arranged his life savings into twenty-dollar stacks of coins and currency. The past two nights had helped, but unless he used a credit card, paying for the tow and four tires left him with less than twenty dollars. Either way, making ends meet would be impossible without help from Aunt Callie and Pixie.

  The seed of doubt Charlie had planted about Pixie failed to take root. She and Luke had hit it off from the start and genuinely enjoyed one another’s company. He trusted her to have his back. Unlikeable Charlie made Luke uncomfortable. Bashing drag queens hadn’t helped his case.

  Staring at the legal pad shed no light on how he’d been drawn so far into Ruby’s disappearance. Gullibility was only partially responsible. He couldn’t blame Pixie either. He was in up to his eyeballs with only Fate to blame.

  Were it not for the long-ago relationship between Frank Marvin and an Aunt Callie Luke had never known and couldn’t imagine, he wouldn’t have been offered the job at the Gilded Lily and would have remained blissfully unaware of Ruby’s disappearance.

  Had it not been his birthday, Luke wouldn’t have gone to Polly Jo’s with Pixie and never would have promised to help clear her name.

  Had he lived anyplace but the Sinclair Arms, he might have escaped. The manager gig connected all the dots. Otherwise, he couldn’t have entered Ruby’s apartment, lost her money, or paid her rent. Nor would he know her friends, Millie Maxwell and Vince Patrick, or about the prowler and the missing money.

  Throw in Aunt Callie’s history with Amber Berger and stumbling into Michael Dean’s drugstore, and coincidences were piling up like dirty towels in a bathhouse. Luke couldn’t shake the feeling he was somehow meant to find Ruby.

  The phone rang again. Luke grabbed the handset from the phone in the kitchen.

  “I’m home,” Pixie said. “When ya picking me up?”

  “As soon as I get Bertha back. Hopefully by two o’clock.” Luke explained about the slashed tires.

  “Damn. I’m so sorry,” Pixie said. “Any idea who done it?”

  “No.” Luke shrugged. “But the prowler who took Ruby’s suitcase would be my first guess.”

  “Ya think?”

  “I do.” Luke nodded. “You should have seen the cop who wrote up the police report.” He fanned himself and whistled. “Fantasy material.”

  “I’m all ears, honey.”

  Luke sighed. “Huge—not as big as Russel Clark, but just as muscular and better-looking. Blondish-red hair, copper eyes, giant hands.”

  “Rusty Gates?”

  Luke nodded. “How do you know him?”

  “We grew up in the same neighborhood.” Pixie paused. “Know his boyfriend too.”

  “He’s gay? Really?” Luke gaped. “What’s the boyfriend like?”

  “Fireman. You’ll know him if you ever see him—they could be twins.”

  “Oh wow.” Fantasies around huge men, twins, uniforms, and three-ways competed for Luke’s attention.

  “He’s six or seven years older than me and was a big jock in high school.” She smiled. “Haven’t talked to him for a long time. Loved my little feet on his back.”

  “Ever play around?”

  “Not for lack a tryin’.” She laughed. “I’ve kissed him, seen him nekkid, and felt him up, but we never had sex or nothin’.”

  “That reminds me,” Luke said. “How was your night?”

  “A lady never kisses and tells,” Pixie said.

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Lucky for you, I ain’t no lady.” She laughed. “I’d forgotten how damn big that man is. He needs to call them folks at the record book.”

  “Would have scared me,” Luke said, smiling.

  “Honey, ain’t nothin’ to be afraid of. He’s a total bottom.”

  Luke laughed and glanced at his watch. “Unless something changes, I’ll pick you up at two.”

  Chapter 24

  LUKE CARRIED the last of Pixie’s baggage into his apartment, stood back, and whistled. “All this for one night?”

  “Not just any night, darlin’,” Pixie replied. “Halloween. Or, as we queens like to
call it, amateur night.”

  “Amateur night?”

  “It’s the one night of the year every wannabe queen in the country can get by with wearing a wig, makeup, and high heels.” She nodded at his typewriter. “Move that out of my way.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Luke shifted the typewriter and his writing supplies to the living room floor and watched as Pixie commandeered his card table for a vanity, complete with a trifold lighted mirror and an admirable collection of jars, bottles, tubes, powder puffs, brushes, and other tools of the trade.

  “All this go to the Garden?”

  She shook her head. “Just the bags in the living room.” She dropped onto the chair in front of the mirror. “I need to pare that down if I can. With ten queens in the lineup, that dressing room is gonna be packed.”

  “Ten in each show?”

  “Just one show, pretty much all night.”

  “Who’s performing?” Luke dropped into the chair across from her.

  “The usual gang—me, Simone, Kitty, and Cammie. Butch Manley and Mimi Von Sant are coming back. Crystal Haze and Bridgette Pearl came out of retirement to perform a couple of numbers. Bambi and Victoria Sucrets do one song at the Halloween party that’s the only drag they do all year.”

  “Just once?”

  Pixie nodded. “They’re… special.” She removed her wig and studied her face in the mirror. “Bambi is one of a kind—I’ll let you judge for yourself. Victoria does a different famous woman every year. Bette Davis, Mae West, Lucy, Vivien Leigh, Marilyn Monroe, Janis Joplin.” She shook her head. “Looked just like ’em. Of course, it won’t be the same without Ruby.”

  “Speaking of Ruby.” Luke retrieved the legal pad from the living room and returned to his seat. “We need to back up and start over.”

  “Start over?” Pixie looked up from the mirror. “Why?”

  Luke picked up the tablet. “We left a lot of suspects off our list.”