The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  “Like who?”

  “Everyone at the Garden the last night Ruby performed.”

  “Lord.” Pixie clucked several times. “I couldn’t tell ya who was at the Gilded Lily last night, much less a week ago.”

  “Right.” Luke nodded. “Standing at the door and taking names wasn’t an option—even if we’d thought about it. No point beating ourselves up.”

  “What do we do?” She gave him a worried look. “She’s out there somewhere. We can’t just give up.”

  “Rusty Gates said to rule out the people closest to her,” Luke replied. “Which is a bit of a challenge since we don’t know anything about her family.”

  “That ain’t true.” Pixie shook her head and dabbed powder on her forehead, cheeks, and chin. “We know her daddy was a sombitch to Ruby and her momma. Millie Maxwell, Vince Patrick, and Michael Dean are the closest thing to family she’s got.”

  “They didn’t do it.” Luke dropped the pen on the pad. “That leaves everybody else. After all this time, we’re no closer to finding her than when we started. Seems hopeless.” He placed his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. “My whole life is hopeless.”

  “Bless your little heart,” Pixie said. She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him. “That’s a nice way of sayin’ your sorry ass is just pitiful.”

  Luke winced.

  “I done told ya not to worry about the money.”

  “But—”

  “Hush. I mean it. Nobody thinks I had anything to do with Ruby’s disappearance, thanks to you. Even if ya never pay me back—and I know you will—it’s the least I can do.” She paused for a moment. “And as for Ruby’s disappearance, missin’ a few suspects ain’t exactly startin’ over—and we know a lot more than we did last Friday.”

  Luke massaged his temples for a moment. “It’s just one thing after another.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “And then you die. Cry me a river.”

  “Sorry,” Luke said. “It’s been a rough week.”

  “You can’t let shit wear ya down, darlin’. Take a break. The Garden is gonna be wild tonight. Forget about Ruby and your money troubles for a few hours and have fun.”

  “Easier said than done,” Luke said.

  “Changing the outside helps. That’s why I do drag.” She rose from her chair. “Your turn. Take off your shirt and have a seat.”

  “I have to wear makeup?”

  “Indiana Jones ain’t pasty. You need a tan. I’ve got QT if you’d rather go with pumpkin orange that don’t wash off.”

  “No thanks.” He laughed. “Learned my lesson with that stuff in junior high.”

  As Pixie worked her magic, Luke stared at the mirror, mesmerized. She sponged foundation over his face, down his neck, across the top of his chest and shoulders, and on the back of his hands from his fingertips to his elbows. He looked tan, but his eyebrows, nose, lips, cheekbones, and other features had disappeared. She drew, painted, brushed, and rubbed various products to bring them back.

  “Being made up by Dolly Parton is surreal,” Luke said as Pixie painted eyeliner on his lids.

  “She ain’t a drag queen, but she may as well be.” She stepped back, arched a brow, and studied Luke’s face for a moment. Then she dabbed her finger into a pot of something and stroked it onto his cheeks. “Perfect.”

  When she finished his makeup, she helped him into the best costume he’d ever worn for Halloween. The hat, jacket, boots, and the whip attached to his belt with a leather cock ring made him stand taller and walk with more of a swagger as he headed to the bedroom to check himself out in the full-length mirror attached to the door.

  He winked at his reflection and then grinned. Rather than made-up, his face looked tanned, only better—free of flaws or blemishes. He puffed out his chest and smiled.

  “Look at you, all butch and everything.” Pixie smiled.

  “Thanks, Pixie.” He air-kissed both her cheeks. “This is my best costume ever.”

  Pixie packed up her temporary vanity while Luke loaded garments, accessories, and props into Bertha. As he drove them downtown, passersby did double takes when they saw Pixie. At stoplights, she rolled down her window and blew kisses to Dolly’s waving fans.

  “Pull up by the back door,” Pixie said. Luke complied, and she hopped out of the car. “Unload while I find somebody to carry everything inside.”

  Luke had unloaded the back seat and most of the trunk when Pixie returned with Russel Clark. He nodded at Luke, grabbed several bags, and with Pixie holding the door open, lumbered back inside the Garden.

  Luke set the last bag on the asphalt with the rest, shut the trunk, and smiled. “Break a leg.”

  “Thanks, darlin’.” She smiled and adjusted her big blonde wig.

  Luke started the car. “See you inside.”

  As always, Pixie was right. Whether he could or should be doing something to find Ruby, work came first. He needed the money and might hear something useful.

  Inside the Garden, the “Monster Mash” echoed through the empty corridor from the Green Carnation. Miles of orange and black crepe paper had been draped everywhere. Hand-carved jack-o-lanterns, scads of orange and black balloons, and an assortment of bats, skeletons, and spiders decorated the walls and other flat surfaces. The white candles on the tables in the Gilded Lily had been replaced with orange or black.

  Annie, who usually bartended in the Lavender Rose, was setting up Charlie’s end of the bar. She tipped her ten-gallon hat and smiled when she saw Luke.

  “Howdy, partner,” she said. “Annie. Charlie’s in the Green Carnation so you get to work with me.”

  “I’ve seen you around. Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand. “Luke Tanner.”

  “Ah.” She shook his hand. “The guy working with Pixie Wilder to find Ruby. How’s that going?”

  “Slow.” He shrugged. “But we know more than we did a week ago.”

  “My Rosebuds say she stole somebody’s man, and he locked her up, like Dirk and Fontana on Day After Day.”

  “Rosebuds?”

  She smiled. “Regulars at the Lavender Rose.”

  “Their theory is as good as anything we’ve got. Any idea who?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard.”

  LUKE GOT busy setting up his end of the bar as costumed employees hurried around lighting candles and putting finishing touches on decorations for the eight o’clock opening.

  Despite Pixie’s admonition, his thoughts turned to Ruby. Whether the Rosebuds were gossipy old queens or the sages of the gay community was open to debate. Perhaps because he had no father figure in his life or grandparents of his own, Luke leaned toward the latter view. The rumors pointed to Amber Berger, but if she was the kidnapper, who had the prowler been?

  Chapter 25

  LUKE AND Annie had finished setting up and were getting acquainted when the Garden opened its doors. The Gilded Lily filled up fast. One minute, Luke and Annie had nothing to do. The next, they were slammed, with customers waiting for drinks standing four and five deep, from one end of the bar to the other.

  The sudden onslaught knocked Luke off balance. He was in the weeds with no hope of catching up. The overwhelming crowd was disorienting and more than a little surreal. Many revelers had obviously invested considerable time, effort, and money into dressing up for Halloween. The few who claimed to have come as the typical college student, a contemporary homosexual, or a Jehovah’s Witness—who Annie had to explain didn’t celebrate holidays—looked out of place.

  Costumes hid faces, obscured gender, and lowered inhibitions. Alcohol eliminated any remaining reticence, resulting in widespread, blatant flirting and cruising. The night was too young for any serious pairing off, but auditions were well underway. Luke received compliments on his tan, the Indiana Jones costume, and his butch demeanor along with dozens of phone numbers scrawled on cocktail napkins or Gilded Lily match covers.

  The music Frank played before the show could
barely be heard above the buzz of conversations. Smoke from cigarettes, cigars, and clove cigarettes burned his eyes. A cloying mixture of perfume and cologne was so heavy in the air Luke could taste it.

  The surreal tableau messed with his head. Nothing was familiar or as it should be. Women spoke with deep voices. Guys who caught his eye turned out to be women. The whole thing would have gotten to him more were it not for Annie’s nonstop, off-the-wall banter, much of which was directed at Luke.

  “Hey, Indiana. Elizabeth Taylor here wants to know if you’re dating anyone.”

  “Nope,” Luke said, smiling. “Single and unattached.”

  “Hey, guys. I’m raffling off chances to get Luke’s phone number for a buck,” Annie shouted.

  “Don’t waste your money, boys.” Pixie Wilder shouldered her way up to the bar. “Luke’s number is on the bathroom wall, under ‘Suck my giant dick.’”

  Annie laughed. “Then I’m starting a pool about the size of Luke’s dick. Who wants in?”

  Pixie pulled a bill from her cleavage and raised her hand. “Put my money on eleven inches.”

  Luke laughed. “Somebody is going to be awfully disappointed. Drink?”

  “Some good ol’ Tennessee whiskey, straight up,” Pixie said. “Speakin’ of big dicks, there was roses waitin’ for me in the dressin’ room from you know who.”

  “Well, well.” Luke smiled and placed her shot on a cocktail napkin. “Seeing him again?”

  “Yes, sir.” She grinned from ear to ear and nodded. “Pickin’ me up after the show.”

  “Good for you!” Luke realized he was jealous, not that Pixie wanted someone else, but because she was going to have a good time, and he very likely was not.

  She threw back her shot and set the glass on the bar. “And remember, tonight is about fun, okay?”

  “Thanks to Miss Annie here, I’m having fun.”

  “That’s good.” Pixie smiled. “But when I said fun, I meant a good poundin’.”

  “Right.” Luke laughed. “Call me tomorrow, and we’ll swap fuck stories.”

  “Hey, Indiana,” Annie shouted. “Mind if Tarzan swings by after work?”

  “Sure,” Luke replied, smiling as Pixie fought her way back through the mob. The skimpy costumes showed off impressive physiques, left little to the imagination, and provoked a lot of groping. Tarzan, the Minotaur, the Jolly Green Giant, the leather-clad and hooded executioner, any one of the loin-clothed Native Americans, and several he couldn’t recall off the top of his head were welcome any time.

  There were quite a few nuns, including one in blackface and two who were very pregnant. The crowd waiting for drinks thinned because of the wide side-hoop dresses a group of seventeenth century French courtiers wore with enormous powdered wigs and feathered stick masks. They gave way to a band of hirsute ballerinas in matching tutus. He saw past presidents, a condom, a box of condoms, a tampon, Big Bird, Diana Ross, Marilyn Monroe, Bette Midler, Cher, the Queen of England, and the crew of the Star Trek Enterprise.

  “Happy Halloween,” Frank bellowed. “Welcome to the Gilded Lily. You look marvelous!” He waited for the cheers and whistles to die down then ran through the lineup and announced the reward for Ruby’s safe return. “Winners of the costume contest will be selected by a panel of secret judges and announced at midnight here in the Gilded Lily.”

  A pair of young men came through the curtain and stood on the stage. Each wore red devil’s horns, black eye masks, and red Speedos and carried a box of glittering gold stars.

  “Get a gold star from one of my horny little devils, and you’re a finalist, but you must be present to win.”

  The night passed quickly. The queens outdid themselves, each more entertaining than the one before with gorgeous costumes and impressive performances.

  The Minotaur won the one-hundred-dollar prize for best costume. The judges had likely been swayed by his beefy pecs and washboard abs. Bette Midler won best in drag for men, with the Lone Ranger snagging the women’s award. The French courtiers won the group prize, with the ballet troupe receiving an honorable mention.

  After the winners and finalists left the stage, Crystal Haze performed “Let Me Be Your Woman,” and Bridgette Pearl performed three costume changes on stage for her medley of Barbra Streisand songs.

  And then came Bambi.

  The crowd went wild when she was introduced. She stepped through the curtain in a red, high-necked, floor-length cape with her blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail and lip-synced “I Want to Be Evil.” The tempo changed, and she shed the cape to reveal pink tasseled pasties and high heels.

  Luke gaped. Bambi weighed at least three hundred pounds. The pink thong she wore peeked out from beneath rolls of fat as she adapted a kittenish demeanor and crawled to the end of the catwalk, stopping to strike provocative poses as the crowd roared its approval.

  Victoria Sucrets came out in a black halter top, short shorts, black hose held up with garters, and black high-heeled boots for a spot-on impersonation of Liza Minnelli singing “Cabaret.”

  Pixie, of course, was his favorite with “Jolene,” “Here You Come Again,” and “9 to 5.”

  Luke left the Garden more than an hour after closing with nearly three hundred dollars in his pocket. Though not nearly what he needed, making more than expected put a spring in his step. Going home alone didn’t bother him much. Working with Annie instead of Charlie Ross was like night and day and the most fun he’d had since leaving Atlanta, on or off the job.

  When he reached into his pocket for his keys, something hit him hard between his shoulder blades. Before he could react, he was grabbed from behind, thrown hard against the wall, and pinned with his cheek grinding into the bricks and his arms twisted behind his back.

  Pain shot through his shoulders and he gasped for breath. The assailant leaned against Luke to keep him pinned and emptied his pockets with a free hand. The pain in his shoulders eased as his assailant relaxed his grip and took a step back. He breathed hot air into Luke’s ear and whispered, “Forget about Ruby Dubonnet.”

  Then the lights went out.

  Chapter 26

  LUKE CLENCHED his eyes shut and groaned. Moving anything hurt. He’d never experienced so much pain.

  “Mr. Tanner. Can you hear me?”

  Luke opened his eyes, nodded, and winced from the pain. Blue lights flashed against the wall and a dark shape loomed over him.

  “Rusty Gates. We met the other day.”

  “I remember.” Luke nodded again. He caught himself wishing he needed mouth to mouth and realized, despite the pain, he wasn’t going to die.

  “Doesn’t look like anything is broken. Would have been worse if I hadn’t come along when I did.”

  “Worse?” Luke groaned.

  Rusty nodded. “He got a couple of good licks in after you fell, then he saw me and took off running. Had too much of a head start to catch him, so I radioed in his description and checked on you.”

  Luke winced, pushed himself into a sitting position, and groaned. His throbbing head, aching shoulders, and tender areas across his chest and back stopped him from standing.

  Officer Gates sat back on his haunches, rested his forearms on his thighs, and furrowed his brow. “Those slashed tires have anything to do with getting beat up tonight?”

  Luke shook his head. “No.”

  “Interesting.” Officer Gates nodded. “Didn’t even have to think about it.”

  Luke frowned. “I guess it’s possible….”

  Officer Gates stroked his chin for a moment. “Any idea who the guy in the ski mask is?”

  “Ski mask?” Luke gulped.

  “Yeah,” Officer Gates said. “The guy who mugged you wore a ski mask. You didn’t see him?”

  Luke shook his head. “No.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  Luke paused for a moment. Forgetting about Ruby Dubonnet topped his to-do list. Having his tires slashed was a costly inconvenience. Losing his wallet, credit cards, and nearl
y three hundred dollars set him back even more. Getting beat up was unpleasant, painful, and something he’d rather not experience again. Telling Officer Gates what he knew wasn’t going to bring his money back and would invite another beating—after he got out of jail for breaking into Ruby’s apartment and making off with her money.

  “Not that I remember, Officer Gates.” Luke shifted position and prepared to stand.

  “Call me Rusty.” He helped Luke to his feet. “I get the feeling you know more than you’re telling me.”

  “Honest. I have no idea who mugged me.” Luke saw stars and his knees wobbled.

  “Steady there.” Rusty grabbed Luke by the shoulders to keep him from falling. “You need to see a doctor. I can radio for an ambulance or take you to the hospital myself.”

  “No. I’m fine.” Luke massaged his temples a moment and forced a smile. Ambulance rides and emergency room visits weren’t cheap. He patted his pockets. “It’s not far. I’ll drive myself.”

  Rusty studied Luke’s face a moment and stroked his chin several times. “Anything missing?”

  The watch Aunt Callie had given him was on his wrist and his keys were still in his pocket. “My wallet, a couple of credit cards, and close to three hundred dollars.”

  Rusty nodded. “No matter how you may feel about him, protecting someone who’d slash your tires, beat you up, and steal your money and credit cards is a bad idea.”

  “I’m not protecting anyone,” Luke said. Nobody but himself, but as Rusty was referring to whoever had slashed Luke’s tires and mugged him, he was being honest.

  “Okay.” Rusty nodded, but disbelief was written all over his face. “If you won’t let me take you to the hospital or call an ambulance, how about I follow to make sure you get there safely.”

  Shit? Luke had no intention of going to any hospital. “That’s mighty nice of you, Rusty, but I’m fine and don’t want to be any trouble. Besides, you must have more important things to do.”

  “To be honest,” Rusty said, smiling. “I don’t.” He glanced at his watch. “My shift ended almost an hour ago.”