The Case of the Missing Drag Queen

by Michael Rupured

  Luke tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He’d regretted turning down the hundred-dollar blowjob and didn’t want to repeat his mistake.

  “I’m listening,” Luke said.

  “It’sh my fault Ruby’s gone.” Tippy sniffed.

  Luke furrowed his brow. “What did you do?”

  “Fired him the end of September.” Tippy blew his nose. “Let him keep the damn car, but quit paying his rent and cut off his allowance.”

  “Fired who?”

  “The guy who’s been…er… taking care of my needs.” He took another swig of his drink. “Gave me the crabs. Like to have never gotten rid of the little bashtards.”

  Luke gasped.

  “Ruby picked them up—off the upholshtery or something. At first, I swore she couldn’t have picked them up from me. When I came clean, she was furious and told me she never wanted to see me again.”

  Luke sat in stunned silence.

  “He did something to Ruby. I’m shure of it.”

  “Who?”

  “Charlie Ross.”

  Chapter 29

  LUKE FELL back on the bed and studied the ceiling. Charlie Ross’s relationship with Tippy had been strictly professional. In exchange for occasional sex and discretion, Tippy gave Charlie a BMW, provided him with an allowance, and put him up in a luxury apartment. Giving Tippy crabs violated the terms of the agreement, but Charlie blamed Ruby for wrecking his gravy train.

  He grabbed the phone to call Pixie but hung up. Would she hang up on him again? He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and stared at the phone for a long moment before dialing her number. After three long rings, she finally answered.

  “Hey. It’s Luke.” He cleared his throat. “Interested in riding out to Merrick Place?”

  “Maybe,” she said, coolly. “Why?”

  Luke swallowed. “To check out a new suspect.”

  “Thought you was out,” Pixie said.

  “I tried.” He shook his head. “It’s like quicksand. The more I fight it, the deeper I get sucked in.” He told her about Tippy’s drunken phone call.

  “Charlie Ross?” Pixie clucked several times. “I’ll be ready when you get here.”

  Luke pulled into the Eastside Mobile Home Court thirty minutes later to find Pixie in skinny-leg jeans and her rabbit coat sharing a glider with her daddy on their front porch. Before Bertha had come to a full stop, Pixie jumped up, kissed Mr. Johnson on the cheek, and waved goodbye as she hurried down the steps.

  “I’m warning you,” Mr. Johnson said as Pixie jumped into the car. He nodded at Luke and wagged a finger at him. “Before the stroke of twelve. You hear me?”

  Luke smiled. “I’ll have her home before midnight.”

  “Hell. Don’t bring her here!” He grinned. “That’s when she turns into a diva.”

  Luke laughed. “I thought she woke up that way.” Mr. Johnson’s laughter faded as Luke drove away.

  “You two are a laugh a minute,” Pixie said.

  Luke pulled onto New Circle Road and headed for Merrick Place. “How long have you known Charlie?”

  “Since first grade,” Pixie said. “Always was a big man on campus. And honey, I mean big. Hung like a horse, and hairy—he was shaving when we was eleven. I swear.”

  “You’ve seen him naked?”

  “Lots of times. In seventh grade. After PE class—the worst class in my whole life—he’d strut around the locker room nekkid as a jaybird.”

  “Shame he’s such a jerk,” Luke said. “He’s really hot.”

  “Hotheaded is more like it,” Pixie said. “He’d mouth off, back down from fistfights, then, when the other dude walked away, Charlie’d jump him from behind.”

  “Been there,” Luke said, touching his cheek. “Jock?”

  Pixie nodded. “Baseball pitcher. Pretty good too. Got a scholarship to pitch for Kentucky, but never played a game.”

  “What happened?”

  “Got caught in the dugout with his pants down around his ankles and the catcher balls-deep in his ass.”

  “The catcher fucked the pitcher?” Luke snorted. “That’s hysterical.”

  “Some say it was a setup,” Pixie said. “Bumpin’ uglies in the dugout in broad daylight was stupid, but if it hadn’t been for them pictures, it would have gone away, and he’d have kept his scholarship, stayed on the team, and probably played for the pros.”

  “And I thought my life sucked,” Luke said.

  She slapped his thigh. “What you talkin’ about, Willis?”

  “Willis?”

  “On Diff’rent Strokes. Don’t you watch TV?”

  “Just music videos—until they cut off my cable for not paying the bill.”

  “Son, what you got is a bad attitude. Sure, you’ve hit a rough spot, but your sucky life ain’t so bad,” Pixie said. “Helluva lot of folks would happily trade places with you.”

  “I hate it when you’re right.” Luke forced a smile. “How was your date Saturday?”

  “Darlin’, you ain’t gonna believe what happened. We was going at it like nobody’s business when the mattress busted and water went everywhere.”

  “Tell me no!” Luke laughed.

  “Oh, honey. That ain’t all. Straightaway somebody was pounding on the door. Figgered they worked at the hotel and seen water coming under the door so I slipped into my soaking wet dress, straightened my wig, and waded through ankle-deep water to open the door. This big girl mowed me down and took after his ass with a wooden spoon.”

  “Oh, no! Who was she?”

  “That donkey-dicked sombitch’s wife.”

  “Wife?”

  “You ain’t half as surprised as I was. Woulda given him a few licks of my own, but was afraid she’d turn on me, so I gathered up my shit and got the hell out of there.”

  “I’m sorry. Guess that ruined your night.”

  “Turned out for the best. Had a great time with an encyclopedia salesman I ran into in the parking lot.”

  He took a deep breath. “Listen. After you hung up yesterday, thinking we weren’t friends anymore freaked me out.”

  “Me too,” Pixie said. “Didn’t know what I was gonna do with myself until Thursday. We been spendin’ a lot of time together.”

  “I agree,” Luke said.

  “Shame I’m too young for you.”

  “Still wouldn’t work,” Luke said, smiling.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “I’m a top.”

  “Are you shittin’ me?” Pixie threw her head back and laughed. “Never would have guessed.”

  “It’s not something I broadcast,” Luke said. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  “Said the man who ain’t had a date since Jimmy Carter was president.” She shook her head. “Printin’ ‘I’m a top’ on your forehead would change that. Bottoms outnumber tops in this town something like fifteen to one.”

  “They said the same thing in Atlanta,” Luke said. He turned into Merrick Place. “We’re almost there.”

  “Can’t believe it’s already dark.” Pixie checked her watch and shook her head. “Damn time change messes me up for days.”

  “Was that last night?” Luke glanced at his watch and furrowed his brow. “Any idea how to change the time on this thing?”

  “Not a clue.” Pixie shook her head. “Switching to a winter watch is easier than trying to figure it out.”

  Charlie’s apartment was an end unit in the eleven-hundred block of Merrick Drive. Luke pulled into a parking space next to Charlie’s BMW, put Bertha in park, and pulled the key from the ignition. “Ready to do this?”

  She nodded, got out of the car, and latched on to Luke’s elbow. “What, exactly, is we doing?”

  Luke shrugged. “Play it by ear and see what happens.”

  Wind chimes tinkled in the gusty breeze and leaves scurried across the asphalt. They headed for Charlie’s apartment, taking care to avoid Halloween pumpkins vandals had smashed and tossed around the p
arking lot. A few were flattened and embellished with tire treads.

  Pixie pushed the illuminated button beside the door and a double chime sounded inside the apartment. After a moment she rang the bell again. Heavy steps descended a flight of stairs, the door opened, and there stood Charlie with a towel loosely knotted at his waist. Water trailed across the entryway, puddled around his feet, and beaded on his hairy chest, belly, and legs.

  “Well, well, well.” He sneered. “Look who it is. The Garden’s very own McMillan and wife.”

  “Hey, Charlie,” Luke said. He sounded like he’d been drinking.

  “Sorry to drop in on you,” Pixie said. “We was in the neighborhood. I’ve always wanted to see inside one of these places and was hopin’ you’d give us a tour.”

  “I would, but I’m running late.” He winked at Luke and then trailed a finger seductively down his chest and over his flat belly. “Come back when I have more time.”

  Luke gulped, forced himself to look at Charlie’s face, and resisted the urge to yank the towel away for the rest of the show. Like him or not, Charlie was hot. Centerfold material.

  “We’ll take you up on that,” Pixie said. A pained expression crossed her face. “Could I use your powder room real quick?”

  Charlie blanched. He glanced behind him again.

  “I won’t be a minute,” she said, squeezing her knees together.

  After a moment, Charlie gestured Pixie inside. “Straight ahead on the right—under the stairs.”

  “Thank you!” Pixie hobbled into the bathroom and closed the door.

  “What happened to your cheek?” Charlie’s blank expression gave nothing away.

  “Silly me.” Luke touched the cluster of little scabs on his cheek and forced a smile. “Bumped into a wall.”

  “Maybe you should be more careful,” Charlie said, clenching his teeth. His nostrils flared, and he glared at Luke like an angry bull. “Watch where you’re going.”

  “Yeah.” Luke shuddered. “Maybe I should.”

  Pixie emerged from the bathroom, glanced around, and nodded appreciatively. “Lawzy, this is nice. You live alone here? I couldn’t afford Merrick Place without four or five roommates.”

  “Yeah, just me. Sorry, if I’m going to make it to work on time, I really need to go.” He ushered Pixie out the door.

  Luke kept glancing back over his shoulder to see if Charlie was coming after them as he and Pixie walked in silence back to the car. He opened the door for Pixie then hurried around to his side. After he was safely inside with the doors locked, he sighed with relief.

  “Knowing what he’s capable of makes him a lot scarier,” Luke said as he started the car. “Any sign of Ruby?”

  “No,” Pixie replied with a shake of her head. “Place was clean as a whistle. Didn’t hear nothing neither.”

  “He warned me to be more careful and to watch where I was going.” Luke shuddered again and fell in behind a covered golf cart ferrying dinner guests back and forth from the popular Merrick Inn restaurant to parking spaces scattered around the big development. “Sounded more like a threat than concern for my well-being.”

  “Charlie ain’t never give a shit about nobody but Charlie,” Pixie said. “Reckon we oughta call the cops?”

  “Wouldn’t do any good,” Luke replied. “No matter how certain we may be that Charlie kidnapped Ruby, the police are unlikely to act on what amounts to little more than a hunch.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Wait.” Luke shrugged. “He knows we’re onto him. Let’s see what he does next.”

  “Darlin’,” Pixie said. “I’d love to hang out with you this evening, but I need to work on costumes, memorize lyrics, and practice my choreography for this week’s performances. Mind taking me home?”

  “Oh, sure.” He forced a smile. He’d assumed they’d wait together at his apartment. “I hadn’t thought about all the work that goes into each performance.”

  “Oh, honey.” She shook her head. “You have no idea. Being the best I can be every time I step on the stage takes a lot of time and effort.” She shook her head. “Throwin’ something together and wingin’ it ain’t professional. If you wanna be good, you gotta put in the time.”

  After Luke dropped her off, he took the long way back to the Sinclair Arms. The evening loomed before him like a bottomless pit.

  Chapter 30

  THE TELEPHONE continued to ring as Luke picked up the keys he’d dropped and tried again to unlock his apartment. Success. He flung open the door and dove for the kitchen phone.

  “Damn!”

  Few things bothered Luke more than missing a phone call. Trying to guess who’d called drove him nuts, but an answering machine was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He returned the handset to the cradle and shrugged. Guessing the caller’s identity was pointless. Whoever he’d missed would call back if it was important.

  He slid the deadbolt into place and made sure the windows were secure. Charlie’s next move was anybody’s guess, but Luke wanted to be prepared. A quick search for possible weapons turned up a heavy skillet, a butcher knife, a wooden rolling pin, and the whip from his Indiana Jones costume. He arranged his makeshift arsenal on the card table and headed for his bedroom.

  Disappointment about Pixie having more important things to do than hang out with Luke had passed. Inspired by her commitment and dedication, Luke planned to spend the evening alone with his typewriter. After changing into sweats and a T-shirt and moving the stack of unpaid bills to the living room where he couldn’t see them, he sat at the table and read the story he’d been working on.

  Garbage. Nothing worth salvaging in the twenty-two-page manuscript beyond a few clever turns of phrase and wicked, potentially libelous descriptions of Mr. Wrong’s circle of friends. Venting his anger had been therapeutic but was otherwise a waste of paper. Time to close that chapter of his life and move on. He ripped the manuscript into pieces that he tossed in the trash and covered with soggy grounds from the coffee maker.

  He stroked his chin as he searched the ceiling for inspiration. He didn’t know where else to look. Time and time again, he’d heard the same thing: write what you know. Trouble was, his life, frankly, wasn’t that interesting.

  The telephone interrupted his thoughts.

  “Luke? It’s Frank. Glad I finally reached you. Can you bartend in the Green Carnation tonight? Charlie is deathly ill and can’t come in.”

  “Deathly ill?” Luke furrowed his brow.

  “Food poisoning or something,” Frank replied. “Hasn’t been able to keep anything down since yesterday. Can you fill in for him?”

  “Sure,” Luke said, with no hesitation. He needed the money and welcomed the opportunity to lend Frank a hand.

  “Can’t thank you enough,” Frank said. “I owe you one.”

  “Happy to help.” Luke glanced at his watch. “Be there in thirty minutes.”

  He hung up the phone and frowned. Charlie had been fine two hours earlier when he’d rushed them off to get ready for work. Luke picked up the phone and dialed Pixie’s number.

  “Hey, Luke,” Mr. Johnson said. “Pixie ain’t here. Kitty picked her up maybe an hour ago. They’s tryin’ to get to the fabric store before it closes. Can I give her a message for you?”

  “Um, yeah.” Luke chewed on his lip for a moment. “Tell her Charlie is deathly ill, so I’m working for him tonight and then going to check on him after work.”

  “Good Lord! I was expecting ‘call Luke.’ Let me make sure I got this right.” He repeated the message almost word-for-word.

  “That’s it. Thanks, Mr. Johnson.”

  At a little before ten o’clock, Luke took his place behind the bar along with three bartenders and two bar backs. The Green Carnation was nearly empty. The Madonna song he’d seen on MTV blared from the speakers, but the spacious dance floor was deserted save for two straight couples who’d apparently come together and an older man who danced seductively with his reflection in one of several mirrored
columns. Patterns of light danced and swirled over every surface from a half dozen spinning mirror balls suspended over the dance floor and surrounded by circular neon tubes like gyroscopes.

  At the top of the spiral staircase, a steady stream of college-aged men exchanged admission tickets for hand stamps. With few exceptions, they fell into one of three groups: preppies, punk rockers, and flamers. No matter the tribe, getting a cocktail was the first order of business.

  By eleven o’clock, a line had formed along the bar and dozens of revelers had taken to the dance floor. Luke smiled and nodded when guys flirted with him but wasn’t interested in anyone so far from his preferred age range. The music was a nice change from the Gilded Lily’s soundtrack. Some of the songs seamlessly mixed together by the DJ were familiar but most he hadn’t heard before.

  Between eleven forty-five and midnight, the crowd in the disco tripled in size. Luke slung drinks as fast as he could. Faces blurred together—tipper and nontipper alike. Guys who flirted with him got little more than a distracted smile. He was in the zone—mixing drinks, pouring beer, and handling money with robotic precision and efficiency.

  Over the next thirty minutes, the crowd again doubled and the line waiting for hand stamps still extended beyond Luke’s field of vision. The shoulder-to-shoulder crowd kept anyone from moving at more than a snail’s pace. The customers Luke served struggled to get past the thirsty mob crowding the bar from end to end.

  Luke was too busy to pay much attention to the dance floor and anything going on elsewhere in the disco. The unrelenting crush required his full attention. In the Gilded Lily, the pace ebbed and flowed with the performances. In the Green Carnation, it just got busier and busier, with two thirsty patrons replacing every one he served.

  The house lights blinked on and off three times. Luke glanced at the clock mounted over the entrance: twelve fifty. Ten minutes until the Garden closed.

  The dance floor nearly emptied as everyone in the disco converged upon the bar. The onslaught caught Luke off guard and was unlike anything he’d experienced. Last call in the Gilded Lily followed the final performance of the night, and with the rest of the Garden usually still open, went largely unnoticed. In the disco, last call was serious business. Anxious customers frantically waved money in Luke’s face. Nearly everyone ordered two drinks. A few ordered three, tossing one back at the bar and walking away with a drink in each hand.