They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Feeling anything yet?” Bella asked.
Colton nodded woozily. “You know what? You’re not bad looking—for a drag Queeen.’”
Bella smiled. “You’re not so bad looking yourself, baby, but you smell like an outhouse.”
Colton giggled. “I’m not s-stuupid, you know. You keep calling me ‘baby,’ like you’re my friend or something, but I know you must be with those g-gay goons. I j’es wannna know why?”
“Fair enough,” Bella said. “I did promise you the longer story, so here’s the scoop: I’m the girl who’s going to ruin your life—and save it.”
“Ruinmywyf? How?”
“In a few minutes these Gay Mafia boys are going to clear out, leaving the two of us alone. Then the police will show up. I’m going to tell them that you tried to rape me.”
“RAPE? WHA’THFUCK!” Colton jumped to his feet, lost his shirt/sarong in the process, and stood there wobbling—bare-ass naked. He looked down at himself, and it dawned on him—slowly—just how fucked he was. “THIS’LL RUINME!” And he burst into tears.
“That’s the whole point,” Bella said matter-of-factly. She poured more vodka into the cup and handed it to Colton, who drank it—still sobbing.
“The bad news is that you’re one of the nastiest people I’ve ever met,” Bella said, “and I’m not talking about your current condition. You’ve hurt a lot of people, and Karma’s gonna kick your ass. You’re going to be arrested tonight. Maybe even roughed up by the cops. Probably spend the night in jail. Your political dreams will be toast. Everyone will know you’re gay.”
Colton bawled. Snot streamed from his nose.
“The good news,” Bella said, “is that if you play your cards right, you won’t go to prison and, after you’ve made amends for your deeds, you’ll have the chance to live your truth—as a gay man.”
“Play my c-cards right?” Colton sniffed. He swiped at the snot stream, smearing it across his cheek.
“Leave the Gay Mafia out of it. You and I were the only two people here tonight. Got it? Not a peep. Do that, and my gift to you will be that I will refuse to testify against you. Sure, you will be ruined in the public eye. But that’s going to happen regardless. At least this way you won’t be convicted. That was my condition for agreeing to all of this. Everyone—even you—deserves a second chance.”
Colton sniffled.
“Ready for showtime?” Bella asked.
“I’m scared.”
“Me too, baby. Cops are assholes to people like us.”
“Tell William it’s time for the phone call,” Matt whispered to Evan. Harley, still at the rendezvous point, was standing by the pay phone, waiting for the signal to call 9-1-1 and make an anonymous report of a rape in progress. William would call Harley from his mobile phone.
The clockwas ticking.
8:12 p.m. OCPD headquarters, 700 Colcord Drive. Matt and Molly stood vigil at the rear of the squat, three-storey structure, waiting for Colton and Bella to arrive.
They were in the alley watching a steady stream of patrol cars disgorge their captive, human cargo, first to be paraded—handcuffed—on a perp walk in front of any print or TV journalists; then to be sucked into the building’s bowels where they would bounce along the conveyor belt of justice—questioned, finger-printed, strip-searched, etc.; before, finally, the lucky ones would be excreted out the front doors, escorted by their lawyers or bail bondsmen.
Matt had obviously seen too many bodily fluids that evening. How else to explain that his thoughts were in terms of excreta—plural?
“I think I see them,” Molly said, pointing. “There.”
The patrol car slowed and stopped, waiting its turn in line.
Matt recognized Bella’s French twist and curls.
Bella craned her head, searching, until she saw Molly in her hot pink fedora.
Molly bent to her tripod, fiddled with her camera.
Two cops exited the patrol car, one thick around the middle, the other a young gym rat.
