Synopsis:

A vicious gang is targeting crossdressers for brutal assault. The police seem either indifferent or unable to do anything. When all seems hopeless, a dark avenger appears.

Story:

Enter the Rose
by
Valentina Michelle Smith

Wendy Chase made her way out of the club to get back to her car. She had spent most of the night at The Court Jester, a club for transvestites and their admirers. This was her fourth trip since discovering the club scene, and she had enjoyed it immensely, accepting drinks, flirting, and dancing with the fellows who admired her. She had danced into the wee hours of the morning. Now it was time to go home, to return to her drab everyday world of fork lift mechanic Mike Reinhold.

It was dark and just a little scary as she walked the blocks to where she had left her car. Her high heels made that distinctive clicking sound on the pavement as she navigated the brief islands of light cast by the few streetlights between gaping voids of darkness.

She didn't noticed the man who suddenly appeared beside her until it was too late.

"Evening, missy," he said to her. "It's awfully late to be out alone."

"I'm just fine," she said, trying to hurry along, but she just could not shake him.

"It's mighty dangerous for a girl to be out this late all alone. You really should let me walk with you."

"Thank you, but that isn't necessary," Wendy replied, trying to hurry away. She suddenly felt his hand about her arm.

"I wasn't asking, missy. Now you just come along with me…"

She tore her arm loose from his grasp and started to run, only to be confronted by two other men. She found herself surrounded.

"Listen, bitch," her original pursuer said, "you're coming along with us. Don't even think about running."

Wendy punched one of them in the gut and tried to take off, but she was unable to outrun the men in her high heels. She was grabbed and slugged from behind. One of the men held her while another stuffed a rag into her mouth.

They dragged her into the alleyway, kicking and punching her. She was forced to the ground while they continued to beat her. She was in unbearable pain, unable to move, tasting blood from teeth knocked out of her mouth.

She was helpless as her attackers ripped her dress and panties from her and took turns sexually assaulting her. They left her, half naked, bleeding, and unable to move. Mercifully, she lost consciousness.

She was nearly dead when found the next day, less than 100 yards from her car.

* * * * *

"I tell you, JoEllen, this is really frustrating."

Detective Teresa Winters was discussing her latest case over lunch with her friend, JoEllen Hunter. The two had met at a vacation spa last year and became close friends despite the amazing contrasts in their lives. Teresa was the daughter of a judge and an assistant D.A. A graduate of law school, she opted for law enforcement over a career in a cushy legal practice. She had worked her way from beat cop to detective on the merit of her work.

JoEllen, on the other hand, was the adopted daughter and sole heir of the late Diana Hunter. Despite her reputation as a socialite bachelor woman, she was active in the philanthropic institutions founded by her adoptive mother.

Teresa continued, "This is the eighth victim in three months. It's always the same sort of situation. A crossdresser out late on a dark street is accosted by a gang of three men, beaten and raped, and left for dead. We were lucky to find this one alive."

JoEllen picked at her salad. "Was this fellow able to describe his attackers?" she asked.

"Not in any great detail. It was dark, they came out of nowhere, and just basically beat the poor guy to a pulp. He can't remember much of anything."

"Have any victims recovered who can give you a description?"

Teresa sighed. "That's the hard part. Sure, their wounds heal, but there's a kind of psychic scar that forms. Most of these guys have been hiding what they are for all their lives. They finally muster up enough courage to go to one of these clubs, and they get beaten for their effort. So they crawl back into their closet where it's safe.

"On top of that, City Hall isn't exactly making this case a top priority. There's an attitude about the victims like they had it coming. JoEllen, this case is just plain bad news. I think it got dumped on me because the bosses think it's funny."

JoEllen made an expression of disgust. "I really can't see the humor in beating somebody to death." she said.

"Neither do I. I take this case very seriously. But I can't convince my superiors to devote any real effort to it. So it gets dumped on me with the rest of my case load in hopes that it will eventually disappear."

Teresa jabbed a fork into the last bit of lettuce in her bowl. She chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of tea. "Sorry to rant so much, JoEllen. I must be terribly annoying."

"Not at all, Terri," JoEllen replied. "Sometimes you just need to vent, and I know that you can't really vent at work."

Teresa smiled. "Damn, you are such a good friend. But I've rattled enough. What's going on in your world?"

"Oh, more of the same, I suppose. This afternoon I get to open a new research facility and give a long, boring speech. The ceremony will be stuffy, the hors d'oeuvres will be soggy, and the people I must greet will all be incredibly vacuous and self-absorbed."

The two women laughed. "JoEllen," said Teresa, "I don't know whether to envy you or pity you."

"It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it."

JoEllen reached for her charge card and signaled the waiter. "This is on me, Terri, courtesy of The Hunter Foundation. I got a lot more out of this than I would from any power lunch."

"Fine by me," Teresa said, "a detective's pay only goes so far."

As they left the restaurant, Teresa began to signal for a cab, but JoEllen stopped her. "Let me drop you off, Terri, it's right on the way."

"You're sure it isn't an inconvenience?" Teresa asked.

"Not at all; besides, I have a lot of room." JoEllen pressed a slim pager. As if in response, a long black Lincoln with darkened windows pulled up. Teresa could just make out the driver dressed in a dark suit. The passenger door opened, and Teresa slid in.

The interior was luxurious to a fault without being ostentatious.

"Wow," she said to her friend, "you rich gals know how to live."

"Hey, if you got it, enjoy it," JoEllen replied.

The two women continued to chat as the car navigated the asphalt maze to the Precinct Station. Teresa gathered more than a few stares as she exited the limousine.

As they drove off, JoEllen addressed her driver. "Were you listening to us, Max?"

Maxine Kim, her diminutive driver, answered, "Every word, boss. This sounds like one hell of a problem. City Hall doesn't seem to care what happens to a bunch of trannies."

"I care," said JoEllen.

"So what can we do about it?" Max asked.

"I think," said JoEllen, "it's time for The Rose to check out the crossdressing club scene. Take me to this opening. I'll get through it as quickly as I can and then we'll go to the townhouse."

"You got it, Boss!"

* * * * *

The city can be a beautiful place at night, lit up and glamorous, its brightly lit skyline glowing defiantly against the night, with beautiful people occupying the beautiful places. But beneath the glitter and glow lay a darkness, a grim undercurrent of violence and mayhem.

It was in this curious dichotomy of light and darkness that Melody Grant found herself.

She was a regular at The Blushing Maiden, another club for crossdressers and their admirers. She had been making the scene for over a year now and considered herself to be an expert. She had lost any fear of being out and about long ago, so the thought of walking a few blocks to her waiting car did not worry her a bit.

Perhaps she should never have lost her fear.

A man came up to her, seemingly out of nowhere. "Well hello, little lady," he said. "You seem mighty lonely tonight. Maybe I ought to walk a bit with you, make sure you get home safe."

"Nice try, buddy," she answered, "but I'm not really interested."

She suddenly found herself surrounded by three men. "I didn't ask you if you were interested," the first man said. "I said I wanted to walk with you. Over here."

Melody started to panic. "Look if you want my purse, you can have it. Just let me go, okay?"

The men all laughed. "You hear that, fellows? She thinks we want her purse."

Melody found herself in a powerful grip. "Now listen, faggot," the man said, "We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way. Either way, you're coming with us."

Melody was forced into the alley. Two of her assailants forced her to her knees. The third stepped up to her and began to unzip his fly. "That's a pretty little mouth you got, fruit. Let's see if you know how to use it. You are just gonna love this, fairy."

There was a dull thud and the man fell backward. Something wooden clattered onto the pavement. The two men holding Melody down saw the truncheon skid on the concrete and turned in the direction it was hurled from.

Standing in the alleyway was a woman.

Her outline was indistinct, obscured by the long dark trench coat and the slouch fedora she was wearing, but the outline was definitely female.

"Leave her alone," said a menacing voice.

One of the two remaining assailants hesitated for a moment. Then he pulled out a knife and charged the mysterious figure. This was a serious mistake on his part. As he advanced she produced a set of nunchucks, sidestepped his charge, and disarmed him with a single swipe. She spun the chucks and brought the polished wood down on his skull, producing a crunching sound. He was down for the count.

The third assailant, having witnessed his companions' downfall, decided to exercise the better part of valor and ran for it. He didn't get far. The mysterious woman in black drew what appeared to be a Mauser and fired. There was no loud retort of a bullet, merely a very subdued chuff as the mercy dart shot out toward the runner. He fell like a sack of potatoes.

The woman holstered her pistol and advanced to Melody, still on her knees and crying. Her wig had been knocked off in the struggle. The woman in black retrieved it, then she stretched out her hand to help Melody to her feet. "Come with me, you need help," she said.

Melody found herself sobbing, unable to speak. She sobbed quietly as the mysterious woman helped her to her feet and took her to a long black car parked nearby.

"Get inside," said the woman. "You will be safe here." Melody was still very frightened, but somehow felt she could trust this mysterious person, and so she entered the car.

It was as huge inside as it appeared on the outside. The wide leather seat was warm. A driver sat in the front.

Melody stammered between sobs. "W-w-who is she?"

The driver answered, "A friend to those most in need. But if you hurt one of her friends, she's your worst nightmare."

"What is she doing out there?"

"Tying up a few loose ends. The boss likes leaving things neat and tidy."

The enigmatic woman returned, closing the door behind her. "Our work here is done, Max," she said to the driver. "Take us to the hospital. Our friend needs medical attention."

"No!" said Melody in panic, "not the hospital. It's my wife and daughter, they don't know."

"Do not worry," said the woman, still obscured by the hat and coat. "I am taking you to friends you may trust. They will let you change before calling your wife."

"But, my car..."

"It will be taken care of. It will be returned to your home." She removed a card from her coat pocket and wrote a name and a number on it. "When you are feeling better, call this number. She's a friend you can trust. She will counsel you on how to tell your wife. It's important that your wife knows."

Melody took the card. On one side was a name and phone number. On the other side was an embossed image of a rose.

"I, I, I don't know what to say. How can I ever thank you? How can I ever pay you back?"

The woman spoke. "You will become one of my agents."

Before Melody could speak, the mysterious woman grabbed her left hand and pressed a lancet device against it. A click, a pinprick, and a small drop of blood welled up on her second finger. The woman touched a small strip to the droplet, drawing it into a test chamber. She inserted the strip into a box on which several lights began to flash, Then the box opened.

The woman removed a white gold ring set with a rose-hued Opel and placed it on Melody's pinky. "This is how you will recognize other agents. The ring is keyed to your own DNA. Nobody else can operate it. This is the recognition signal."

The woman showed Melody a similar ring on her own pinky. As she watched, it began to glow a pale pink. Then, Melody's own ring began to glow. "Only those with a keyed ring can see the glow," she explained. "Now you try. Simply concentrate and will your ring to glow."

Melody concentrated. She imagined the ring glowing. She was surprised when her ring began to glow, and even more surprised when the woman's ring glowed along with it."

"Excellent," the woman said. "Some time in the future I shall call upon you for some service. It will be to aid another like yourself, a victim. You will not be asked to do anything you are not capable of."

Melody was stunned. "Why are you doing this? What do you hope to accomplish?"

"I do this because I was once a victim. I will never allow that to happen again. And I will do all that is in my power to ensure that the vulnerable are not victimized.

"For far too long the hoodlums and thugs of the world have victimized those most helpless. Society does nothing to protect us. Now they shall learn to respect us. Individually, we are helpless. But if we stand together, we shall prevail.

"I intend to take back the night. And I shall do this with agents such as you."

Melody said, "But I don't even know who you are."

She turned. Melody could not discern all of her features, but she could not mistake those piercing blue eyes. "You can call me The Rose."

The car pulled up at the hospital. Attendants came and led Melody to a treatment area. The car sped off into the night.

* * * * *

Teresa and JoEllen had enjoyed another lunch at a small dumpling house in Chinatown. The two were riding back to the Precinct House in JoEllen's Lincoln, and Teresa was just bursting with the latest details of her newly solved case.

"It was just amazing," she told JoEllen, "the gang was found bound with duct tape and two of them had received severe injuries. The third had only minor bruises from falling. Apparently he had been taken out with a knockout dart."

"You're kidding," said JoEllen. "This sounds really crazy."

"That isn't the half of it. These guys blurted out their confessions. I had to Mirandize them twice to make sure I didn't blow the case on a technicality, but they were insistent. They waived their rights to a lawyer and just confessed to all of the assaults. The funny thing was, they seemed really scared. They said they had been roughed up by some sort of woman in black who threatened them with even more pain if they didn't confess."

"She must have really been something to put so much fear into them," JoEllen said.

"Maybe so," said Teresa, "but I'm not exactly sure how I feel about some vigilante busting skulls. Something about this goes against my grain as a cop."

"Well," said JoEllen," I'm sure that our mysterious protector won't do any harm to the innocent."

"I'm not too sure," said Teresa. "Like I said, I'm a cop. Cops don't believe in Batman."

"Oh look," said JoEllen, "we've arrived at the Precinct House."

"Thanks for the lift, JoEllen," said Teresa. "Are we on for lunch next week?"

"Sounds good to me. See you then."

JoEllen watched Teresa enter the building as the car pulled away.

"Hey, boss," said Max, "it sounds like your friend isn't too keen on somebody invading her turf."

"She's just being cautious, Max. She is, after all, a cop. I think we will need to be careful about her, though. But that's for later. Let's head home."

"You want to go to the country house, boss?"

"No, take me to the townhouse. The country was Diana's place. I'm a city girl, and I want to be close to my city. You never know when a friend might need some help."

"You got it, boss. We're on the way."

 © 2004, Valentina Michelle Smith.

Notes:

Dedicated with respect to Wil Eisner, creator of The Spirit.

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