Shakedown
by Ellie Dauber (c) 2003

The Ace-High Lounge was in its early evening lull, between the “I’ll just stop off for a quick drink on the way home” crowd and the “Let’s go out tonight and have a few drinks” crowd. A few people were scattered here and there through the room, trying to decide which group they wanted to be in.

A beefy man, about forty, in a police uniform, walked in and headed quietly over to the bar. “Your boss around?” he asked the bartender.

“In the office,” the bartender said. “You want I should get him?”

“I know the way,” the cop said. He walked to a doorway at the far end of the bar and down the short hallway it opened in to. There was a door at the end, with a small, metal “Office” sign nailed to it. The cop opened the door and walked in without knocking.

A curly-haired man in his late 20s was looking through a liquor company catalog. He looked up when he heard the door open. “I’m busy - - oh, excuse me, officer, what can I do for you?”

“You the owner?” the cop asked.

The other man stood and walked around his desk. “I’m one of them. I’m partners with my brother and a couple of cousins. I get to manage it, though.” He offered his hand. “I’m Pete Djanko. And you are?”

The cop ignored the offered handshake. “Reilly, Sean Michael Reilly, but you can call me Sergeant Reilly. Did Costner tell you our deal when he sold you this dump?”

“He said you two had some kind of arrangement, but he didn’t give much in the way of details, I’m afraid.”

Reilly’s expression soured. With his very close cut brown hair, he looked like a bad ‘smiley’. “That sounds like the little weasel. Okay, it’s real simple. I come here every Wednesday night for your donation to the Police Sergeants’ Fund.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that charity.”

“That’s because you ain’t a police sergeant. We’re... it’s real exclusive.”

“I see, and I’m sure it’s a very good cause, but our budget’s very tight right now. We tied up a lot of cash buying the club and we’re still in the middle of re-decorating. You probably saw the roped-off work area when you came in. Plus, there’s some repairs we need that Mr. Costner didn’t tell us about, when he sold us the place -- I’m sure you understand. Can you come back in a couple of months, and we’ll talk then. I’m sure we can work something out.”

“You’re not being very friendly, mister, almost like you got something to hide. Maybe I need to ask a friend of mine in the vice unit to check this place out for drug dealing. They can hang around and make sure that nobody’s doing any hooking in here, neither.” He paused and looked at the office walls and ceiling.

“Then, too, maybe the fire department needs to take a look at this place, see that you’re up to code; the building inspectors, too. Check your permits for all that work you’re doing on the --”

“Thank you, Sergeant Reilly. I believe that I get your point. That fund does sound like a very worthwhile charity.”

“I knew you’d think so once I explained it to you.”

Djanko walked back behind the desk. He took a key from his pocket and opened a drawer. A second key opened a small, metal box in the drawer. “You said $100, I believe.” He took the amount out of his ‘petty cash’ cashbox and handed it to Reilly.

“Smile, sir, it’s all for a good cause. You know, you got a really friendly place here.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. May I buy you a drink?”

Reilly looked shocked. “Mr. Djanko, I’m not allowed to drink on duty.” Then he laughed. “See you next week.”

***

“He’s as bad as Marty Kostner said he was,” Pete Djanko said. He was sitting in the office of his cousin, Stefan, a rising, young lawyer and one of his partners in the club. Pete’s brother, Nyklos -- Nick, and another cousin, Tomas, the other partners, were also in the room.

“I did a little checking,” Stefan said. “He’s one of about six cops, all sergeants, who are in on the scam. A lot of people know, but nobody’s saying anything.”

“Why the hell not?” Nick said. “The honest cops should want to get rid of a bad apple like him.”

Tomas shrugged. “The ‘Blue Brotherhood’ protects him. Nobody wants to rat on a fellow cop.”

“That’s for sure,” Nick said. “You don’t screw a guy who may be the one you need for backup in some shoot-out.”

“Besides, these guys know where a lot of bodies are buried bureaucratically,” Stefan said. “Take them down, and they’ll take a lot of others down with them.”

“So what do we do?” Nick asked.

“The law can’t touch them,” Tomas said, with a knowing smile. “So we go to a... higher power.”

“Uncle Stavros,” all four said at once.

***

Pete Djanko was standing at the bar, talking to Joey, the bartender, when Reilly came back in. “I see you put in a stage,” the cop said by way of greeting.

Pete smiled. “Yeah, we thought our customers like to have something to watch while they’re drinking. The first show’s tonight, in fact. You’re welcome to stay, if you’d like.”

“I like, but you may not like it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thing like this, live dancing, you’re gonna be making a whole lot more money.”

“There’s expenses, too, but, yeah, we think we’ll do pretty well.”

“So do I. In fact, it seems to me, with a set-up like that, you can afford to your contribution to the Sergeants’ Fund. Yeah, I’d say... umm... $150 a week seems about right.”

“$150, but that’s --”

“What you’ll be paying -- excuse me -- contributing every week.”

Pete sighed. “Can you at least wait till next week? We haven’t even had the first show yet?”

“Mr. Djanko,” Reilly said with a smile. “You should have more confidence in your own business. It’ll be $125 tonight, just to show what a nice guy I am, then up to $150 next week.”

“All right... I guess. Let me go get it from the office.” He started to walk away. “Joey, give the good sergeant whatever he’d like to drink... on the house.”

“Just a Coke,” Reilly said. “I am on duty.”

Djanko came back just as Reilly was finishing his second Coke. “Here’s the... contribution.” He handed the cop a small, gold-colored piece of metal with a number of bills folded inside it.

“What the hell’s this?” Reilly looked at the object. It was shaped like a policeman’s badge.

“A money clip, I though the shape was appropriate. I’ve got an uncle - - my great uncle, really -- who’s got a real... talent for turning out things like that. Call it a gift.”

Reilly opened the clip and took out the money. “Fifty... seventy... ninety... one-ten... one-twenty... five. All here.” He put the money down and looked at the money clip. “Not a bad piece of work. Thanks.” He put the money back inside the clip, then put it all in a pocket.

“If you’re going to be here for a while, let me show you around.”

“What do I need to see some stage for?”

“Well, I thought you might like to meet the woman that’ll be dancing here tonight. Her name’s... Tawny.”

“That’s more like it.” He swung his arm wide. “Lead the way.”

Pete led him down the hall to a second door. He knocked but there was no answer. “Tawny, come forth,” he said with an odd smile.

“That’s a hell of a way to say hello,” Reilly said. He felt a chill for a moment, but then it passed. He didn’t notice that his policeman’s badge had been replaced by the one from the money clip.

“I suppose not,” Pete said. He knocked again and, when there was no answer, turned the knob. The door was unlocked and opened easily. The two men walked into the room. Pete closed the door behind them.

The room was sparsely furnished, a couch and chair against one wall, a pipe rack with hangers for costumes. A well-lighted mirror hung from a second wall, with table and chair up against the wall in front of it, a make-up table. There was a door in the opposite wall with a full- length mirror covering it.

The two men were the only ones in the room.

“She ain’t here.” Reilly sounded more angry than disappointed.

“Oh, she’s around. Come forth, Tawney.”

“What is with that ‘come forth’ crap?” Reilly asked. He felt another sudden chill. “Jeez, it’s drafty in here. You should look into that.”

“It... it’s being taken care of.” He watched Reilly closely. The man was growing shorter, thinner. The amazing thing was that he wasn’t noticing the change. Even his clothes were changing. His uniform shrank down as he did, so that it still fit him.

Then Reilly happened to glance in the wall mirror. He froze a moment and stared. “What the hell’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean! Dammit, look at me. I look like a damned kid.”

“It’s a definite improvement,” Pete said wryly.

“Oh, yeah, well don’t screw with me Djanko. You won’t like it. In fact, let’s see how much you like this” Reilly threw a left hook.

Pete dodged it easily and grabbed Reilly’s wrist. “Ah, ah, ah, you’ll break a nail, if you do that.” He squeezed, causing Reilly to open his hand, his much smaller hand. His fingers were long and slender, with tapered nails a half-inch long, nails with a bright, red polish.

Reilly held up his hand, fingers spread apart and stared. “What’s... what’s going on here?” He raised his other hand, also small, also with nail polish. “It ain’t possible.” He shook his head in disbelief.

When he did, he felt something flying around his ears. And hitting his neck and shoulders. Another glance in the mirror showed that his close-cropped gray hair was now a honey-blonde mane that flowed down to the middle of his back.

“This is crazy. I’m getting out of here.” He ran over to the door and pulled at the knob. Locked. He pulled at it, but it was no use. The other door, it was opened slightly and he ran through it.

Pete followed Reilly down the hall, listening as the slap, slap, slap of Reilly’s shoes became the click, click, click or a pair of high heels. When he caught up with Reilly, the cop was pulling at the locked door at the end. “Open, damn you, open.”

“It won’t open till we’re ready,” Pete said.

“Ready? Ready for what.” His voice was higher now, an alto instead of a bass. His body was still changing, his waist narrowing, his hips growing wider.

His chest growing... fuller.

Reilly screamed and groped at his chest. More specifically, he groped at the pair of breasts that were growing there, pushing out the fabric. “It can’t be. It can’t be.” His voice was moving higher, into the soprano range.

“It is, Tawny.” Pete said.

“What did you call me?” Reilly’s face was changing now, growing softer. His lips were fuller, his cheekbones higher, a woman’s face.

“I’m sorry. Did I get you name wrong?”

“Yeah, it’s Seah... Teah... Tawny.” Reily shook his head. It didn’t sound right; his voice didn’t sound right, but he continued. “Tawny Reil... lon R-Meilly... Mella... Mello... Yeah, that’s it. I’m Tawny Melons.” She giggled, relieved to have gotten it right.

“Yes, you are, Sergeant Melons,” Pete said. “And we need your help. There’s an unruly crowd out there that you need to get under control.”

“You can count on me, sir.” Her voice was a high, breathy soprano. Her uniform was still changing, growing tighter around her lush new curves. The fabric had a silky sheen to it, now, rather than the flat cotton it had been.

With a determined look on his face, Tawny opened the door and walked out onto the stage. As he did, the final transformation began. Tawny’s already shrunken penis and testicles became even smaller. The testicles moved up into the body, changing as they did into ovaries. The empty scrotal sack tightened down on either side of the penis. Their sensitivity remained, as they became the lips of the vagina that was forming between them.

By the time Tawny had taken the second step onto the stage, his penis had settled down into its new place as a clitoris. Tawny was, now and forever, a female.

A tape clicked on, and a particularly brassy version of “Theme from Dragnet” blared out from hidden speakers. Tawny strutted across the stage to the music, her hips swaying invitingly, then she moved back to center stage and stood staring at the audience.

A chorus of catcalls rang out. “This ain’t proper respect,” Tawny said, her voice all but drowned out. She glared at them and pulled her billy club from its strap on her belt and began pounding the end of it in her hand.

Then she smiled and began to stroke it.

‘What am I doing?’ Tawny thought. She tried to stop her hand from moving sensually up and down the billy club. She couldn’t. Worse yet, it was starting to feel good to be doing it, very good.

She pointed the billy club towards the ceiling. As she kept stroking it, she moved it towards her face. She bent her head forward suddenly and kissed the tip of the billy club.

The crowd cheered and whistled.

Tawny grinned and re-fastened the club to her belt. She smiled, sliding her tongue slowly across her upper lip and began to unbutton her blouse. Sean Reilly’s pasty complexion had been replaced by an even, golden tan. There was make-up on her face, now, expertly applied.

When she looked down, Tawny wasn’t surprised to find a pair of 38-D breasts held in place by a satiny bra the same color as her uniform. The blouse was unbuttoned now. She pulled it free, flashing first her left, then her right breast.

The crowd loved it. Tawny left the blouse slide down from her shoulders. She wrapped it around herself, feigning modesty. Then she let it fall. Slowly, sinuously, she slid her arms out one at a time.

An embroidered gold patch on the left cup of her bra looked just like the badge that had been on the money clip.

Tawny shuddered, trying harder than before to fight her body, but she couldn’t stop it. She grabbed her blouse, twirled it over her head and threw it into the audience. Her body was tingling now, warm, pleasant tingles that she wasn’t sure she wanted to stop.

She strutted back and forth across the stage a second time to the “Dragnet” theme, her hips swinging, her breasts sticking out. Her nipples were two sharp points pushing out the front of her bra.

She stopped at center stage and winked at the crowd. Winked? Whatever was happening to her was getting worse. She reached down and pulled at the sides of her uniform pants.

The Velcro that hadn’t been there ten minutes before gave way. The slits that hadn’t been there either opened. A moment later, she was holding the pants in her hand, raising them triumphantly into the air. Below the waist, all Tawny wore was a narrow thong -- a g-string, really -- in the same dark blue.

She tossed the pants into the wings of the stage and took the billy club off the narrow belt that she still wore. Somehow, it seemed thicker now and more even more phallic.

She walked back and forth, hips jerking to the beat of the music. She stroked the billy club to the same beat. She raised the club towards her mouth. With an evil grin, she began to slowly slide her tongue up and down the length of it.

The crowd cheered and yelled its encouragement.

Tawny felt a warmth in her breasts. The warmth moved down in a series of sensual jolts to her groin. She moaned softly as she felt her vagina wrapping around the jolts.

She smiled, and her free hand snaked behind her to work the hook on her bra. She pulled it away with a single motion, revealing the blue and gold pasties she wore beneath it.

Now she lowered the club. Still keeping to the beat, she began to slide it up and down along her groin. The jolts increased in power. She was moaning louder now. Her legs felt weak. Her entire body trembled. Her head rocked back and forth to the same beat, driven by the sensations flooding her body.

A small bit of Sean Reilly remained. ‘This... ain’t... right,’ Sean thought. ‘It... ain’t... it... ain’t... it --’

Something exploded in Tawny’s groin, a pleasure stronger than anything she had ever felt raced to every nerve of her body. She screamed in joy, but she kept moving the billy club.

Sean screamed as well. He screamed and fell irrevocably into the darkness.

Tawny shuddered for a moment. “What am I doing? What just happened.” She stopped, a wicked smile forming on her face.

The audience, cheered, clapped, and whistled. Someone started yelling, “Tawny! Tawny! Tawny!” and the crowd picked it up.

Tawny bowed. This was wonderful. It was what she was meant to do, what she’d always wanted to do. She bowed and threw kisses, soaking in the warmth, the approval, the lust, of the crowd.

She ran over her boyfriend, Pete Djanko. “They certainly seem to like your act,” he said. “I did, too. You were great.”

“You know what the best thing about my dancing is, lover?” she asked, throwing her arms around him and kissing him.

“No, what?”

“How horny it gets me.” She rubbed her almost bare breasts against him. “How about we go someplace and do something about that?”

“Your wish...” Pete put an arm around her waist and led her back to the dressing room and its wide, comfortable couch. He was most certainly going to screw with Sergeant Reilly, or Tawny, as she now knew herself, and he expected that he would most definitely like it.