*

It was dark and wet.

I knew it was dark because I had my eyes open and I couldn't see a thing. I knew it was wet because the rain was pouring down like it was time for Noah to get out the inflatable.

I was in the back garden at the abode of one Mr. Roland Deaf.

He was a quiet man with no unusual habits, or so I was told. My job was to watch his every
move and report back to his fiancée; a Miss Trixie Havalot. any unusual, kinky or just plain odd things that he might get up to. She was rich, so rich that she could buy half of Texas with the small change from one of her many Swiss numbered accounts. She had to be careful about who she was marrying. Divorce ain't cheap.

You may wonder who I am to crouch in a dark back garden wearing a somewhat tatty raincoat, looking like a flasher waiting to pounce.

My name is Max, Max Fork and I'm a private dick. God knows why she chose me to do this job. She could have paid big bucks to one of the large flashy New York firms for round the clock surveillance, but she chose little ol' me. I was on a Grand a day for this gig and as far as I was concerned, this was the gravy boat I'd been waiting for since I started up for myself two years ago.

Suddenly the light went on in the upstairs window and there he was, staring out into the night. He was a tall thin man with longish mousy hair and the vacant expression of someone with something on his mind.

Equally suddenly he turned round and disappeared from sight. Then the light went out.

I pushed my way through some bushes and managed to get to the front of the house in time to see Deaf get into his car and drive off at some speed down the road.

I ran to my car, started it on the third attempt and with screeching tires pursued the rapidly dwindling glow of Deaf's tail lights down the wet, dark road.

My wipers were working overtime to clear the water as I peered through the gloom. The faint red lights of the car in front seemed to flicker under the deluge. Luckily just then the rain stopped, like someone had turned off a faucet. I was so startled I nearly lost him as he suddenly turned the corner onto Main.

I slowed down as I came to the corner. It was a good job I did as Deaf had parked illegally by a fire hydrant and was just going into a neon lit sleazy clip joint. I knew it was sleazy because the broads standing outside were definitely not part of a Girl Scout group out selling cookies. I figured the only knots they were likely to know about were those used in bondage games, not that I knew anything about that, of course.

I parked my car around the corner and walked into the club. As I went in, Barry White's deep voice was singing something about, "You're my first, my last, my everyaything."

I paid the bad breath; BO impregnated creep behind the wire meshed kiosk the 50 bucks entry fee, which evidently included one complimentary warm beer. The bits floating in it probably gave the patrons their daily fibre.

I went down the narrow stairs, which likely hadn't been cleaned since Hoover was a boy.

At the bottom of the stairs I nearly tripped over a drunken bum lying on the floor; obviously in a state of inebriation well past that of seeing pink elephants.

Stepping over the twitching comatose body that mumbled at my shadow, I went into the bar.

It was gloomy in there but not gloomy enough. I could see that the walls were peeling, the ceiling had holes in places and the carpet, which might originally have been red or brown, who knows, was now a tasteful shade of muddy grey. It had a swirled pattern in beer and vomit with a sprinkling of dried blood which leant it an abstract air. Artsy.

In short this was some classy joint.

I peered around the smoke filled interior to see where Deaf was at. There were maybe 20 people either sitting at various tables or propped up against the bar. At one end of the room there was a small stage with torn red velvet curtains. I walked over to the bar and nodded to the bartender, who was busy spitting into a glass and cleaning it.

"Say, have you seen a tall mousy haired guy come in the last few minutes,"

"Nope."

"Are you sure? He just came in just before me."

"Nope."

I flashed a five-dollar bill in front of his bloodshot eyes.

"Does this help refresh you're memory?"

"Nope."

"Does Monday follow Tuesday?"

"Nope."

I gave up in disgust and asked for a bottle of beer. For some reason I didn't fancy a glass. So after finding a table in the corner, I sipped the lukewarm, flat brown cloudy stuff straight from the bottle.

I looked around slowly to see if Deaf had appeared but no, the place was full of men in dirty raincoats, a bit like mine funnily enough, but no Deaf.

It was my guess that in a dump like this there wouldn't be a fire exit so I kept my eyes peeled to see when my man came out of the john or wherever the hell he'd got to.

Suddenly there was a loud drum roll, rattling out from behind the curtain.

A man in a dirty white suit, with a beer gut spilling over his waistband like it was trying to get away, came out and leered at the audience.

"Gentlemen and now for the act you've been waiting for, straight from appearing at Las Vegas with Fraaaank Sinatra, I give you… Son…ee…ta !"

He went off stage with a flourish and the curtains squealed back and there, in a sequined sheath of a dress, stood the most stunning and drop dead gorgeous looking girl I had seen in all my damn days. I forgot about Deaf, I forgot about the job, I forgot what day of the week it was and if asked I probably couldn't tell you my name.

She started stripping slowly and flimsy pieces of clothing were dispensed with, as she peeled them off and threw them around the room one by one, to the sounds of that immortal ballad "The Stripper."

Those in the crowd, who weren't busy breathing heavily and doing things under the table shouted and screamed encouragement as she gradually stripped down until there was nearly nothing left to take off.

She turned her back as she took her silky knickers and bra off, teasing and tantalizing her slobbering audience. Suddenly there was another drum roll and she turned round to screams, shouts and whistles and then my jaw dropped at least two feet at the site of the flat chest and the extra bit that shouldn't have been between the legs of anyone named Soneeta.

I looked long and hard and saw with horror that through the heavy make up and six-inch eyelashes was none other than the face of Roland Deaf ! The curtain fell with a squeaky rattle and the audience went into a stupor. No doubt worn out from the excitement of it all.

I knew that I had to tell Miss Havalot about her cross-dressing fiancée but bearing in mind the 1000 bucks a day, I thought that I might leave it a few weeks. In the meantime as I chewed the last dregs of my cloudy beer I marvelled at what I had seen and wondered how the hell was I going to tell Miss Havalot about how Deaf becomes her.

THE END

Susan Brown
Copyright 2007