Revenge in Drag

I was on my way home after seeing a French film that I had
particularly enjoyed. It was one that I had seen advertised some time
ago and when it had finally arrived at my local cinema I wasted no time
in going to see it.
It had been raining when I went inside, but now the rain had stopped
and looking up, I could see the clouds scurrying across the face of the
moon and the occasional star twinkling as the break in the clouds
sometime allowed.
In front of me, some distance ahead was a young woman, her high heels
clicking rhythmically in time with her steps. She had very shapely legs
and her smooth skin shone each time light from one of the shops that
she passed caught her.
The film was one of those moody continental affairs that the French are
very good at producing. It was about a lonely man who spent his time at
home looking at and watching a young woman whose flat his over looked.
He wasn't a pervert or a peeping Tom, he just found her extremely
attractive, and was drawn to her
beauty, rather like a moth to a flame, much like the young woman who
walked in front of me now.
I had quickened my pace a little, wanting to get just a little closer
to her, her legs drawing me to her. I felt like the moth and the young
woman's legs were the flame.
In the film, the man, on his way home one-day, met the woman on the
stairs. She knew that he had been watching her but she was not
offended, flattered really. She asked him in for a coffee but he
politely refused. He had wanted to say yes but he was shy and so
declined her invitation. Some time later, as the film progressed the
young woman was murdered. A burglar had forced entry and disturbed by
her, attacked and killed her. The police, in their enquiries suspected
the man. He protested his innocence but the police were relentless and
pursued him almost daily. Finally the man, in his desperation,
committed suicide. The police took it as an admission of guilt.
I had gained quite a lot of ground on the woman who walked before me. I
let my eyes rove up and down her slender, young body. She had the belt
to her jacket buckled tightly and, it was difficult to tell if she was
wearing a skirt or not. She must be. Slowing my pace a little, not
wanting to over-take her, I kept a safe distance behind, my eyes
riveted to her long, smooth legs,
made more appealing by the shortness of her skirt and the height of the
heels on the shoes that she wore.
Looking across the wet streets to the shops on the other side, I
imagined what it must be like to have those legs wrapped around me as
our naked bodies writhed as one, as we became locked together, the
passion and our lust for one another building to a satisfying
crescendo.
My mind was snatched from my revelry by a loud, piercing scream. I had
drifted back some way behind her as my thoughts had wandered and my
head jerked up at the sound of the shrieking.
The woman was wrestling with a man, a man who had hold of her shoulder
bag and was trying to rip it from her grasp. She continued to scream
and shout. Momentarily stunned, I suddenly sprinted towards her. Her
assailant had knocked her to the ground and I could see blood smeared
across one corner of her mouth. The attacker had succeeded in freeing
the bag from her grip and was now running away. His figure darted down
an unlit alley way.
Reaching the woman I bent over her and asked if she were all
right.
"Get away from me" she shrieked. "Get away!"
Her blond hair was strewn over her face, her blood a violent, ugly red
smear against her pale cheek.
"It's alright. I'm here to help."
I looked down at her face, her eyes wide and frightened glared back at
me.
"Leave me alone!" she screamed at me. Her voice was piercing and full
of panic.
I started to stand upright when I felt my arm being pulled. The tight
grip jerked me away as the woman scrambled to her feet.
"'Ere, what you up to?" a voiced growled.
My head snapped round to face him. As my eyes focused on him, I felt
there was something familiar about his face, as though I thought I
should know him. "I was just trying to help her. Someone attacked
her."
"I never saw anyone," he grunted.
"You must have!" I exclaimed. "It was right here!" The area where we
stood was bathed in bright light. It seemed incredible to me now that
the robber would have picked this exact spot to rob the woman.
"I tell yer, I never saw anyone," he growled menacingly.
A small crowd had started to gather.
"What's going on?" I heard a voice ask.
But before I could reply the man, whose hand still had a firm hold of
me, answered,
"He says he saw someone attack this woman."
"I never saw anyone else," the voice replied, "it must have been
him."
"No," I pleaded, "it wasn't me. I saw him, a man. I was quite some way
behind. I saw him snatch her bag, he . . ."
The man who had a hold of me jerked me roughly in front of the woman.
She was dabbing the corner of her mouth with a tissue, tears had wetted
her face and as I looked pleadingly into her eyes single I saw one
single tear slide out and dribble down her cheek.
"Is this him, is this the guy who attacked you?" he asked harshly, his
grip on my arm tightening.
Her terrified eyes swept over my face. "I'm . . .I'm. not sure," she
stammered.
"It wasn't me, I didn't do it. You have to believe me," I pleaded
again.
My gaze focused on each face as I turned my head first one way, then
the next. I saw nothing but scorn and contempt on the faces of the
people who had gathered there, grouped like thugs on a street
corner.
"He's probably tossed it away somewhere," another voice sneered.
"Yeah, look at him, guilt written all over his face," another
said.
As my stomach tied itself into knots, I faced the woman. "You have to
tell them. It wasn't me."
"Put a cork in it mate," The man who had a hold of me pulled me away
and had closed his other hand onto either side of my jaw, his fingers
pressing tight. The pressure was intense and stabs of pain made my eyes
water.
That face. Where had I seen that face before? My mind was numb. All
coherent thought had been banished along with the moment.
I heard the wail of an approaching siren and minutes later I was being
led away and thrust into the back of a patrol car, steel handcuffs
cutting into the skin on my wrists.
I looked out forlornly at the group of faces as the car moved away.
Derision was on every one of their features. I caught a glance of the
woman that I had tried to help as she gave a statement to another
police officer. I saw her eyes flick my way, look momentarily at me and
just as quickly flick back to the person she was talking to. If only
she would tell them what really happened.
I sighed and pushed myself dejectedly back as far as I could into the
seat of the car as we wound our way through the streets.
After being questioned for some length at the police station I was put
into an empty cell.
That man, the one who grabbed my arm, his face was so familiar. I
racked my brain as I tried to remember. Nothing came. A tin mug of
steaming, strong tea was bought to me. I didn't feel like drinking it
straight away, so wrapped my hands around it in an effort to warm my
hands and fingers. I forced myself to gulp down a few mouthfuls, the
hot liquid warming my insides as it burned a trail down to my stomach.
God I hate strong tea, tea that tasted as though it had been stewed and
then reheated before being served.
I put the mug onto the floor. It clanked as I did so. I lay down on the
bed and drawing the thin blanket over me, I felt so cold. I closed my
eyes. That face again. The memory of it had come back to haunt me. If
only I could remember. I drifted into an uneasy sleep.
I was woken after a while by the cell door swinging open and a voice,
one that now had a tone of friendliness attached to it, spoke kindly to
me.
"I got some good news for you. We caught a guy across town about an
hour ago. Tried to snatch some ladies pocketbook Her husband was just
coming out of a shop and managed to catch him." The face of the officer
smiled thinly at me. "When we questioned him, he admitted to being the
man who had attacked the woman that you were involved with."
My eyes widened with relief. "You mean I can go."
"Yep. We've no cause to detain you further."
I sat up and put my feet on the floor. I shrugged off the blanket and
quickly pulled my jacket and coat on. Walking out of the station I took
in a deep breath, pulled my collar up, and walked the considerable
distance back to my car. The streets had long since dried but a few
puddles still remained. All the time I was walking, the face of the man
that had apprehended me swam in front of my eyes. That face. I would
never forget it. It was his fault that I had been put through this
humiliation
The more I thought of him, the more my anger rose. So much so, that
hatred for him took a firm hold on my heart and mind. I began to see
visions in my head, like a movie being played over and over again. I
would stalk this man. I would lie in wait and then, when he was least
expecting it I would assault him with an axe. The first blows would
strike his legs, rendering him incapable of escape. In my mind I could
see the pain on his face, the same pain that he and the other's earlier
that evening had inflicted on me. Then I would strike his arms,
smashing his hands as he desperately tried to defend himself. The image
of my own face burned itself into my brain. A face twisted with joy
and
hatred combined. Evil and revenge coming together with malevolent glee:
And the final blow! The axe coming down and burying itself into his
skull and splitting the bone wide open. Walking away, I would leave the
axe when it had struck, the handle sticking up in the air, blood and
brain splattered on is face, his ugly, twisted face. I played the scene
through and through and each time the result would be the same, his
death excruciatingly painful. I shuddered at my own barbaric thoughts
but they were over shadowed by my utter loathing of him for what he did
to me. And then the remembrance of him suddenly came back to me.
It was years ago. When I was at school, a teenager, thirteen to be
precise. I was at a bus stop waiting for the bus to arrive to take me
to the next town, to where I lived. There was a long queue, people
standing in a line like a huge snake, one which coiled along the
pathway, each component of this living, heaving mass of people anxious
and fed up because another bus, and earlier one, had not run and so the
queue was longer and more unforgiving than usual.
The bus finally arrived and pulled up at the stop. People began to
disgorge from it but all too quickly they stopped getting off. There
wouldn't be enough room. I could sense it. Angry people would be left
behind, their tempers already frayed, would be stretched even more. The
line of people began to move. I edged closer and closer, praying to be
able to get on. I had so much that I wanted to do that evening. I
didn't want to be late, I couldn't afford to be late home. The people
just in front of me climbed on board, I had made it. I heard a voice
call out, "Room for one more!" I stepped joyfully up, oblivious to the
souls left standing. Just as my foot came down on the step, a hand
pulled me back and stumbling, I fell to the ground. I looked up and the
dirty, spotty face of a youth older than me leered back and down at me
and laughed.
"You can get he next one, shrimp," he sneered.
I had barely gotten to my feet when the bus pulled away. I was angry
and hurt. Not physically hurt but emotionally and mentally. Embarrassed
and humiliated I waited till the next bus arrived and without thought
climbed on and found a seat, pushing my way past other patrons trying
to get off. I wasn't going to miss this one.
But the face of that youth! It was the same face of the man who help me
back last night. The years passed had been many, but it was him all
right. It was him! The youth, now grown, was the man.
And now, all these years later I would meet with him again. My hatred
for this man leapt to even greater heights. I would get even with him.
What ever it took I would exact my revenge. I wouldn't be like the man
I saw in the film, I wouldn't run away or cower any longer. This man
would pay, preferably with his
life.
When I got home I sat in my chair and sulked. How stupid of him. Why
did he do what he did? Well, he would be sorry; More sorry than he
would ever be in his entire life. I was going to get my revenge.
I considered how I should go about this matter. I didn't want to get
caught, after all, twice he had humiliated me and no retribution had
come to him, so why should I have to pay for what I was considering
doing?
I had to get to know this man but without him knowing me. I didn't want
to befriend him just get know where he lived, where he went, what his
routine was.
The next night I drove down the same street again. I saw nothing. I did
the same the next night and the one after that, and the one after that,
and then I saw him. I pulled over to the side of the road and waited. I
watched as he climbed into a car and pull out into the line of
traffic.
Following him was easy. Much easier that I ever imagined it could be to
'tail' someone. He stopped in a secluded, quiet street, got out of his
car and went into a house. It was in the early hours of the morning
when I went home. The man never reappeared.
For the next few weeks I followed him. I was extremely careful not to
let him see me and I took every precaution against being detected. I
was thorough. I got to know his every move. Where he went in the
evenings. His complete life was now known to me but I still hadn't
resolved in my mind how to avoid detection when the time came for me to
make him pay for his sins against me.
I needed a disguise. Something that would allay all suspicion. I
considered many things. A tramp, an old man one with a bushy beard.
Nothing seemed quite what I wanted. Which ever I chose the police, when
it was all over, would still be looking for a man. A man. Besides, I
wanted something that would attract him, make him want to come with me.
The thought flashed across my brain like a thunderbolt. I would
disguise myself as a woman. Why the simplicity of the idea was almost
idiotic. I smiled at the thought of it.
Sitting in front of a mirror I examined my face. It was still quite
youthful looking, so an older woman would be difficult, it would have
to be someone younger. My thoughts turned to the woman who had
unwittingly been apart of this whole episode. Someone like her, I
thought. The more I dwelt on the notion, the more it appealed. I
recalled the way her skin had shone on her legs and how enticing they
had looked. That was the effect that I wanted to convey. Young,
attractive, alluring, to draw attention to myself and as a result,
completely thwart all attempts of capture.
The next day I went to the library and took out a couple of books,
theatrical ones on make-up and dress. I studied them ruthlessly. Night
after night I would sit in front of my mirror practicing putting on
make-up, seeing which colors suited me best. After all, authenticity
was paramount. I bought a wig, long, dark brown hair. When I finished
my make-up I slid on the wig. Brushing the hair into place, I sat back
and admired myself. I was stunned beyond belief. Even I didn't
recognize myself. The effect was staggering. This was the hardest part,
I thought, and I had carried it off to perfection. I remained sitting
and practiced facial expressions. Laughing, frowning, smiling. They all
looked so natural. I was elated.
The next day I went and bought a dress, cream. Matching underwear, I
was leaving nothing to chance, and shoes and stockings. The sales
assistant didn't bat an eyelid when I told her they were a birthday
gift for my girlfriend.
That evening when I got home I stood in the bath and standing in only
my underpants shaved the hair my entire body until my skin shone like
the young woman's I had followed that fateful night. And then applying
my make-up and putting on the wig, I got dressed in the clothes that I
had bought.
Standing in front of the mirror I was dumbfounded. The hemline of the
dress came about six inches above my knee and was much shorter than I
had anticipated but the overall effect was incredible. I practiced
walking about my apartment in the high heeled shoes. It was so much
easier than I had ever imagined. I
looked myself up and down and nodded with quiet satisfaction. This, I
thought would fool anyone. I giggled like a demented schoolboy at the
thought of it all. The perfect crime: Revenge in drag.
The next evening, after night fell I went stealthily to my neighbor's
garden shed and quietly gaining entry I scanned the walls with a
flashlight, my eyes studying every shape until I saw what I wanted. I
grasped the handle and lifted down from the wall a long handled axe. I
ran my finger along the blade and could feel the sharpness. "Perfect,"
I muttered to myself. One thing about old man Waugh, he kept everything
neat and tidy and in perfect condition.
I retraced my steps to my own home and closing the door I set about
donning my disguise. About an hour later I was ready. I had wrapped the
axe in a plastic rubbish sack and I stepped out into the night. I was
taken aback slightly when my bare legs were suddenly cold, cooled by
the night air. It was a totally new sensation for me, one that I had
not anticipated. I shrugged off the feeling of nakedness and climbed
into my car.
I knew the man's schedule religiously. I knew where he would be and
what time he would get there and what he would be doing.
It was a reasonably short drive to my rendezvous and soon I was
climbing the stairs to the bar on the first floor. The axe I left in
the boot of my car. He always parked in a darkened ally, most
convenient I thought and I had parked mine near the entrance so that
when I needed to make my get-away I would have the minimum amount of
ground to cover.
I entered the room and there he was, sitting in the same place as he
always sat, in the corner facing the door. He looked up as I walked in.
I saw a flash of appreciation play on his features and so I smiled at
him. Nothing too outrageous but enough to let him know that when he
concluded his business I would be interested in him. It was all part of
my plan. To leave with him and
then once outside I would make a pretence of going to my car to check
that it was locked before recovering the axe and then return to him
while he waited for me in anticipation of some carnal pleasure, before
I smote him down and thus completing my mission.
I ordered a drink from the bar in as softer voice as I could. The
barman never flinched. I sat at a nearby table and waited.
Watching him, I saw people approach his table and sit down. I watched
as a bundle of money was discreetly transferred under the table and a
small plastic bag was exchanged for it. The man was a drug dealer. I
smiled at him whenever I got the opportunity and he responded in like
manner. It was all going to plan. I glanced at my watch. I had about an
hour to wait before he would be finished for the evening. All the weeks
of watching and planning would soon be over. He was as predictable as
the sunrise each day.
I looked over to the door and a woman, about mid-thirties came in. She
swept the room with her eyes and seeing me alone she walked over to my
table and sat down.
"I'm sorry to intrude, but are you alone?"
I nodded.
She relaxed visibly. "Oh good. Do you mind if I join you for a while,
I've just had the most terrible fight with my boyfriend and I needed to
get out for a bit."
I smiled and nodded my understanding.
She left the table momentarily while she bought a drink from the bar
and returning, she sat in her chair and drew it closer toward me.
I let her do most of the talking and over the course of the next hour I
listened to her entire life story. I punctuated the conversation with
sympathetic noises as she related her tales of woe to me. I wondered
why on earth she would stay with a man who treated her like she said he
did. She was an attractive enough woman. She should have no difficulty
in finding someone else.
I glanced nervously at my watch. It was getting close to the time the
man was due to leave and the woman, who was still assaulting my
eardrums, showed no sign of stopping.
A short time later I saw him rise from his table, drain his glass and
make towards the door. My heart was thumping in my chest. All the weeks
of preparation was going to be for nothing. But wait. I calmed myself.
There would be other nights. I could come back tomorrow. I relaxed and
settled back in my chair. Tomorrow. I would kill the worthless bastard
tomorrow.
He smiled at me as he left and I responded with a small wave
of my hand. Above the hum of conversation I heard his foot-falls
descend the stairs
The woman who was seated with me watched but said nothing. A few
moments later I heard shouting. Abuse and shouting coming from
downstairs. My heart leapt into my mouth when a uniformed police
officer appeared at the top of the stairs. He scanned the room and
seeing us seated at the table, marched over. When her reached us he
leant forward slightly towards the woman and said
in hushed tones, "It's okay ma'am, we've got him."
She nodded in response to this news and then turned her attention back
to me.
"Now then. I'm Detective Inspector Wesson. That man who left here just
a few minutes ago is a notorious drugs dealer. We've been following him
for months, all part of a very elaborate
operation, which," she said with emphasis, "you almost jeopardized
beyond repair."
She considered me closely before continuing. "We've been watching you
too. We realized early on that you were not a part of his dealings but
then we got to wandering and wanted to know just what your involvement
is exactly. So," she said leveling her gaze at me, "we need to know why
Mr. Lucas have you involved yourself with this man. Why you have been
following him all these weeks and why," she added, "do you have an axe
wrapped in black plastic in the boot of your car, and finally, why, Mr.
Lucas, have you came here tonight dressed as a woman?"
Her eyes bore into me as she waited for her reply.
"I . . .I . . ." I stammered. "Oh God . . ."
THE END.