Ryan found himself swamped and engulfed in perfume laden limbs as the large woman hugged him.
They were invited in, but Ryan sat in blissful ignorance as the pair spoke rapid Dutch for twenty minutes.
Michelle told Mariella about her trials and problems, culminating in being shot, given SRS and now legal recognition as a female. Mariella gazed with undisguised envy at the younger woman.
She took one of Michelle’s elegant slender hands in hers.
“Oh, Michelle. You have no idea how good it is to see you like this. It makes me realise that had I started as young as you were when you came to me, I too could have had a life worth living. As it is, I am a lonely freak, who is teased by the local children and shunned by the adults. My only consolation is that I feel inside that I am now what I should always have been. But if only I could have looked half as good as you.…”
She trailed off, as a single tear fell down her heavily made up cheek.
They stayed for some tea, finally leaving with Mariella openly weeping in gratitude over their visit.
They sat in the car for a moment.
“Sorry about that, but I had to do it. I owe her a lot.”
“That’s okay. I guessed something like that,” Ryan said, as he started the car.
Michelle shared everything about her early life, despite Ryan telling her that it didn’t matter to him.
“Ryan, it is important to me that you know as much about me as possible. I would give my life for you, so I want you to understand everything about me. You never need talk about it with me, but I need to know that you know.”
Ryan didn’t really understand, but if it was important to her, who was he to argue. After she had finished, she seemed to relax.
They returned to the hotel, but later they went out for a meal at a Chinese restaurant she remembered enjoying when she was in her teens. Marcus and Gabrielle joined them, so they had a remarkably normal evening, for a change.
Despite her mother saying she was pleased to see her, Michelle was aware that things were still slightly strained between them. It was good to have cleared the air and great to catch up with her sister, but Michelle was quite pleased to leave.
After a week, she and Ryan said goodbye to her mother and sister, and caught the plane home.
Michelle thought about that word, as she had shown her US Passport to the Dutch Immigration officer.
Home.
As the plane took off, she gazed out of the window at the flat landscape that used to be her home.
It was not her home any more, and she looked at Ryan who smiled at her.
He was her home.
Wherever he was, then she would be content to be with him.
Chapter 15
Ricardo Candarez was feeling pleased with himself. His quest to find an ‘island’ inside the USA had been difficult, but not impossible. The problem with any giant is that they can see for miles in every direction, except at their own feet. The other problem is that everyone can see the giant, as it is very hard to hide.
Ricardo knew that to make a base of operations within the USA it had to appear the exact opposite of what they would expect. So, the organisation had to be completely clear of any Hispanic association. It had to appear respectable and clean-cut. His tactic was to form a country club in Florida, not very far from Miami.
It had an enormous lake, in the middle of which was an island.
The membership of the club was not exclusively Anglo, but had attracted some of the wealthiest and most influential Anglos in the area. The management was predominantly Anglo, with many Hispanic underlings, which was acceptable. The security was recruited from retiring police officers from the surrounding police departments, all with useful contacts inside the different departments, including the State police and some Federal agencies.
The Silver Lakes Country Club was legitimate in every aspect. It was bought by legitimate money by a consortium of local businessmen. The HR manager was recruited from a local corporation, as were all the managers and coaches.
The island in the lake was the administrative centre, but underneath it lay something completely different. Connected to a warehouse a mile from the lake, by a long tunnel capable of carrying small vehicles, the Island was actually a legacy of the cold war.
Originally designed as a Civil defence bunker back in early cold-war days, it was sold off with the rest of the real estate in 1991. Ricardo had come across the plans some years ago, when acting on behalf of a prospective purchaser from the government. However, that development failed to materialise. The man had since died leaving Ricardo the only person who knew of the place’s existence. He engineered the whole project, setting up a slightly more modest operation to Luis’s Island, but one that was equally effective.
Juan Carlos was delighted, for float planes from the south could drop in whenever they wanted. Strict monitoring by the Coast Guard and other agencies meant that the cargoes had to be dropped to boats and brought in by other means, but they could be carried by internal flights that had no connection to the outside world and were without suspicion. Particularly as many of the wealthy members also had float planes and helicopters in which they also could drop in and enjoy the facilities in peace. Anyone trying to keep observation of the facility would be confused by the variety and nature of the visiting aircraft.
The underground island complex processed the product. Despatching the finished cocaine disguised as Styrofoam protection panels for electrical components from the warehouse. Ironically, both the country club and the distribution company made a profit, regardless of the extra activities taking place below them.
However, the quest of identifying and locating the German she-male was proving to be almost impossible. Ricardo was at the point of giving up, believing it probable that she died after all. Then he had a stroke of luck.
It happened by accident, as these things sometimes do. He was downtown visiting a detainee in the lock-up. The man was a minor dealer, but also helped with errands and certain ‘clean-up’ jobs. Ricardo liked to give him special attention whenever he got caught by the authorities.
The man was arrested for dealing outside a night club called the Mangrove Swamp. The conversation was the normal exchange between suspect and attorney, but then the suspect, Franco, muttered something about the night club being part of the syndicate, but also they were dragging down the reputation of the Mob by putting on drag artistes without telling anyone.
An alarm bell rang, so Ricardo frowned.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“The way I hear it, they had a female mimic working there who wasn’t a broad. She was a he, called Ma’mselle Michelle, only she not only wasn’t a girl, she wasn’t even French. She was a kraut or something like that!”
Within four hours Ricardo had acquired an old publicity leaflet about Mamselle Michelle, and had the identity verified by one of the detainees from the island.
“Si, that’s the girl.”
“It’s not a girl.”
“She looks like one.”
“Yeah, maybe. I knew my Luis, and there is no way he’d be attracted to a girl.”
Ricardo was now certain that this Michelle was the female impersonator who helped the DEA take out Luis and the island. He still didn’t know whether she was alive or dead, and if alive, he had no idea as to where she could be.
He used his contacts and made enquiries with the club. Unfortunately, the manager had moved on, and was now managing a club in Las Vegas. Most of the staff, however, remembered the girl. One of the barmen was interesting.
“Yeah, I remember her. Classy girl, as she always took time to speak to me. Not like many of these, so called artists, who never give you as much as a smile. No, she was a real nice girl; a quiet one, but always pleasant and friendly. She kept to herself. I once asked her for a date, but she never dated anyone that I knew.”