The man had set up a temporary clinic in the Phys. Ed. teacher's office and had asked that the girls be brought to him one at a time, starting with the most promiscuous, in order that he might examine them to isolate the carrier. The instructress had been more than pleased to oblige.
It was unfortunate, however, that the cause of personal hygiene was not to prevail that day. For as luck would have it the school nurse had come down to the gym to fill out a report on an injury incurred that morning during an earlier class. She found Dexter Flesch lowering the gym shorts of his twelfth victim.
In a way Flesch was lucky. A few more seconds and by gum he might have been subsequently facing a twelfth count
That was eight years ago. The D. Flesch who answered the door today was a very different man. On seeing him Lewis looked at Macdonald and Macdonald looked right back. Neither one of the cops was prepared for this. It's a mixed up world,Rusty Lewis thought.
"Yes," Flesch said in a voice as soft as corn silk. "What is it you want?"
"We'd like to talk to Dexter Flesch," Monica Macdonald said, frowning.
The person who stood before them in the open doorway had eyes like a cat and every few seconds he licked the lips of his feral mouth like a kitten licking cream. His hair was red, exploding from his head to cascade down about his shoulders in ringlets of fire. The makeup that covered his features was almost a work of art. In a rough estimate, Monica Macdonald calculated that it would have taken him over two hours to apply.
The man's figure was a perfect hourglass and he knew just how to show it off. He wore a black French push-up peek-a-boo bra over his small pert breasts and a black sheer blouse over that. The suit that encased the rest of his frame was sewn from white linen, definitely hand-tailored. His nails were red; his boots were snakeskin; his only jewelry was two gold hoop earrings and a bracelet of gold fashioned to look like a snake that twisted around his left arm. To be honest with himself, Rusty Lewis thought that this man was perhaps the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. The only female who even came close was a lawyer by the name of Lorelei Ashe who had once made a complete fool out of Lewis in the witness stand. But Ashe didn't have these eyes.
Please God, don't give me a hard-on, Lewis thought with a smile.
Flesch said: "I'm afraid that Dexter is no more. He's gone away forever."
"Where has he gone?" Monica Macdonald asked.
"Just gone," Flesch said with a vacant fly-away wave of one hand.
"Which are you, Miss Flesch?" the woman asked softly. "Transvestite or transsexual?"
The man who was now a woman gave her a sloe look. "I've had the nip and tuck," he said.
"Do you mind if we come in?" Rusty Lewis asked.
"Yes, I'm afraid I do. I'm just on my way to work and I'm late already."
"Where do you work? What do you do?" Macdonald asked.
"I teach women makeup art at a modeling studio. I transform frumpy housewives. Now if you'll please excuse me?"
"Miss Flesch, I'm afraid we can't. We're with the Squad investigating the Headhunter killings," Lewis said.
Flesch blinked. "I–I don't understand," he said. "What has that to do with me?"
"Can you account for your whereabouts in the last three weeks?" Monica Macdonald asked.
"My what! My what! You think I… You're crazy, sister!"
"I'm not your sister. Miss Flesch. And I want a straight answer. Where have you been for the last…"
Suddenly the cat-eyes widened as Flesch took one step back and tried to slam the apartment door. Lewis stuck out his foot in time to prevent it closing. With one hand he pushed the door back open sharply.
"You… you… you.. PIGS!" Flesch screamed shrilly, his voice turning very high-pitched.
"Take it easy," Macdonald said. "Don't let…"
"STAY AWAY FROM ME, YOU… YOU FUCKING PIGS!" Now there was a hysterical look growing in the transsexual's eyes. "JUST WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE. CALLING ME… ME!.. A RAPIST!"
"Nobody called you a rapist!" Lewis said, raising his own voice.
"LEAVE ME ALONE! JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"
"Calm down!" ordered Lewis, but before either Constable could make a move to restrain him, Flesch whirled on his spiked heels and leapt up on a glass table in the entrance hall of the apartment. The tiny sole on one of the heels must have worn away for an abrupt sound of metal scraping glass took a shred from Macdonald's nerves. Then her momentary shudder turned to awe as Flesch wrenched his belt free and dropped both slacks and panties.
Monica Macdonald found it hard to believe that here she was, standing in this man's residence, confronting this woman who was the man they sought, her eyes now staring at a set of female genitalia as anatomically perfect as any of the vulvas that she had seen bared on all those strip-show stages.
"DON'T YOU COPS UNDERSTAND! CAN'T YOU FUCKERS SEE!" Flesch shrieked, his face turning purple with rage, "I'M NOT A RAPIST! I'M A LESBIAN!"
Then the outburst was over. Without another word Flesch crumpled down onto the glass surface of the table and rolled onto the floor. Then he started to weep.
A few minutes later Monica Macdonald took hold of his arm and gently helped him to his feet. By then the art of makeup on Flesch's face was streaked and smeared and running.
12:20 p.m.
The call for assistance was clocked in at just after noon. Scarlett and Spann were a mile away, having just come out of a dilapidated two-story walkup on East Broadway where they had failed to find a six-time convicted pederast. They caught the squeal on their patrol car radio the second they climbed in. Less than fifteen minutes later they were at the scene.
When their car had skidded to a stop on the rain-drenched pavement, Monica Macdonald left a doorway and came running through the storm up to the driver's side. Scarlett rolled down the window and a wet spray blew in.
"There might be a rumble," the woman said. "We're waiting on Rabidowski."
"Where's the clubhouse?" Scarlett asked.
"Around the corner and down a block. Rusty's got it covered."
"How did it come down?" As Scarlett spoke Katherine Spann drew her.38 from its Sam Browne and checked the action. She snapped the cylinder shut with a sharp flick of her wrist.
Monica Macdonald said: "We were looking for a biker by the name of Whip O'Brian. Guy's out here from Alberta. Back home in Edmonton he strikes the colors of The Barbarians, but lately Special E says he's been riding bike with the Iron Skulls. He's got connections through a brother."
"He's got a record?" Spann asked.
"O'Brian did seven, five, and one a few years back in Calgary for rape, buggery and bestiality. The guy's a speed freak. Some woman ripped him on an amphetamine deal so he got even by attacking both her and her invalid brother. The two of them had a dog. Believe me, this man's dangerous. He's not all there."
"Is he inside the clubhouse?"
"Yep, with about ten other bikers. Maybe more. Rusty and I were casing the place when this group of guys on hogs came blasting out of the rain. They had a woman with them and they dragged her inside. She didn't look happy at all. Word from Special E is that the Skulls are taking strikers. I peg her for a mama to be used in the initiation."
"A gang bang?" Scarlett asked.
"That's my bet," Monica said. "Today. Right now."
"Damn. Where's Rabidowski?"
Just as he spoke a police van came wheeling out of the rain. The Mad Dog was at the wheel. As three large men with Remington pump shotguns and semi-automatic rifles climbed out from the back of the vehicle, Spann noticed a V of steel welded to the front bumper. It looked like a battering ram.
Rabidowski rolled down the window. "Who can give directions?"