Play To Kill

    Magozzi turned onto a dark, sketchy backstreet that terminated at the club. 'Then you'd have fifty Starbucks filled with drug dealers doing business over double mocha lattes.'

    'Ain't that the truth.' He squinted out the window against the glare of a flashing neon crown that lit up an old, brick building. A colorful parade of characters dressed in elaborate costumes and gowns were lined up on the street, waiting to get in. 'Are you sure these are all men?'

    Magozzi shrugged. 'I don't know. I guess. What difference does it make?'

    'Because if that she in the green dress is actually a he, then you could have fooled me and I'm not sure how I feel about that.'

    'It's theater, Gino. Try to stay focused.'

    'Yeah, right. I'm kinda out of my element here. Let's hit a side door. I don't want to walk that gauntlet. We're already getting weird looks and we haven't even gotten out of the car yet.'

    On the north side of the building, they found a bent-up metal fire door manned by a monolith of a security guard whose day job was probably chewing glass at carnival sideshows. 'Out front, like everybody else!' he barked at them.

    Gino was quick to pull out his badge and shove it toward the man's face. 'MPD Homicide, pal.'

    The bouncer looked skeptical until his eyes landed on Gino's holster. 'Oh.' He pulled open the door for them and a throbbing wall of high-decibel dance music blasted them like a sirocco.

    'Hang on,' Magozzi said, gesturing for him to close the door, then pulling out the photo of their river body that Grace had printed out. You ever see this guy here?'

    He took the photo, examined it for a second, then his eyes got huge. 'Jesus. He's dead.'

    'Hence, the homicide part of our introduction,' Gino grumbled.

    'Hell, I'm only here two nights a week, and I see about a thousand faces each time.'

    'He was wearing a wedding dress.'

    The bouncer shook his head. 'Working a place like this, you just stop noticing the craziness after a while. You should talk to one of the bartenders. Or better yet, talk to Camilla - she runs this place, she's always here, and she knows everybody. Go inside and head up the back staircase. Her office is at the end of the hall. God. I can't believe you showed me a picture of a dead guy.'

    The inside of the Tiara was sheer mayhem. Hundreds of people swarmed on an enormous dance floor in a riot of color, feathers, and sequins. Lights strobed in time to the screaming sound system. Magozzi and Gino didn't even try to talk - they just shoved their way through the crowd toward the staircase, badges clearing a path for them.

    It was no small blessing that Camilla's office was soundproofed. You could still hear the din of the music, and the throbbing of the bass was turning Magozzi's guts to Cream of Wheat, but conversation was possible without shouting.

    Camilla looked like. a she - a really pretty she, in a demure, well-cut skirt suit - but the booming voice told another story. 'Homicide?' His/her hands fluttered at his/her throat like distressed moths. 'Good grief, Detectives, tell me what's happened.' She gestured to two empty chairs that flanked her desk. 'Please, please, do sit.'

    Magozzi pulled out the photo again and slid it toward Camilla. 'Do you recognize this man?'

    Camilla answered the question with a deluge of tears, and there was no question that the grief was genuine, and not just manufactured melodrama. 'That's Sweet Cheeks,' she finally choked out. 'Oh my God… she was just here last night… oh God, what happened'

    Gino had a good heart and a fairly open mind, but a man in a wedding dress carrying around a handle like Sweet Cheeks messed with his head. He squirmed a little in his chair, trying to pick a pronoun. It was hopeless. 'The body was found in the river this morning. We believe it was homicide.' This brought on another round of tears, which made him feel bad for not saying right up front what he was supposed to say, what he always said and always meant. 'We're very sorry for your loss. You two were obviously close.'

    Camilla nodded, blotting at her eyes with a tissue. 'Thank you. We were very close,' she sniffed. 'Not in the way you're probably thinking, of course, not as partners. We were just dear friends.'

    You mentioned that he… uh, she' - Gino corrected his pronoun - 'was in here last night. Do you remember what time you last saw her?'

    'I think probably around ten-thirty. She was extremely… compromised.'

    'Compromised?' Gino asked.

    'Drunk. Poor Sweet Cheeks. She lost someone very close to her years ago, and never got over it. She was almost always drunk. Oh, good lord, I can't believe she's dead.'

    'I take it Sweet Cheeks was not a legal name.'

    Camilla shook her head. 'No, just a stage name. Her legal name is… was… Alan Sommers.'

    Gino scrawled on his notebook. 'Is that Sommers with an o? 'Yes.'

    He pulled out his cell. 'I'll get an address from DMV.'

    'No need for that. She has a couple of rooms over the Stop-and-Go Market on Colfax. That was her day job. I have a key if it will help.'

    Magozzi said, 'We appreciate that. Were you aware of any plans she might have had after leaving here last night?'

    'Her only plan was to go to my condo to sober up before the big drag show last night so she could perform. I often give her my key on nights when she's had too much to drink. Sometimes she just passes out until the next morning, but often she'll sleep a few hours and come back to the club, or go elsewhere - you never know with Sweet Cheeks. I didn't get home until 3:30 a.m. last night, and she wasn't there. I didn't think anything of it, of course. She's always been unpredictable in that regard.'

    Was there any indication that she ever made it to your condo last night?'

    Camilla frowned and tapped a long cherry-pink fingernail on her cherry-pink lips. 'Come to think of it, not really. The bed she normally uses wasn't mussed, there were no dishes in the sink… but that doesn't mean she didn't straighten the bed, although that would have been out of character.'

    A sad portrait of Alan Sommers was filling in fast for Magozzi - an obviously troubled man living a high-risk lifestyle, drunk out of his gourd, stumbling along the river at night. Homicide would normally have been the last conclusion in this case, but for the film Grace had pulled from the Web. A perfect victim. And maybe, a perfect crime. The thought sent chills down his spine. 'Do you have any idea if she left with anyone?'

    'None. But we have security cameras at every door. I have the tapes if you think they might help.'

Chapter Nine

    It had taken Camilla less than half an hour to isolate the security footage that showed Alan Sommers in full bridal regalia entering and leaving the Tiara Club the night of his murder - alone both times - which eliminated all hope of an easy conclusion with a slam-dunk suspect.

    Why don't we ever pull a case where our perp is so stupid he gets caught in the act on surveillance tape wearing his work uniform with the name tag in plain view?' Gino complained as Magozzi pulled the Cadillac away from the Tiara Club's flashing neon and headed north toward Alan Sommers' apartment. "You read about that stuff all the time, but it never happens to us.'