Grievous Harm. Sandy Curtis
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The traffic noise faded as she walked into the backpackers' hostel. Glen looked up from his seat at reception and raised a pale eyebrow. 'You don't look like you've had a good day.'
Kate tried to smile, but she could feel the stiffness in her cheeks.
'Coffee,' Glen said, but it was more a command. He stood up and grabbed the cordless phone. 'I have a secret stash of top quality coffee that will do the trick.'
'But,' Kate indicated the reception desk.
Glen shrugged. 'They can ring the bell. Come on.' He led the way to the communal kitchen, withdrew a key from his pocket, unlocked a small overhead cupboard and took out a jar, percolator and two mugs.
Kate sat at one of the tables and watched. His movements were quick, graceful, and seemed to keep time to an inner rhythm. 'Do you work here full-time?' she asked.
'Usually only afternoons. I'm in a show four nights a week.'
Kate had lived long enough in LA to guess what sort of show, but she asked anyway.
Glen laughed. 'I'm a drag queen, darls. You should come up and see me sometime.'
His perfect Mae West imitation brought a smile to her lips, and Glen reciprocated as he placed a steaming mug in front of her and sat down. 'Now, tell me how your search went.'
Whether it was his genuine concern, her frustration or the coffee, Kate wasn't sure, but she recounted what the old woman had told her. As soon as she mentioned the Loving Hand, she saw Glen's body tense.
'I've heard rumours about them. Nothing goes unnoticed in the Cross.' He put down his mug and took his mobile from his belt. 'I know someone who might know something,' he said as he flicked his finger across the screen. 'I'll be back in a minute.' He gave her an apologetic smile and rose and walked from the room. Kate sipped her coffee, anxiety churning it in her stomach.
'You could have a problem,' Glen said when he returned. 'They're a very secretive lot. If she's involved with them,' he frowned. 'Look, I know where you can find them, but apparently if you go bursting in there asking questions they'll clam up. There's someone who might be able to help you, but I'll have to contact him from work tonight. One of the guys there knows him but I'll have to talk to him first.'
'Where do you work?'
'One of the small clubs on the Strip. It's nothing flash, but I'm hoping I'll get into a big production. I want to be like Carlotta.'
'Carlotta?'
'She started Les Girls back in the '60s. It was the biggest drag queen production in The Cross and ran for decades. She had a sex-change but I'm not aiming towards that. I just love the costumes and the jewellery and the makeup.'
'Do you think this guy might agree to meet me tonight? I could go with you.'
Glen shrugged. 'He might agree.' Then a wide smile lit his face. 'I'd love you to come to the club with me, though, darls. My mum made the outfit I'm wearing tonight, so if I give you my camera you can take a pic for me to send to her.'
'How do your parents feel about your work?'
'Mum's fine with what I do. My sisters are jealous because I get to wear better clothes than they do, my brother tells his mates that I'm an actor, and my father thinks that if I drink beer and watch footy there's still some hope for me.' He laughed. 'I don't tell him that I only watch footy because I love those short little shorts the guys wear.'
Kate's knowledge of Kings Cross had come from a quick visit after Paul's and Melanie's wedding, a film clip she'd seen of the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, and the pamphlets she'd picked up in the hostel foyer. When Glen took her on a tour of the area before taking her to the club where he worked, she was surprised by the number of trendy cafes and boutique shops that interspersed the restaurants and fast food outlets.
It was only when he led her towards the area known as 'The Strip' that she saw the bars, the adult bookshops and the sleazy strip clubs with their garish lighting and spruikers advertising topless waitresses while blatantly hinting at other entertainment, which she remembered from eight years before. Glen greeted some of the people on the street, nodded to others, and steered Kate quickly past some of the more aggressive types. Kate was amused but touched by his protective attitude and didn't tell him that she'd been in parts of Los Angeles that had made her more wary than The Strip did. Some of the situations their father's work had dragged them into had been less than salubrious, especially for a young girl; and Paul, who had wised her up to what some men expected from a woman, had also taught her self-defence moves.
They stopped outside a club with an exterior that declared its owner had tried to emulate the style of better-class establishments. The posters didn't show half-naked women sliding around poles or draped in provocative poses, but displayed dancers in costumes that might be worn by the Folies Bergère in Paris. The doorman raised both eyebrows as Glen winked at him and ushered Kate inside.
'I'll have such a reputation tomorrow. They'll think I'm a changed man,' Glen laughed.
The interior resembled those of many clubs Kate had seen - tables and chairs in chrome and fibreglass, long bar crowded with patrons, curtained-off stage on the far wall with a small section protruding into the room and separating the tables, and music that was really too loud for a comfortable conversation.
Within minutes she was seated near the stage, drink in hand, while Glen went backstage. As the time dragged out and the noise swelled around her and she rebuffed a drunken, over-eager male, the fear that had consumed her since learning what had happened to Melanie and Cindy returned.
It was a relief when the music stopped. The lights dimmed further, the stage was spotlighted and the curtains opened a fraction. The opening bars to 'Big Spender' started to thump through the speakers. One long, stockinged leg appeared around the curtain, followed by a face - makeup perfect, overly eyelashed, and framed by a sleek blonde wig - then a body clad in a glittering long gown in vibrant red. It was only when the figure began to sing that Kate recognised the throaty tones Glen had adopted in his Mae West impersonation. He was far too slim to imitate the buxom movie star, but he had a fantastic voice, and Kate was so captivated she almost forgot to take photos.
By the time the show ended, Kate had relaxed, but when Glen joined her half an hour later and told her he'd arranged a meeting with the man who could give them information on the Loving Hand, her tension returned.
She pulled her jacket close as they walked outside. There was a definite change in the feel on the street, as though The Strip was exposing its underbelly in the pre-dawn hours.
'Come on,' Glen urged, glancing at his watch and keeping his voice low. 'You're lucky he's agreed to meet you. He's wary about who he talks to.'
'Why? What is he afraid of?' Kate picked up her pace to match his long strides. Glen had been unusually reticent in revealing the identity of this mystery person and how he might be able to help, and Kate was starting to wonder what he was leading her into.
His usually smiling face was sombre as he replied, 'He's afraid they'll kill him, like they did his sister.'
Kate took a sip of her coffee and listened to the chatter of the backpackers making breakfast in the hostel kitchen. They seemed so young and carefree, while she had never felt so old. She didn't want to believe the story she'd been told last night, but the man's sincerity and fear had been obvious. What he'd told her seemed incredible, but she had to admit it was plausible. What had Melanie gotten Cindy into?
'Kate.' Glen's voice jolted her back to the present. 'There's a man asking for you. Says he's from the Missing Persons Unit.'
Kate sprang to her feet and hurried to the foyer, Glen close behind. The dark-suited, middle-aged man standing near to the reception desk walked over to meet her, flashing his badge and quickly pocketing it. 'Is there somewhere private we can talk?'
Glen gestured behind the desk to a closed door. 'You can use the office.'
'Do you have any news?' Kate asked as soon as they walked inside.
'No.'