Wanting-to-know is an offspring of the desire for power, the striving for expansion, existence, sexuality, pleasure . . . Whatever presents itself as theoretical enlightenment . . . can never reach its alleged goals . . .
PETER SLOTERDIJK, 1987
Here, a barbed wire entanglement of various factors confronts the man who would hunt down a criminal.
J. EDGAR HOOVER, ca. 1935
1
And the retired policeman turned over a photograph from what must have been the 1970s or early eighties: six young women in bluejeans sitting on the carpeted floor of an office, a row of potted plants on a window shelf. Farthest away was a certain longhaired girl by the French doors, one knee raised, the other folded on the floor with her fist clenched on it, her firm round breasts outlined beneath her flimsy shirt; she wore a gentle, neutral expression. Another darker-haired woman was on a beanbag cushion with her thighs comfortably spread, raising a single lens reflex camera and tenderly half-smiling out at us while a black Labrador retriever nuzzled her shoulder; she must have been taking this picture; she and all the others were reflected in the mirror. Third was the face of a curlyhaired roundfaced girl, very low, resting against the upper arm of the fourth, who was another longhaired young woman with lovely teeth who smiled most widely and sincerely, her eyes shining. Beside this latter and a trifle apart from her was most definitely Karen Strand, who remained so hauntingly unchanged in 2015; and then, most distinct from these others, sat a chunky, shorthaired butch in an embroidered shirt, smiling, but only at the dog, which she was stroking. He looked again and again at the photo. Most conspicuous was that lovely smile of the darker-haired woman, although he felt more attracted to the blonde by the French doors, who gazed so palely and watchfully from far away. On the reverse side a feminine hand had pencilled: Jen, Anne, Sunwomon, E-beth, Karen & Diane.
The longhaired smiling woman near Karen was surely the beautiful woman who was playing pool in that photograph from Jingle’s: E-beth. So Elizabeth Jackson was definitely a person of interest.
He looked back at the photo of Soy Fest 1968 (Jen & Judith’s engagement). Yup. Same Jen. Where was Judith here? Literally out of the picture. Good old Jen got around—the bitch.
Laying down Soy Fest 1968, he picked up a color snapshot (dated 1995) of three chubby goddamn middle-aged dykes, the same Diane, Jen & Anne, sitting in a row of kitchen chairs while an unknown butch, apparently Rainbow, stood behind a tiny table with a blue-checked cloth; the table was set with apples, pastries, tea and paper plates. Fuck them all.
He redeployed the snapshot of Waiting for E., Stanford ’74. Blind alley. Time to make Judy steal some more.
At the Y Bar he now made nice with Neva, pretending to be under her so-called spell, regaling her with what was called important chickenshit in the cop shop.—I was the youngest to make sergeant, he informed her, and Judy, who had never heard this, glowed like a goddamn radioactive dildo, while even Francine looked impressed.
Back then we had our own way of enforcing things, he explained, and Shantelle (who had been wishing she could afford to buy the lesbian long black leather pants like the celebrity Olivia Culpa wore) stopped doing her nails to listen. The deal was to be a cowboy and use your own imagination and keep the bad guys moving. We had a whole book of mug shots and cars, so we knew who the bad guys were. We knew what the rules were and they knew what the rules were. The idea was to keep them off their guard. If they were driving slowly in a shopping mall lot we would enforce the vagrancy laws against them; this was prevention more than apprehension.
Seven dollars, said Francine. Actually, you know fuckin’ what, J. D.? This one’s on the house. Your stories are amazing.
Thanks, baby, he said, watching the lesbian’s lip form in another of what he called her camouflage smiles.
So, he continued, I saw these two guys in a red Chevy Viper 6, you know, the yuppie car of the day, and it didn’t look like they belonged in it. Back in the day, we used to say JDLR—
Just don’t look right, the transwoman proudly interpreted.
Good job, Judy. But don’t interrupt Daddy, or I’ll spank you. Well, and then I got a call on fraudulent use of a credit card, but what happened was the bellhop from the Sleepytime Motel in Daly City remembered someone leaving in a red Chevy Viper, so I went in and got security; we keyed it open, and it’s up against the wall, asshole!
Shantelle’s mouth opened. She said: J. D., how could you not be scared when you busted in there?
I was nuts. I’m still nuts. So I liked it. You really act; you don’t have time to think. You know, there’s real fear, too, but action overcomes any real sense of fear.
This one’s on you, said Francine. Seven dollars.
Actually, said the lesbian, let me buy him a drink.—Out came a hundred-dollar bill.
Looking her up and down, he said: And then of course I’ve got to have an airtight case.
2
A twentyish man with hair pomaded just so sat down at the bar and waited.
What can I get you? asked Francine.
Actually, he replied, I do think I would be willing to try a margarita with one and a half limes muddled in and, let’s see, exactly two fingers of Porfirio Díaz añejo tequila.
We don’t carry that brand.
Well, what do you carry?
Sir, our tequila’s all on this shelf right in front of you, so you figure out what you want while I help my other customers. Xenia, you ready for a refill?
Yeah. And I’m buying for Hunter.
Where is she? She complains when her ice melts.
She just texted me; she’s right around the corner. I want to be a good girlfriend and—
Fine. I’ll put her ice in a cup and she can add it herself. Ten dollars.
Excuse me, said the pomaded man.
All right, sir, do you know what you want?
I do want to reach out to you, said the man, just to let you know that your customer service is not what I expect, you know, when I go out.
So sorry, said Francine, gritting her teeth.
And I’m going to send out a negative review of you and your establishment on metrodrinky.com. Are you familiar with metrodrinky.com? Because it’s a very, very—
Fuck you, said Francine, and all the rest of us cheered.
Stunned and pale, the young man got to his feet and ran out, looking over his shoulder as if he expected us to assault him. Francine said: Hey everybody, thanks for having my back. How about a round on the house?
And then Hunter came in, surprised and delighted to find her fresh-made double Slambang awaiting her, while Judy came out of the bathroom grinning and stinking like vomit.
3
Behind the cash register at the Y Bar leaned that seldom remarked glassed and framed four-by-six-inch color snapshot of two darkhaired women in bluejeans leaning in against each other and resting their arms on a blonde in a broadbrimmed hat who was smiling, holding each one’s hand. After the blonde, the brunette on the right looked happiest, and then the brunette on the left, with hard Appalachian features, holding tight to the other two, but not really smiling, almost desperate.
Although she had altered her appearance since then, the retired policeman recognized the brunette as Francine—who at Shantelle’s request now increased the volume of the television, because it was declaiming: Police say they are investigating an assault on two transgender women by four men who had been harassing them because of their gender identity. The video went viral on www.hatecrimesxxx.com and shows the women being threatened and insulted for about three minutes, until a man kicked at one of the women. When her friend tried to defend her, she was attacked by other men, beaten and stripped naked.
Turning to Judy, Shantelle (trying to smile in the mirror so that she would look like the celebrity Lupita Nyong’o, although no matter what she did, Shantelle’s smile didn’t look nice) raised her glass and said: Hey, bitch, ain’t that your fantasy?
Show some respect, said Francine.
People on the bus made no effort to stop the assault. Instead, many cheered and took videos on their phones. The women told reporters that the incident had led them to move out of state.
Shantelle said: I can’t help but feel like one of them T-girls was instigating the fight. I ain’t saying those dudes had any right to fuckin’ touch her, but I for one wouldn’t never be screaming in the faces of a group of males who outnumber me on a bus at night—
Sure you would, said Francine, and she was so right that we all laughed. That was how we put that latest hate crime behind us.
Groaning, the retired policeman got up. Judy hastened to take his hand. They went slowly home to Empire Residences, where he lay down and said: Judy, I told you you’re going to be my eyes and ears. And you’ve done a damn good job with those photos. Do you know what flagrante delicto means?
No, J. D., I never took Latin.
It means something like busted in the middle of the act. You know that story Shantelle likes to drop about the time she saw a pair of earrings at the jewelry counter at Gracey’s Emporium and couldn’t help but take ’em?
The transwoman nodded, fascinated.
Well, she either took ’em or she didn’t. We don’t know. But if we’d seen her take ’em, that would be flagrante delicto. You get it now?
She nodded again.
So the plan is, we want to catch your little Karen in flagrante delicto. And I think she’s got something to do with credit card fraud, he explained.
Oh, J. D., you’re so smart!
. . . Then his penis exploded again and again into her mouth like a machine gun.