A Kind of Justice by Renee James Read Free Book Online

my transition shrink, the therapist who had to verify that I was ready for the permanent step of gender reassignment surgery, knew everything about my gender issues, including the fact that I was never really sure I was a girl, I was only sure I wasn’t a boy. But no one knows everything except for Marilee. For some reason, I can tell her anything. Maybe because I know she’ll love me anyway, and she never passes judgment, even when I do something stupid.
    Like make a raging bully madder.
    â€œWhy is he so sure you killed John Strand?” she asks.
    â€œBecause he knows a lot of people in the community thought Strand killed Mandy, and because I’m big and ugly and he thinks I hate men.”
    â€œStop with the big and ugly stuff, Bobbi. You don’t think like that anymore.”
    â€œI don’t, but he does.” I shrug. I’ve been on hormones for seven years and my features have become more feminine. I’ve also made an electrologist rich and put a plastic surgeon’s child through a semester or two of college with some feminization surgery. I still don’t pass as a woman, but I’m kind of pretty and I have large boobs, so some of the stares I draw are lustful. But some are hateful, like Detective Wilkins.”
    â€œOkay,” says Marilee. “I’ll accept that. As for the man-hating thing, maybe you should tell him the same story you just told me.” She smirks. I’d told her about my orgy with the male prostitute.
    â€œBut the big thing is, he saw me take down that junkie in the salon with an eye gouge. He says Strand had an eye-gouge injury, too.” I say this with some anxiety. It’s not like this is any kind of evidence against me. But he’s the only cop who has ever linked me to that murder. There’s no rational reason for it. It’s just me being trans and refusing to cower before him. Hate like his is a powerful motivator, and I don’t see him stopping until he has ruined my life.
    I share this with Marilee and she nods in agreement. “Bobbi, itwould be a good idea to retain a lawyer right about now,” she says. “I can ask Bill which trial lawyer he hates the most. That would be a good recommendation.”
    Marilee’s husband, Bill, is a cop. A decent guy who has even gotten used to me over the years. He used to be embarrassed when we met, sort of a macho guy not knowing how to be around a transsexual. Now we exchange polite hugs and hellos and life is fine. But I don’t want the kind of defense lawyer he would hate.
    â€œI think I’ll go through Cecelia first,” I say. “I don’t need someone to get me off, I need someone to protect my reputation. Wilkins can destroy me just by starting a buzz.”
    I talk about my vulnerabilities, the huge debt on the salon, a big mortgage on my building, and business getting slower and slower since the big financial collapse. A little bad publicity, a nasty rumor or two getting passed around the city’s elite—I could be broke and on the street in six months, leaving Roger and a lot of wonderful hairdressers in dire straits.
    My angst must show. Marilee reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. Her touch is soothing. “You’re going to be fine, Bobbi,” she says. Her voice is soothing, like the soft, warm drops of a perfect shower. “You’ve been through this before.”
    So true. When I began my transition at work, the bottom fell out of my world.
    â€œDo you ever think about who killed John Strand anymore?” asks Marilee.
    Only two people know what I know about the Strand murder—Marilee and my transition counselor, a wonderful therapist who thought she’d heard everything until I finally came clean with her.
    â€œI try not to,” I confess. “I worry I might betray whoever it was if I knew. I also worry that it wasn’t someone else. That I did it myself and the horror of it just sort of