Ripping off my headset, I slowly stride towards the door and peer through the peephole. A man, in the same exact suit and tie as the avatar in my game, waves at me.
“My name is Sylvester Morrigan,” the man says, “I’m an investigator with the Emerald City Narcotics Bureau. May I come in to talk to you?”
Gulping down a thick knot in my throat, I say meekly, “I’m sorry, but I think you may be mistaken—”
“Viliami Alofa,” Sylvester says. “You may better know him as—” he checks a tablet clutched in one hand “—Knuckles.”
Viliami Alofa. I finally know the name of the man I’m smitten with. Eve Alofa… I toy with the idea of being his—
“Mr. Nova?”
“It’s not Mister,” I bark, feeling ill at the honorific.
“My apologies.” Sylvester adjusts his tie. “We have footage of you leaving Mr. Alofa’s penthouse in Kensington Square. That’s a pretty nice place for a drug dealer to live, don’t you think.”
I say nothing. Try my best to think nothing.
“Listen… Benard.” I cringe at my birth name. “I just want to talk to you— to cut you a deal if you help me bring down Viliami. All we need to do is talk. If not, I’ll have no choice but to have you hauled to prison for felony drug charges—”
I crack my apartment door open, my head bowed. “Please, come in.”
Sylvester enters my studio apartment, takes a gander at the bare necessities I have inside, and heads to my favorite purple, pleather loveseat. He looks at my VR headset on the cushion next to him and picks it up.
“I was never fond of video games,” he says, “but I’ve gotta say there is some crazy stuff happening inside of False Lyfe. I’d never let my children become zombies to video games. My wife wouldn’t allow that either. Anyway.” He tosses my VR headset to the hardwood floor, and the right lens fractures on impact. “I’m sure Viliami pays you enough for you to afford another one. Sit. We need to talk.”
Like a child caught scribbling on the walls and being rightfully spanked for doing so, I slink to the sofa and sit at the edge. I don’t face Sylvester straight on, but in my peripheral, I witness him taking all of me in: my straightened hair that hangs around my shoulders, the thick mascara on my lashes, glossy black lips, and fake nose ring. He then looks at my clothing: my halter top, too-short-shorts, and fishnet stockings.
“Before we begin,” he says, staring down at me, “I want to tell you that everything you say will be recorded for use against Viliami.”
“I never knew his name until you told me,” I admit.
“Interesting.” He taps on the screen of his tablet and sets it on the coffee table strewn with fashion magazines and a book about transitioning and what that means for my future. “Let’s begin.”
“Sure… wait.” I wring my hands and worry my bottom lip with my teeth. “Will I really go to prison? Not that I shouldn’t… I’m just… I won’t survive in there.”
Ignoring what I’d just asked, Sylvester asks, “When did you first meet Viliami Alofa?”
Tears sting my eyes, burning with every salty drop that slips down my cheeks. “I don’t want to go to prison.”
Sylvester taps on the tablet screen, stopping the recording. “Benard—”
“It’s Jamie!”
“Jamie.” He folds his hands on one leg. “I can’t promise you that you won’t serve time for helping in the distribution of a Schedule One drug. We’ve been tailing Viliami for over a decade, trying to get close to him. Then you happened to finagle yourself into this sick world.”
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Peering at something on his tablet, Sylvester says, “I see you have family in Houston—”
“Had,” I clarify. “I don’t talk to them. Rather… they don’t talk to me.”
“You were an honor roll student who got a full ride to study—” he snickers “—criminology. How does someone wanting to learn about the law land themselves into this?”
“Long story short,” I say as I finally look at Sylvester, noticing how blue his eyes are and how bald he is, “I came out as gay because I thought I was, and my parents freaked the fuck out. I am a pastor's kid, and being gay wasn’t something my parents were too fond of. Then, when I figured out that I am, in fact, a transwoman and told them that, that was when I was cut off.”
It's been a long time since I’ve told my story. I’ve been so detached from it, so far away from all of that hurt and pain, that it feels like a punch in the head to even mention it. I hate my parents. Hate them for throwing me away like they did.
“I know this doesn’t make up for what I’ve done,” I continue over a sob that racks my body to my core. “I-I had no other option.”
“There’s always a choice to make, Jamie,” he says without a hint of sympathy in his voice. “You’ve made a poor decision that will cost you everything. Do you understand? I have no remorse for what will happen to you or Viliami when it's time to reap what you sowed. We’ve wasted enough time. You’ll tell me everything you know about Viliami, and you’ll do that now!”
***
It’s been three days since I’ve been . Three days since I’ve locked myself in my apartment, peeking out of the blinds, hoping to spot an inconspicuous van filled with Narc agents ready to strike. Ready to haul my ass to prison for my crimes.
I don’t feel safe in my own home.
“Keep up appearances,” Sylvester told me during my nearly three-hour interrogation. “Viliami cannot suspect anything. Stay casual. Help me take him down and I can see about cutting you a deal for a five-year sentence.”
All I could do was nod my head as I wept and wept, visualizing myself behind bars for five years. That’s not a life for me.
Maybe… Maybe if I can convince Viliami—Knuckles—to run away today, then—
“Hello?”
“Yo! I haven’t heard from you in a few days,” Knuckles says, his voice muffled by the sound of rushing wind. He must be driving around the City doing God knows what. “Why haven’t you hit me up? Are you fucking someone else? I won’t be mad. Just tell me the truth.”
“No,” I mutter, wiping the crust of dried tears from my cheeks. Sitting up on the sofa I’ve been sleeping on nonstop, I lean forward to look out of my window, nervous prickles coating my arms. “I’ve been sick. Sorry. I needed a few days to myself, that is all. How are you?”
“Sick?” He sucks his teeth, and I can see him in my mind's eye frowning because I know he doesn’t believe me. “Anyway, I’m coming through to scoop you up. Meet me in the Mega Mart parking lot.”
“Why are you coming to get me?”
“Read my texts, Curly.”
Huffing an irritated sound, I scan the few texts Knuckles has sent me. My heart jitters as a goofy, lovelorn smile curls my lips.
“You’re taking me to the beach?” I try and fail to tame the excitement in my voice.
“Pack an overnight bag,” he says, “our plane leaves at four this afternoon.”
***
All packed and ready to go to the beach, I clench my teeth as I open my front door and stare up and down the hallway. Relaxing my shoulders that have been glued near my ears, I hurry down the carpeted hall, past the doorman who gives me a wave, and out into the lively City.
“Good morning, Jaime.”
The happy smile on my face crumbles, my insides twist and turn. Sylvester raises an eyebrow at me from a ruby-red sports car he sits in, parked in a no-parking zone. The Investigator gestures for me to get into his car.
“I only want to chat,” he says. “Off the record. Get in.”
Looking around me at the denizens meandering near and far, I put on my best casual walk and enter Sylvester's car as if he and I were dearly acquainted.
“What do you want?” I angrily ask, nostrils flared. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“You and Viliami are going to Coronado Beach, right?” Sylvester brushes his pointer finger on the digital dashboard. I regard him with a seething look. “Why the sour face? I’m one step behind Viliami. All I need to do is bring him down. But he’s got to lead you to the big dog—the one in charge. Can you make that happen?”
With a mocking tone, I say, “Knuckles, can you please take me to your boss? Why? Oh, because I want to know who’s in charge. Why? Because I want to ask for a raise.”
“No need to make a fuss.”
“You know there’s no possible scenario where I’ll ever meet Knuckle’s boss.” I sweep back my curls, dangling in my face. “I’ve never asked about who’s in charge. And, most importantly, why don’t you know who’s in charge, Mr. Investigator?”
Sylvester gives me a once over, blue eyes making me shudder. “Whoever is in charge has the money to go ghost. I’ve attempted to track all the numbers associated with the one known simply as Q but… I’m starting to think that…” Mr. Investigator shakes his head, refusing to elaborate on his findings.
“I have to go,” I say, opening the car door.
“Hey, Jaime.”
“What?”
“Have fun.”
***
After a six-hour flight in first class, with the man I love beside me, we finally arrive in San Diego. I had to keep my cool when I met up with Knuckles because I was on the verge of cracking and telling him everything. But all that would do is make this situation I’ve landed in worse for everyone.
Five years. That’s all it’ll cost me to help bring down Knuckles and this entire drug ring.
Five years.
“You good?” Knuckles and I are speeding down Highway 75 in a 1968 Buick Skylark rental as if the end of the world is nigh. Hovering over us like an atomic bomb ready to drop. “I’ve never seen you this quiet.”
Knuckles brushes the side of my face, and I melt at the warmth. “I don’t want to spoil this moment,” I say, my words sounding forced. “I’ve never been to San Diego! All the palm trees, the fresh air, and the crisp blue sky. It’s breathtaking. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says. “I only want to give you a taste of the life you can expect to have with me. That’s you want it, though.”
“I wouldn’t ask for anything more.”
“Do you remember when we first met?” He asks, decelerating to take exit 14A. “You were all nervous and twitchy. I was pissed at Lars for even bringing you to me 'cause I didn’t think you’d cut it.”
Lars. My former coworker at MegaMart, whom I chatted with on one of my lunch breaks when he offered me an opportunity to leave our minimum-wage job for something more. That something more happened to be transporting Neb around Emerald City.
It paid three times as much as being an Inventory Coordinator.
“I remember.” I loop my arm around his arm, unwilling to let this moment slip away. “How else would you expect someone who has never touched any sort of drug in their life to react to the idea of selling drugs? Did you think I’d click my heels together?”
“This type of work isn’t for the weak,” he says. “But you stuck around. I didn’t think you’d be here five years later, but here you are. With me.”
“Did it ever cross your mind that we’d be together?”
“Nah.”
“Then why did you make the first move?” I ask, recalling how Knuckles kept me behind as his other employees left his pad to deliver Neb. He offered me a drink, which I took, and we chatted the night away.
“I didn’t want to assume,” he says with a shrug. “But you gave off . Like… you . You’re just .”
“And you wanted to test the waters?”
“Honestly, it wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
“What do you mean?”
Knuckles slows down the car. We’ve arrived at a beach abode structurally similar to farmhouses I’ve seen in Texas. “There’s something about you that drew me in. It’s like a siren’s call.”
“Really?” I moan, licking my lips. “Be on your toes then. I might drown you.”
Knuckles laughs. “You ready?”
“Yes. Please lead the way.”
Later that day, after the fun in the sun, a cutesy picnic on the beach, and a little dip in the golden-flecked waters, Knuckles and I return to our temporary home. We have shrimp alfredo with garlic bread for dinner, delivered to us from a nearby Italian restaurant. For dessert, we have each other.
Snuggled close to Knuckles’s chest, I listen to the
of his heartbeat, watching his chest rise and fall. From the bed in which we’ve made sweet love, we stargaze out of the floor-to-ceiling window, reveling in the star-strewn late-night sky. Knuckles points to a constellation burning brightly—Ursa Major. He then tells me the story of how the constellation came to be…
“What are you thinking about?” Knuckles tilts my chin up.
“Nothing. Just sleepy.” I crack a small smile at him, trying to mask all that worries me. I haven’t the guts to tell him about Sylvester.
A big piece of me knows that I am fooling myself by being with this man. But the fantasy of being is much too good to ignore.
I awaken to my phone vibrating hours later to an unknown number texting me to come outside. Wary, I slowly creep off the bed, hoping not to wake Knuckles, my illusionary life shattering with each step I take toward the front door.
“Jaime.” Sylvester sits on the porch swing near the front door. Still, in business casual, the Investigator gives me an odd look at the silk robe I have wrapped around my nude body. “Any updates?”
“You can’t be serious,” I whisper, hands shaking. “Knuckles and I haven’t talked about or done anything drug-related—”
“Viliami has a second phone,” Sylvester says abruptly. “I believe it’s connected to a secure network wherein he’s in contact with Q. Here.” The Investigator unpockets a small flash drive. “Plug this into his phone. It’ll give me access to everything Viliami has stored on it.”
“No,” I say firmly, gripping my robe tight. “I’m not going to betray him like that. I won’t. That’s too far.”
“You’re being irresponsible, Jaime.” Sylvester stands from the porch swing. “Do this, and I can offer you something even better than five years in prison.”
“And what is that?”
“The ability to Upload your being into False Lyfe.”
I gasp, my eyes stinging with tears. “C-Can you do that?”
“All you have to do—” he waves the flash drive in my face “—is help me.”