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Author's Note: Casus Belli is a Latin technical phrase that in its strictest sense means a nation's justification to wage war against another nation. In general terms it means any incident which provokes an act of retaliation. This story may not be re-posted without the permission of the author. CASUS BELLI By Lana B. Bernie Mason exited the elevator and walked to the door of his business office. He gazed at the red letters painted on the green glass: "Bernard Mason-Private Investigator." He felt a sense of pride. He opened the door and stepped inside. He saw Carol Newsome, his secretary, sitting at the reception desk working on the computer. "Morning Carol." "Good morning Mr. Mason. Have a nice weekend?" "It was okay. How about you?" "I visited my parents in Key Biscayne. I had a nice time." "Good. What's on for this morning?" She punched the keyboard and looked at the monitor. "Your first appointment is at 9:30. A Mr. Luis Padilla." Mason looked at his wristwatch and saw that it was 9:10. "Okay Carol. Let me know as soon as he arrives." "Sure thing Mr. Mason. Would you like some coffee?" "That sounds great Carol," and he walked past her and into his private office. He closed the door behind him and stepped over to the big mahogany desk. He sat down on the plush black leather chair behind it. He leaned back and lifted his feet onto the desk. He felt comfortable. Mason reflected on the circumstances that had brought him to Coral Gables in Dade County, Florida a little more than two years ago. He was a native New Yorker and had always believed he'd never leave Manhattan. At the age of 22 he'd graduated from Pace College where he majored in criminal science. And just a year later he'd achieved his life-long ambition of becoming a licensed private investigator. For as long as Mason could remember he'd always wanted to be a private detective. He'd first seen Humphrey Bogart in "The Maltese Falcon" and "The Big Sleep" when he was 5 or 6 years old and the movies had made an indelible impression on him. While all the other kids had wanted to be Batman or Spiderman Mason always wanted to be Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe. Mason was just 24 years old when he'd opened a private investigations agency on Third Avenue in midtown Manhattan. And in less than three years he'd built the agency into a lucrative concern. Business became so good that he'd hired two private detectives to help him with his growing caseload. And just when Mason thought that things couldn't get better he'd met the love of his life. Her name was Susan Munson. She was an attorney for IBM and he'd literally bumped into her on the jogging track at Central Park. As soon as they'd looked into each other's eyes they both knew that they were meant for each other. Mason had proposed on their third date and Susan gleefully accepted. But the marriage never took place because Susan's life was tragically cut short by the horrific events of 9/11. She was, unfortunately, a passenger on Flight 175 which, at 9:03 on the morning of September 11, 2001, slammed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center. If there was one thing that Mason had disliked about Susan's job it was all the travel it required. And it had now come back to haunt him. He felt a tear descend his cheek and he brushed it off with the back of his hand. He heard the knock on the door. "Come in." Carol entered with a cup of coffee in her hand. "Here you go Mr. Mason. Cream and two sugars. Can I get you anything else?" "No thank you Carol." She could tell he was upset about something. "Is everything alright?" "I'll be fine Carol. I was just thinking about something that made me sad. That's all." She looked at him and softly smiled. "Well Mr. Mason, if you ask me I think you should shift gears and think about something that makes you feel good." He couldn't help but smile back at her. "I was thinking, Carol, why not call me Bernie?" He appreciated the effort she'd made to cheer him up. "Okay... Bernie." "Good." Mason considered that Carol was a very attractive girl. Like Susan she was petite and pretty but unlike Susan's golden hair hers was jet black. She filled out the pink silk floral print dress quite nicely. He was almost tempted to ask her out for dinner but felt that that would amount to a betrayal of Susan's memory. He knew it didn't make sense and he knew it was time to get over it. But he couldn't help himself. He still grieved for Susan after two years. "You sure there's nothing else I can get for you?" "Yeah. Thanks Carol. For everything." He watched as she smiled and exited the room. Mason took a sip of coffee and returned his thoughts to Susan. He remembered the difficulty he'd had living and working in New York after her demise. He'd reached the point where he found it impossible to function effectively in the city where his beloved fianc?e had met with such a shocking and gruesome end. So he'd decided to relocate. Mason had always liked Florida and decided he'd move there. But he wanted to avoid living in a large city. He was determined to try something different in his attempt to make a fresh start. He looked into some of the smaller localities and settled on Coral Gables. His research had shown that it was a modern city with a population of about 50,000. It offered all the amenities he'd need. It boasted fine restaurants, movie theaters, nightclubs, and real estate at affordable prices. And in the event his past inclinations for big- city life reappeared Miami was only a half-hour's drive away. Mason easily sold his apartment on Lexington Avenue and purchased a beach-front condo in Coral Gables. He took and passed the Florida State private investigator's test and received his license just three months after his arrival in Florida. And he opened an office in the downtown business district a month later. His commute to work was only a ten minute drive. It took a year for him to turn a profit. Word of mouth about his efficient work spread slowly and steadily and he'd reached the point about three months ago where he'd developed a substantial caseload. He was now pulling in clients from the neighboring cities of Pinecrest, Key Biscayne, Hialeah and even Miami. Mason's varied caseload kept him busy and interested. He handled a wide array of matters including industrial espionage, corporate embezzlement, and insurance fraud cases. But the largest segment of his trade was comprised of domestic relations cases. Nearly half of his clients were husbands or wives who suspected their spouses of cheating. And more often than not Mason confirmed their suspicions. The intercom buzzed and he pushed the button. "Yes?" "Mr. Padilla is here." "Send him in Carol." The door opened and Mason set his gaze on a young man who couldn't have been more than 19 or 20 years old. They shook hands. "Have a seat Mr. Padilla and tell me what I can do for you." Padilla sat on the upholstered chair in front of the desk. "I'm a second year student at Miami University Mr. Mason. I'm a journalism major. I live here in Coral Gables and commute to school in Miami." Mason watched as the young man paused. He seemed a bit nervous. "That's all very well and good Mr. Padilla, but is there something I can do for you?" "Well, I'm doing a paper on major real estate acquisitions in Dade County. Particularly acquisitions made by Billy Bob Corrigan." Mason's interest was perked. He knew that Corrigan was a major player in Dade County realty dealings. He was a millionaire real estate magnate who had a reputation for shrewdness, guile and, many believed, ruthlessness. He was Dade County's equivalent of New York's Donald Trump. "Go on Mr. Padilla. I'm listening." "Well, about a year ago the Coral Gables City Commission approved a construction project to build middle-income housing along a half-mile stretch on Ocean Avenue." He paused again. "And?" "Last month the Commission reversed its decision and rezoned the property for commercial construction. Strip malls, restaurants and department stores. And I hear Corrigan got the contracts to construct them." "What exactly are you saying Mr. Padilla?" "What I'm saying is I believe Corrigan paid off the City Commission to change its decision. Or maybe he got to the City Manager." "And do you have proof of this Mr. Padilla?" "That's where you come in Mr. Mason. I want to hire you to find the proof." Mason smirked. "My fee is $50 an hour plus expenses. Can you afford that Mr. Padilla?" "Well, I... uh... not really. I can pay you $200. That's all I've got. But I'll give you credit in my paper." Mason chuckled. He liked this kid's moxie. He reminded him of himself ten years ago. "I'll tell you what Mr. Padilla. I'll waive the credit. Let me check around a little. I'll make a few inquiries. Why don't you schedule an appointment to come back here in a week? We'll talk some more then. Okay?" "Sure thing Mr. Mason. Thanks." Mason watched him leave. He smiled. He admired the kid's balls. But he'd also been tantalized by the provocative nature of the case. *** Billy Bob Corrigan sat at the head of the long oak table in the penthouse office suite of the Magnolia Hotel in downtown Miami. He looked at Gunter Brooks, his bodyguard, standing at the door. "The fucker is late. I'll give him five more minutes and that's it." Brooks nodded. Corrigan impatiently looked at his wristwatch. He heard a knock on the door. Brooks opened it and invited Curtis Sumner into the room. Corrigan scornfully glared at him. "You're twenty minutes late Sumner. You're costing me money. What did you want to see me about? What's the big emergency?" Sumner sat at the table and wiped the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. "Sorry I'm late Corrigan. Unavoidable last-minute Commission business." "Yeah yeah. So what do you want?" "Well, I have reliable contacts who've told me there's some nosy college kid asking questions about the City Commission's reversal on the Ocean Avenue construction project." "For Christ sakes Sumner. You're the fucking City Manager. You can't handle a college punk?" "Well, it gets worse. The kid's hired a private detective who's been checking out documents at City Hall." "What type of documents?" "Deeds, zoning applications, minutes of the Commission's meetings. All documents relating to the Ocean Avenue deal. I'm getting nervous." "Are you nervous enough to return the two million I gave you last month?" "Not if you can take care of this Corrigan." "Jesus. Do I have to do everything myself? Okay. Give me the name of the college kid. And the private dick too." *** Bernie Mason settled into the chair behind his desk and took a sip of coffee. He unfolded his copy of the Miami Herald and for the next fifteen minutes he read the sports pages. He then browsed the news. He made his way deeper into the paper and when he turned to page 8 he immediately saw the small news item: "Last night police discovered the body of second-year Miami University student Luis Padilla a half-mile off-campus in a trash bin on Hudson Avenue. Sources close to the investigation say that Mr. Padilla was killed execution-style by a single gunshot wound to the forehead. Hudson Avenue has a well-known reputation for illicit drug trade and police believe Padilla may have been the victim of a drug deal gone bad. Police urge anyone with information about this crime to contact them." "Holy shit!" Mason immediately wondered whether Padilla's death was connected to the Ocean Avenue construction project. *** Mason knocked on the door of the small white wood frame house. A moment later a short stocky woman opened it and peered up at him. Mason saw the tears on her cheek. "Mrs. Padilla?" "Yes." "I'm Bernie Mason. I'm so sorry for your loss." "Thank you. How did you know my son?" "I'm a private detective. Two weeks ago Luis came to my office and asked me to look into some real estate dealings in town. He said he was writing a paper for his journalism class and needed some information." "Luis wanted to be a reporter. He loved journalism." "Have the police uncovered any new information about the killing Mrs. Padilla?" "No. But I don't believe what they think." "What do you mean?" "They think it's drug-related. But that can't be. Luis detested drugs. He didn't even drink Mr. Mason." *** Mason spent the rest of the day at the public library researching the history of Billy Bob Corrigan. He discovered that Corrigan had made his first million by snatching up condemned apartment buildings at public auctions. His construction company then razed the property and put up strip malls, condos, and luxury apartments. Corrigan had been able to secure all the necessary building permits and zoning variances without any apparent difficulty. Allegations of bribes to political figures had been raised numerous times but were never proved. Accusations of ties to organized crime were also made but they too remained unsubstantiated. Mason concluded that Corrigan was either a very skilled businessman or he was a master at covering his tracks. Mason learned that Corrigan rolled his early profits into hotels. He constructed or purchased one hotel after another. He was now the principal owner of 22 hotels in Dade County. And he'd become an extremely wealthy man in the process. Mason rubbed his eyes. He checked his wristwatch and saw that it was 4:45pm. He decided that he'd return to the office to check his messages. *** Mason opened the door to his office and saw Carol preparing to leave. "Hi Carol." "Hi Bernie. I was about to go home. Do you need me for anything?" "Nah. Go on home. Were there any messages?" "No. I confirmed your appointments for tomorrow. You have three interviews. The first one's at 9:00." "Thanks. See you tomorrow." "Good night." Carol left and Mason headed into his office. He sat on his chair and put his feet up on the desk. He yawned. He realized all the reading he'd done at the library had made him tired. He was asleep in five minutes. *** Mason awoke and looked at the clock radio on the desk. It was 10:00pm. "Shit. I can't believe I fell asleep." He left the office and made his way down to his Buick parked at the curb. He entered the car and drove off toward his condo. When he stopped at a red light a block away he sensed movement in the rear seat. He gazed into the rear-view mirror and saw a man with long blond hair. And he had a gun in his hand. "Who the hell are you?" "Shut the fuck up. Pull over to the curb." Mason did as he was told. "Now give me your piece. And slowly. Don't try anything or I'll blow the top of your head off. Understand me?" "Yeah." Mason reached into his ankle holster and turned around. He studied the man's face. He slowly gave him the gun. "Turn around asshole. And start driving." "Where to?" "I'll let you know. Get going." Mason pulled the car onto the road. "Turn left at the next light." Mason complied. "Okay, take the next right." Mason continued to follow the man's directives for another ten minutes. He drove the car up a steep hill in a residential area. He reached the peak and the man said, "Stop here." Mason did. "Now listen, what the hell's going..." The man brought the gun butt down hard on the nape of Mason's neck. He slumped forward and hit his head on the steering wheel. The man then doused his body with Jim Beam until the bottle was empty. He tossed the bottle onto the floor and he reached over Mason's limp body and grasped the gear shift. He pulled it into drive and jumped out of the car. The car slowly descended the hill. It picked up speed as it progressed. It swayed to the left and right and brushed against parked cars on both sides of the road. Mason stirred around. His head pounded and he was dizzy and nauseous. He heard screeching sounds and sensed motion. He knew he was in danger. He raised himself up. The car then slammed into a parked SUV and flipped over. It continued to flip as it tumbled down the hill. Mason helplessly rebounded against the car's interior. He felt pain everywhere. He struck his head against the dashboard and passed out. The car flipped onto its wheels and came to an abrupt stop as it forcefully crashed into an eight-foot cement wall at the foot of the hill. *** Howie Allen watched the late news on his living room television when he heard the booming crash outside. He walked to the window and saw the wrecked car in the street. "Holy shit!" He bolted for the door. Allen reached the car and saw flames lick at the air from under the twisted hood. He peered inside and saw a body. He pulled at the driver's side door but it wouldn't budge. He reached inside through the broken window and grabbed the man's arm. He pulled. It took Allen five minutes but he extricated the unconscious man from the car. He dragged his body away. Allen continued to tug the body and was about twenty feet from the vehicle when he heard the explosion. He looked up and saw that the car was engulfed in flames. He felt the inferno's heat. The sounds of alarms pierced the still night air. *** Hazel and Gladys sat at the central nurses' station and gossiped about the hospital's doctors. They heard a beeping sound and gazed at the panel. "It's Room 710!" Gladys exclaimed. They ran to the room and arrived to see Mason squirming in bed. Hazel smiled. "Congratulations Mr. Mason. You've made it." *** "Hello Mr. Mason. My name's Lorna Dunston. I'm a psychiatrist on staff here at Miami Memorial Hospital." Mason looked at the pretty woman seated in the chair beside his bed. "Psychiatrist? I was in a car crash. Why do I need a psychiatrist?" "I'll get to that in a moment Mr. Mason. But before I was a psychiatrist I was a medical doctor. Let's start there. You sustained fractures of your left arm and wrist. You had massive internal bleeding in the abdomen and underwent extensive surgery. And you sustained a serious concussion. You were in a coma for two months Mr. Mason." "I was?" "Yes. And I'm afraid you sustained serious trauma to your genitalia." Mason swallowed. "How serious?" "We had to do orchiectomies." She saw the puzzled looked on his face. "Your testicles were crushed and we had to remove them. I'm sorry." "Oh my God." "And your penis was mangled. We had no choice but to do a partial penectomy Mr. Mason. I'm sorry. We did the best we could considering your extensive injuries." Mason was shocked. He wanted to speak but didn't know what to say. He looked into Dr. Dunston's eyes and saw sorrow and pity there. A month later... Mason sat on the toilet. He pressed down on his penis and peed. He felt humiliated as he watched himself urinate. He studied his surgically revised penis. It was at most an inch and a half long. And below his diminished manhood he saw his empty scrotum. In his mind he could hear it howl for occupants. He flushed the toilet and got dressed. At least he was getting discharged today. It was the first good news he'd had since he'd awoken from his coma. *** Mason arrived at Dr. Dunston's office for the exit interview she'd requested. He sat down in front of her desk. "Hi Dr. Dunston." "Hello Mr. Mason. Congratulations. You're officially discharged now." "Yeah." Dr. Dunston could easily read the depression on his face. "You know Mr. Mason, you're lucky to be alive. It's not like it's the end of the world you know." "Yeah? Well that's the way it feels to me Doc. I'm a freak now." "You're no such thing Mr. Mason." "Oh yeah? I can't even be with a woman anymore. I can't get an erection. I can't father a child. If you don't call that a freak then I'd like to hear your definition." "There is a surgical procedure we can perform Mr. Mason." His interest was provoked. "What?" "We can implant prosthetic testicles. They're non-functioning, of course, but they'll look and feel like the real things." "How about my penis? Is there anything that can be done with that?" "I'm afraid not." "So you're saying there's no way I can sexually function as a man again?" "That's correct. I'm sorry." She saw the sadness and distress on his face and felt heartbroken for him. "There is another option Mr. Mason." "What?" "SRS." "What's that?" "Sexual reassignment surgery." "Do you mean sex change surgery?" "Yes." "You can't be serious?" "I am Mr. Mason." "Change my sex? To a woman? You've got to be kidding me Doc." "I'm serious. Many men who've experienced similar extensive trauma to their genitalia have opted to undergo sexual reassignment surgery. They now lead productive lives as women. They have relations and experience the same sexual sensations as biological women." Mason was stunned. "But... but who'd believe I'm a woman. I mean... just look at me." "You could easily pass for a woman once you complete the prescribed treatment regimen Mr. Mason. You're only about 5'7" tall I'd guess. You have a slender build. A few minor cosmetic procedures, hormone therapy, and some electrolysis would do the trick." "It's a drastic step Doc." "I know Mr. Mason. But I think you should seriously consider it. In the meantime I'm going to give you some literature to read. And I'd like to see you once a month. Okay?" "Yeah. Okay." *** Mason sat on the recliner in his condo and read the material Dr. Dunston had given him. He'd read through it several times but kept going back to it. He didn't know what to do. He hoped that poring over the literature would help him come to a decision. He looked at the before-and-after pictures of men who'd had SRS. Most of them were transsexuals but two were men like him who'd sustained serious genitalia injuries. All of the men looked like real women after surgery. Some were even pretty. He heard the knock on his door and answered it. He looked into the pretty face of Carol Newsome. "Hi Carol. What brings you around?" He was happy to see her. She'd visited him several times in the hospital and had managed to cheer him up a bit. "I went to see you at the hospital yesterday and they told me you were discharged last week. I just figured I'd drop by to see how you're doing." "I should have told you. Sorry. Come in. Would you like some coffee?" "Okay." They sat at the kitchen table and sipped coffee. Carol broke the silence. "Do you plan on returning to work soon Bernie?" "I don't think so Carol. Not for awhile anyway. Are you still working for Mitch Rooney?" Carol had told him a month ago that she'd secured temporary employment with Rooney's private investigations agency in Miami while he convalesced. "Yeah. He's offered me a permanent job." "You should take it Carol. I don't know what I'm going to do." She easily observed his sorrowful and depressed expression. "What's the matter Bernie?" He looked into her face and decided to trust her. He considered Carol a friend. And he needed to vent and had no one else to turn to. "If I tell you something will you promise not to repeat it to anyone Carol?" "If you don't want me to tell anyone Bernie then I won't. I promise." He saw the sincerity in her face. He hesitated for a moment. And then he told her everything. "As you can see Carol, I've got a big decision to make." "I'm here for you Bernie. Let me help you. What can I do?" He was so touched by her kindness that he felt his eyes moisten. He dabbed at them with a napkin. "What do you think I should do Carol?" "I don't know. How would you feel about continuing on as you are now?" "Not too good. I couldn't even qualify as a eunuch. I'd rather be dead Carol." As soon as she heard that comment she knew what to say. "Then you have to have the surgery Bernie." "You think?" "Absolutely. If that's the way you feel about yourself then you can't go on like this. Have the surgery and start over. You said that your psychiatrist told you that you could lead a productive life as a woman. She's right." "Thanks for the advice Carol. I'll think about it." "I want to help you Bernie. Whatever you decide to do." *** Mason considered his options for another two weeks and in the end concluded he could not continue to live and maintain his sanity in his present condition. He decided to have SRS. He told Carol and thanked her for her support. And he advised Dr. Dunston of his decision at his first session with her a week later. Dr. Dunston asked him a number of questions and decided that he should have the surgery as soon as possible. He appeared suicidal and she wanted to remove the source of his self-destructive thoughts quickly. Two weeks later Mason underwent SRS at Miami Memorial Hospital. Because he had insufficient residual source tissue to work with the surgeons used a patch of supplemental latex tissue engineered in a famous gender dysphoria clinic in New York. Six weeks later... Mason removed the dilator from himself and gasped for air. His surgeon had sternly advised him of the necessity to regularly dilate himself or face the possibility of additional surgery. He had no wish for more surgery. He had mixed feelings about the dilation process. It embarrassed him. But it also felt quite good. He rationalized that he did it because he had to and the pleasant sensations were an unexpected though welcomed consequence. He looked between his legs and marveled at his new anatomy. He had a vagina and vulva now and they looked so real. He shook his head. "Unbelievable." Mason dressed in a jogging suit and retrieved the newspaper from the front stoop. He read it while he sipped at his coffee on the living room sofa. And he saw the picture which released a flood of repressed memories. He set his gaze on a color picture of real estate tycoon Billy Bob Corrigan and City Manager Curtis Sumner at a ceremony to celebrate the opening of a 40-store mall on Ocean Avenue. And behind Corrigan stood a tall man with long blond hair. "That's the bastard who abducted me! He's responsible for all of this!" Mason collected himself and calmed down. He then recalled the case he'd worked on before his accident. And Luis Padilla's death. It all became readily apparent to him. Corrigan and Sumner had conspired on the Ocean Avenue construction project. And when he and Luis Padilla had come close to exposing the complicity the conspirators had decided to murder them both. "Son of a bitch!" Mason's anger and resentment grew by the minute. He thought of Corrigan and Sumner and the tall blond man. Hate filled his mind. He wanted revenge. *** Gunter Brooks guided the black limousine to the curb and pulled it to a stop in front of The Blue Lagoon Hotel. He turned to his boss. "Do you want me to come in with you Mr. Corrigan?" "No Gunter. Wait here for me. I'll be back in about an hour." Corrigan exited the car. Gunter figured Corrigan was meeting one of his girlfriends in the hotel for a little mid-day hump. He moved the car seat back and stretched his legs. He then reached into his pocket and retrieved the letter he'd received just two hours ago. He read it once again: "Dear Mr. Brooks- I know you killed Luis Padilla. I have proof you did it. Meet me in the Reptile House at the Miami Metro Zoo at midnight tonight and bring $10,000 in small bills. If you don't show up I'll go to the police." Gunter had already decided he'd take care of this spineless blackmailer without telling Corrigan. He didn't want his boss to think he'd botched the Padilla killing too. Corrigan was already unhappy that Bernie Mason had survived and just this morning he'd told Gunter in no uncertain terms that he expected Mason to be dead before the month was out. Gunter's job as Corrigan's bodyguard was important to him and he didn't want to risk losing it. He didn't know what other job he could do for the same money Corrigan paid him. But the occupation to which Gunter had truly aspired was something altogether different than his current vocation. He'd wanted to be a professional football player. And he'd come close to realizing his dream. He was a star tight end for the University of Alabama football team and the Minnesota Vikings had selected him in the first round of the NFL Draft five years ago. He had size, speed and good hands. Gunter looked forward to a long and successful career as a professional football player. But it wasn't meant to be. On the third day of football camp he'd sustained serious fractures of two cervical vertebrae and all the doctors he'd seen had urged him to give up the sport or risk permanent paralysis. He'd been forced to retire from professional football before he played in his first game. He was a bitter man. Gunter turned his attention back to the letter. He glared at it. "Kiss your ass goodbye mother-fucker." *** Mason approached the dimly lit entrance to the Miami Metro Zoo and looked at his luminous wristwatch. He saw that it was 11:15pm. He reached into the black duffel bag and came away with a small flashlight. Mason had reconnoitered the zoo last night and knew there were no security guards. Budget cuts had taken care of that problem. All he had to deal with was a security alarm in the Reptile House. His background as a private detective accorded him the necessary skills to easily overcome that obstacle. Mason flicked the flashlight's switch and slipped past the entrance. Ten minutes later he stood before the door of the Reptile House. It took him five minutes to disable the alarm. He entered the building. He shone the flashlight's beam ahead of him and slowly walked down the center aisle. He heard soft slithering and crackling sounds. And he detected an unpleasant musty odor. He reached the center of the large room and stooped down. He turned off the flashlight and patiently waited. Ten minutes later Gunter Brooks entered the Reptile House. In his left hand he clutched a flashlight and in his right hand he held a .22 caliber handgun with a silencer on the barrel. Mason heard someone enter the building. He then heard scuffling footsteps. And he saw the flashlight's beam. He stood up and silently walked around a near corner. He reached into the duffel bag. Gunter slowly walked down the center aisle. He swung the flashlight around. He was prepared to shoot at anything that moved. Mason spied the man's approach from around the corner. He waited for him to get to within fifteen feet of his position. He then raised the Taser stun gun and fired. The gun's wires hit Gunter in the center of his chest. His entire body convulsed. He dropped his gun and collapsed to the ground. Mason stepped over to the fallen man and shone the flashlight into his face. He smiled as he slipped into the latex gloves. Mason found a light switch and flicked it. Bright light illuminated the rear half of the room. He returned to Gunter and he bent down and grabbed his ankles. He dragged him to the exhibit at the far end of the building. He hoisted the limp body and maneuvered it over the four foot railing. He heard the soft thump as Gunter fell onto the soil on the other side. Mason tossed the duffel bag over the railing and jumped over it. He removed Gunter's clothes and stuffed them into a side compartment of the bag. He then retrieved a number of items from the bag's interior. Mason hammered four pegs into the soil with the rubber mallet. He tethered Gunter's hands and feet to the pegs with 6-inch lengths of rope. He then smeared Gunter's groin with the uncooked one-pound sirloin steak. Mason put the meat back into the bag. He walked to the six-foot-high cave in the rear of the exhibit and pulled the lever. The steel gate which sealed the cave's entrance moved up. Mason bolted for the railing and jumped over it. Mason looked down at Gunter's prone figure on the other side of the railing. He retrieved the toy water pistol from the bag and squirted Gunter's face. The Komodo Dragon crawled out of the cave. It was a carnivore and immediately picked up the meat's aroma. Although it was ten feet long and 300 pounds it moved toward the scent with the speed of a running dog. The Dragon stopped two feet away from Gunter. It shot its thin tongue out and tasted his crotch. It slowly moved in for the kill. Gunter blinked his eyes open and looked at the large lizard bearing down on him. "What the fuck?" He attempted to rise but realized he couldn't. He also realized he was in real danger. "Help! Someone help me!" The Dragon opened its long snout and proudly displayed its large serrated teeth. It closed in on Gunter's groin. And in the blink of an eye it snapped its mouth shut and severed Gunter's genitalia. Mason looked down at the red hole in Gunter's crotch. He then looked into the bleeding man's eyes. "Remember me Gunter? How does it feel?" Gunter looked at Mason's face and immediately recognized him. But before he could speak the pain arrived. It was unbearable. He howled in agony. Mason looked at the Dragon. He watched as it chewed on Gunter's pride and joy. It seemed to find its meal tasty. Confirming his suspicion the lizard moved its head back down and took another bite out of Gunter's groin. The Dragon chewed and swallowed. It made brief eye contact with Mason as if to acknowledge the dinner he'd provided. The lizard then turned around and slowly moved toward the cave. It was apparently satisfied. At least for the moment. Mason shifted his gaze to Gunter. Blood gushed from his lower abdomen. His body convulsed. He was in an obvious state of physical shock. Mason had seen enough. His job was done. He picked up the duffel bag and headed for the exit. *** When the police arrived at the crime scene the next morning they found nothing more than blood-drenched bones. Three days later they identified the body from dental records. The news media had a field day reporting on the lurid circumstances of Gunter Brooks' death. It wasn't every day that someone was devoured by a Komodo Dragon. And when it was discovered that Brooks had been Billy Bob Corrigan's bodyguard the news reporters went into overdrive. Corrigan was pissed. Everywhere he looked he saw himself in the news. It had even been suggested by one television reporter that Corrigan had personally arranged Brooks' gruesome death because of some unidentified slight he'd perpetrated. But what really worried Corrigan was that the detectives investigating the death were looking into his business affairs. He was nervous for the first time in a long time. *** "How have you been Bernie?" Dr. Dunston carefully studied her patient's face for signs of depression. "As well as can be expected I guess Doc." "I see you haven't made arrangements to start on hormone therapy yet. Is there a problem?" "Well, I... uh... I guess I've been busy." Dr. Dunston knew that he was in denial. She'd seen the same reaction in a similar case she'd handled. "You really should initiate the steps to complete the process Bernie. I don't mean to be crude but do you want to be a man with a cunt?" She'd meant to shock him and his reddened face proved she'd succeeded. "Well, uh... of course not." "Good. Because if you don't complete the process then that's what you'll be. How about if I make all the arrangements?" "Arrangements? What exactly for Doc?" "Well, as I've said before you'll begin hormone therapy. You'll also undergo laser electrolysis to remove your beard and unwanted hair from your chest and torso. From what I can see that won't be too difficult." Mason silently agreed. He didn't have much of a beard to speak of. He needed to shave only once or twice a week. And he didn't have much bodily hair either. "Is that it Doc?" "No. You'll also see a speech therapist to learn how to modulate your voice to sound like a woman. Your voice isn't deep at all so it shouldn't be too difficult to accomplish. And I'd suggest a nose job to make your face look more feminine. And we'll shave off your Adam's apple too while we're at it." "Is all this really necessary?" "It is Bernie. To live a productive life it's important that you be perceived as a woman. Do you want people to look at you and see a man in drag?" He hesitated a moment. "I guess not." "Good. Let's start now. Pull down your pants." "What?" "Pull down your pants. I'll give you your first estrogen shot." *** Mason sat on his recliner. He looked at the small bottle in his right hand. The bottle that contained the hormone pills Dr. Dunston had just given him yesterday morning. He shook his head in disbelief. He heard the knock on his door and answered it. As expected he saw Carol who'd arranged to drop by for coffee and a chat. "Hi Carol. Come on in." "Hi Bernie. I bought some croissants." She displayed the small white bag and stepped into the condo. They sipped coffee and munched on the pastries at the kitchen table. Carol ended the silence. "Well how's everything going with your, you know, adjustment?" She was curious because from all outward appearances Bernie still looked like a man. "It's funny you should ask Carol. I got my first estrogen shot yesterday. And Dr. Dunston also gave me hormone pills to take." He didn't feel too embarrassed discussing the matter with her. He considered that she'd become his best friend. He was comfortable with her. "Really? What else are they going to do?" He told her what Dr. Dunston had planned for him. "I don't know Carol. It's not going to be easy. I hope it works out alright." Carol could see the sadness in his eyes. "Everything will be fine Bernie. You'll see. And I'll be here to help see you through this." "You're a good friend Carol." *** After Carol left Mason sat on the lounge on the balcony and browsed through the newspaper. He came across an article about Curtis Sumner. And there was a picture of Sumner embedded in the body of the story. His face reddened in anger. Mason knew that Sumner was in large part responsible for the City Commission's decision to rezone Ocean Avenue for commercial construction. The minutes of the Commission's meetings had shown that Sumner had forcefully argued for a reversal of the decision to zone the area for middle-income residential housing. And then there were all those times when Sumner and Billy Bob Corrigan had appeared together at social and political functions. Mason had no direct proof but he knew in his heart that Curtis Sumner was involved in the death of Luis Padilla. And in the attempt on his own life which resulted in his mutilation. He silently bristled. *** Mason sat in his parked car on Grapefruit Drive and gazed at the house across the street. He watched as Sumner walked out and entered his car. He saw him drive off. Mason waited for darkness to fall and he exited his car and opened the trunk. He removed the large canister and the black duffel bag. He softly closed the trunk and approached the house. Mason stood on the front stoop and inserted the burglar tool into the door frame. A minute later he was inside the dwelling. He then walked to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of beer from the refrigerator. He brought it to the living room and sat on the sofa. He turned on the television and flipped through the channels. He found a good college basketball game on ESPN. Two hours later he heard Sumner's car pull into the driveway. He turned off the living room lights. Sumner entered the house and walked into the living room. He turned on the lights and immediately saw the stranger sitting on the sofa. "Who...who the hell are you?" "Don't you recognize me Curtis? I'm Bernie Mason. You know, the private eye you tried to kill because I looked into your crooked real estate dealings with Billy Bob Corrigan." "I'm calling the police." "I don't think so Sumner." Mason reached down on the couch and lifted the Taser gun. He pointed it at Sumner and pulled the trigger. The wires flew out of the gun and the electrodes attached themselves to Sumner's shirt. He convulsed for a few seconds and collapsed to the floor. Mason slipped on the latex gloves and he dragged Sumner into the bedroom and hoisted him onto the bed. He undressed him and then retrieved the hypodermic needle from his bag and injected its contents into Sumner's left arm. He recalled how he'd lifted the muscle relaxant and a few other items from the supply room at the hospital the last time he'd seen Dr. Dunston. Mason waited a few minutes for the drug to take effect and then he broke the ammonia capsule under Sumner's nose. He watched as he slowly stirred around. Sumner looked up at Mason. He tried to move but couldn't. He looked afraid. "What... do you want?" "I want you to admit you conspired with Billy Bob Corrigan to murder me and Luis Padilla Sumner." Sumner hesitated a moment and then blurted, "It was all Corrigan's idea!" "But you discussed it with him?" "Well... yeah." "Confession is good for the soul. Don't you feel better now Sumner?" "Please let me go. I won't tell anyone about this. I promise I..." "Stop your whining. You're making me nauseous." Mason reached into the bag and retrieved the box of confectionary sugar. He liberally sprinkled it over Sumner's groin. "Why... why are you doing that?" Mason ignored him. He retrieved the large canister and he set it down on its side near Sumner. He removed the lid. Mason stepped back and watched as the column of 50 red imported fire ants marched out of the canister and onto the bed's surface. The insects immediately scented the sugar and they climbed onto Sumner's body and dashed toward the treat. Mason smiled. He recalled the research he'd done on this species of ant. Unlike other ants the inch-long red imported fire ant doesn't merely bite. Rather it bites and stings. It attaches to the victim's skin using its mandibles and then lowers the tip of its gaster to inject the stinger into the victim. Most of the ant's venom is composed of alkaloids which cause severe pain and a white pustule that appears a day after the sting occurs. Mason watched as the first ants reached Sumner's groin. He knew they were hungry. They'd been inside the canister since yesterday when he'd purchased them from the black market trader in Miami Beach. Sumner helplessly watched as the ants climbed onto him. He had a terrified expression. "Why are you doing this to me?" Mason gazed at the pleading man's face. "The answer is quite simple Sumner. A little thing called revenge." The fire ants ate the sugar. And they instinctively bit and stung. Sumner cried out in anguish. Mason tried to avoid sympathy for this unscrupulous man who'd conspired to murder him. He succeeded. The ants finished the sugar and marched on to other areas of Sumner's body in search of more food. And they bit and stung as they explored. Mason gazed at Sumner's vacated groin. His genitalia were unrecognizable. All he could see was a twisted jumble of swollen red tissue. Sumner was not in the best of health. He had high cholesterol and hypertension. And two years ago he'd had an angioplasty to unclog an occluded coronary artery. His body reached the threshold of its capacity to tolerate shock and threw in the towel. He had a massive heart attack and died. Mason packed up. He took one last look at Sumner. The red ants littered his corpse. And he had a frozen death scream on his mouth. *** Beatrice Sumner returned from the weekend visit with her daughter in Hialeah the next day. When she found the unrecognizable red and white pustuled body in the bedroom she screamed. She immediately called the police. And then she called the exterminator. *** Mason stood before Judge Sydney McGregor. He'd been summoned to Traffic Court two days ago. "I'm not quite sure why I'm here Judge." "You're here, Mr. Mason, because six months ago you were involved in an automobile accident. And the police report reflects there was an open bottle of liquor found in the wreckage. Under those circumstances there's a rebuttable presumption you were driving while impaired. Were you inebriated Mr. Mason? "No your Honor. I'm a private investigator. I was investigating someone who set me up." "Set you up?" "Yes. Someone who made it look like I was drinking." "That's a stretch Mr. Mason. Do you have any proof to substantiate your contention?" "No Sir. But it's true." Judge McGregor considered for a moment. "Here's what I propose Mr. Mason. If you plead to the misdemeanor of reckless driving I'll waive the fine. Otherwise I'll set a trial date on the charge of driving while impaired." Mason had no stomach for a trial. He'd even waived his right to an attorney. He decided to accept the offer even though he was innocent of the crime. "I agree your Honor." Judge McGregor lowered his gavel and Mason turned to leave the courtroom. "Oh Mr. Mason?" He halted and turned around to face the judge. "Yes?" "If I ever see you again in my courtroom charged with driving while impaired I'll throw the book at you. Do I make myself clear?" "Yes your Honor." Mason turned and headed toward the door. He fumed. Now he had even more justification for what he'd done to Gunter Brooks and Curtis Sumner. And for what he'd planned for Billy Bob Corrigan. Eight months later... "Hello Bernie. How are you?" Mason sat down. "Okay I guess Dr. Dunston." Dunston immediately noticed the change in her patient's voice. The speech therapy had really done wonders. Bernie's voice now sounded quite feminine. And she looked more like a woman now than ever. She had discernible breasts. The nose and throat surgery, the electrolysis and the hormone therapy had all done their intended jobs. And Bernie's red hair had grown to the point where it fell to the top of her shoulders. She almost looked pretty. Unfortunately she was dressed in a sweat suit and sneakers, her usual attire. "I don't mean to pry Bernie, but how are you holding up financially?" "Well, I'm living off my savings." "Can you do that indefinitely?" "Don't I wish Doc. I figure my savings will be depleted in four to six months." "What will you do then?" "I don't know. I guess I'll have to get a job." "Doing what?" "Your guess is as good as mine Doc." "Would you like it if I tried to find you a job Bernie?" "Doing what?" "I have a wealthy friend, Mindy Roarke, who's a post-surgical transsexual. She owns a large women's clothing store in the Orange Mall on the outskirts of Miami. It's called Mindy's Whispers. Perhaps you've heard of it? In any event Mindy's hired a number of post-surgical transsexuals and I'm sure she'd be willing to hire you Bernie." "But I'm not a post-surgical transsexual Dr. Dunston. I didn't want this." "That really doesn't matter Bernie. You've undergone the same gender change treatment as a post-surgical transsexual. What do you say?" "What would I be doing?" "You'd be a saleslady." "But I don't have any experience at that." "They'll train you. What do you say?" Mason knew he needed to get a job soon. He'd just been thinking about that very problem last night. "Okay." "Good. But there's one other thing." "What?" "You have to look like a saleslady. Meaning you have to wear a dress and makeup Bernie. Can you do that?" "Well, I... uh... I'm not so..." "Relax Bernie. Practice over the next month. Do you have a friend who can help you?" He thought of Carol. "Yeah." "Good. When you come back for your appointment next month I'd like to see you fully appear as a woman. If you make a good presentation then I'll send you over to Mindy." "What...what if I don't?" "We'll cross that bridge if we get to it, okay?" "Yeah." "I'll see you next month Bernie." He got up to leave. "Oh. I almost forgot. I have your new identification papers." She handed him the envelope. Bernie slipped the papers out of the envelope. He saw the Florida State driver's license, Social Security card and birth certificate. And they were all in the name of Bernice Mason. He looked at Dr. Dunston. "Bernice?" "Isn't that a nice name? And you can still be called Bernie for short." *** Bernie told Carol about Dr. Dunston's proposition. Carol appeared eager to help. "I didn't want to say anything Bernie, but you should have been out of those sweat suits and sneakers months ago. It's past due." "Come on Carol. I've been wearing a bra and panties for a month. It's not like I haven't done anything." "Well now you're going the whole route Bernie." *** True to her word Carol worked hard to prepare Bernie for next month's appointment with Dr. Dunston. She styled her hair and manicured her nails. She taught her how to apply makeup and nail polish. She instructed her on the fine arts of slipping into nylons and walking in high-heels. She advised her how to move and act like a woman. And she helped Bernie build a nice wardrobe. Bernie ventured out in public dressed as a woman for the first time when he and Carol went to dinner and the movies. They subsequently visited the park and several museums as girlfriends. And Bernie managed to get over his anxiety. He proudly advised Carol, "I feel comfortable going out like this now. I'm not anxious anymore." She'd said, "You shouldn't be anxious Bernie. You're a woman now. This is how you're supposed to dress." And that made Bernie think about what he'd become. As unbelievable as it was Carol was right. He was a woman now. *** Bernie woke up and hopped into the shower. The warm water felt nice as it sprayed over her modest breasts. She stepped out of the shower and toweled herself dry. She slipped into the powder blue silk panties and matching bra and then she rolled a new pair of nude pantyhose up her legs and over her waist. She couldn't help but notice how delightful the nylons felt on her smooth legs as she gently brushed them against one another. The erotic sensation made her softly shiver. She impulsively smiled. For the next hour Bernie sat at the vanity and she applied her makeup and did her nails. She followed all the advice Carol had given her. Bernie looked at herself in the mirror as she combed her hair. "I actually look pretty. It's unbelievable." Her smooth-looking complexion and red lips looked nothing if not feminine. Bernie placed the brush on the vanity and glimpsed her long red nails. They looked so foreign. And she'd found it difficult to grasp and hold things now. But she had to admit that they made her hands look quite attractive. Bernie walked to the closet and selected the blue floral print silk dress. She pulled it down onto herself and hoisted the rear zipper. She felt the dress cling to her body. She stepped into the 3" leather navy pumps and felt herself rise in height. She fastened the gold stud earrings to her lobes and she stepped over to the wall mirror. Bernie was satisfied with her appearance. She considered that she looked as attractive as most of the other women she'd seen around town. She pulled herself from the mirror and retrieved her purse. "Time to see Dr. Dunston," she announced aloud as she swung the door closed behind her. *** Bernie walked into Dr. Dunston's office. "Hi Doc." Dr. Dunston gasped in surprise. "Why Bernice, you look absolutely lovely." And she'd meant it too. "Have a seat." Bernie sat down. "Well, here's the new me Doc." "I'm impressed Bernice. Did your friend help you out?" "Yeah. I couldn't have done it without Carol's help. I guess I owe her." "Are you ready to return to work. I can give Mindy a call." "I guess I better give it a shot. My new wardrobe just blew a big hole in my savings account Doc." "Okay then. I'll call her. But there's one more thing I'd like to discuss with you Bernice." "What?" "It's important that you consider yourself a woman now. In your mind Bernice. That's key to making a successful adjustment." "I'm past that point Doc. I've already accepted it. I'm not crazy about what's happened to me but I have to deal with reality. Just look at me. I'm surely not a man anymore. I know I've become a woman." "Good. That's a very healthy outlook Bernice. You've come a long way." *** Bernie sat at the table in the small Greek restaurant and waited for Carol to arrive. They'd made a luncheon date and Bernie was eager to see her. He hadn't seen Carol for over a week and he missed her companionship. They'd become best girlfriends. Bernie saw Carol enter the restaurant and she stood up and waved. Carol noticed and approached the table. They grasped each other's hands and kissed each other on the cheek. "Sorry I'm late Bernie. I got caught up in a little construction traffic." "No problem. I have you at a disadvantage. I work in this mall." The waitress appeared and they ordered small Greek salads and diet cokes. "Talking about work how's your job coming along?" Bernie reflected that she'd been working at Mindy's Whispers for a month now. "It's okay I guess. They transferred me to the blouse department a few days ago." "The blouse department?" "Yeah. I sell blouses Carol." Bernie felt the slight blush as soon as the words were out. "By the way I can get you a twenty percent discount." "Really? I'll have to stop in and look around. Do you like what you're doing Bernie?" "I don't know. It's a job. I guess it's a little boring." "Not as challenging as private detective work, huh?" "You can say that again." "Do you miss it?" "Absolutely." "Why not take another crack at it?" "Come on Carol. Look at me. I'm a girl now. How many female private eyes do you know?" "Well, I guess I don't know any." "That's right. Because there are none in Dade County. When I worked in New York there was only one decent female private eye in town." "Yeah? Was she any good?" "She had an excellent reputation. Let me see, what was her name? Uh... Goldman. That's it. Danielle Goldman I believe." "If she could do it then why couldn't you? You know Bernie, you can run circles around some of these jerks I'm working with now down at Rooney's agency." Before Bernie could respond the waitress returned with their orders and placed them on the table. They ate in silence for a moment. "So what's new Carol?" "Did I tell you that I met this really nice guy Frank? We're going on our second date tonight. You know Bernie, Frank asked me if I had any girlfriends. He says he has a friend who's available. And he said the guy's cute too. You interested? We could go on a double date Bernie." Bernie was taken by surprise. "I, uh...I'm not really sure I...er..." "Come on Bernie. It'll be fun. What do you say?" Bernie composed herself. "I don't think I'm ready for something like that Carol." "Why not?" "Well, it's too soon. I'm still adjusting to the fact that I'm a woman now. I'm still not entirely secure or comfortable with it. And I can't picture myself going out on a date with a, you know..." "Man?" "Yeah." "Why not?" "You've been a girl all your life Carol. It's easy for you. I just became one. I used to be a man. For 28 years I was male. And now you expect me to forget all of that and go on a date with a man? It's not that easy." "Yeah. I see what you mean. I'm sorry Bernie. It's just that I look at you now and I see a girl. I just want you to be happy." "I'm trying as hard as I can Carol." Five hours later... Bernie put the grocery bags down on the stoop and fished the keys out of her purse. She opened the door and retrieved the bags. She walked into her condo and closed the door with the heel of her foot. The packages were heavy and her muscles ached. She didn't have half of her former strength since she'd taken the hormones. It seemed that her muscles had all but disappeared. She briskly walked into the kitchen and placed the bags on the counter. "Whew! Another five steps and I wouldn't have made it." She unpacked the groceries. She was eager to finish so she could kick off her heels. Her feet were killing her. And she was tired too. On the plus side it was Friday. Just as she put the last item away she heard the knock on her door. She answered it and looked up into the blue eyes of a handsome tall man. "Yes?" "I'm sorry. I was looking for Bernie Mason." "I'm Bernie Mason." "But... I thought Bernie Mason was a man." "Do I know you?" "My name's Howie Allen. About a year and a half ago I pulled a man by the name of Bernie Mason out of a car wreck in front of my house on Orchid Drive." "So you're the one? I heard about what you did. I always wanted to thank you." "What?" "Would you like to come in Mr. Allen?" "Sure. But please call me Howie." They settled into the kitchen and Bernie made coffee. Howie looked at her across the table as he took a sip from the cup. "Hmm. This is good." "Thanks." "I'm afraid I don't understand Ms. Mason." "Please call me...Bernice." "Okay Bernice. I really don't understand." "I'm going to share something with you Howie. Something that's very personal. If anyone should know about it I suppose it's you." "Okay." "I was the person you pulled from that wreckage. I was injured very badly. I almost died. I had massive internal bleeding that required extensive surgery. And my genitals were...well they were mangled. Ruined. They couldn't be saved. So I made a decision. I think it was the only rational one I could have made. I had sexual reassignment surgery. I became a woman." Bernie's heart raced as she eagerly awaited his reaction. "I admire you Bernice." "You do?" "Yes. It took a lot of courage for you to make that decision. You're a very brave person. And I want to compliment you on the outcome. You're very pretty." Bernie blushed. She was nearly shocked into silence by the string of compliments he'd hurled at her. "Uh...thanks. What a nice thing to say... Howie." "You're welcome Bernice. You know, when I was in law school I dated a post-operative transsexual for six months." "Really? What happened?" "Oh she decided to move to New York to pursue a career in fashion. We sort of drifted apart. And then I married another girl." "You're... married? "Not anymore. My wife died three years ago." "I'm sorry." They sipped at their coffees for awhile. Bernie became curious about something. "Why did you look me up Howie?" "I wanted to see how you were. How it all came out. I felt as if I'd left a piece of me with you that night. I've thought about it a lot over the last eighteen months. I needed closure." "Really?" "Yeah. Would you like to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night Bernice?" "Yes." Bernie hadn't even thought before she answered. She'd blurted the response impulsively. "Great. I'll pick you up at 7:30." *** Bernie remained seated at the kitchen table after Howie had left. She had a stunned expression. "What did I just do? I can't believe it. I'm going on a date tomorrow night. With a man." Her face reddened. She recalled her lunchtime conversation with Carol. She'd said only a few hours ago that she wasn't ready for this sort of thing yet. "What's wrong with me? Why did I accept?" She rationalized that Howie wasn't just any man. He was the man who'd saved her life. The least she could do was have dinner with him. And then she thought that Howie was really cute. Her face reddened again. *** Bernie had difficulty sleeping Friday night. And she was nervous all day Saturday. She kept thinking, "I can't believe I'm doing this." She started to get ready at 5:30. She slipped into a matching set of white cotton panties and bra and she rolled a new pair of flesh tone pantyhose up her legs and over her waist. She then did her makeup and nails. She contemplated which dress to wear while she waited for the red nail polish to dry. Bernie ultimately decided to keep it simple. She didn't want to overdo it. So she chose a plain light blue cotton dress. Matching 3 1/2" pumps rounded out the outfit. She stood before the wall mirror and gazed at her full-body reflection. She thought that she looked nice. She wondered whether Howie would find her attractive and felt the blood rush into her face. *** Howie arrived on time and they went to Lamberto's, a fashionable new Italian restaurant in Pinecrest. He'd opened the passenger side car door for Bernie and he'd held out the seat for her at the restaurant. She enjoyed the attention. "You look nice Bernice. That dress flatters you." "Yeah? Thanks." A waiter delivered menus and a busboy set out bread and butter. "So you said yesterday you went to law school. I guess you're a lawyer then Howie?" "That's right." "What type of law do you practice?" "Criminal law. It's my specialty." "That sounds interesting. Do you work for a law firm or are you on your own?" "I worked for a Miami firm for eight years but they didn't take criminal cases. So last year I left them and opened my own office. It was rough sledding at first but now I've got a pretty big caseload. The move's paid off." "I'm happy for you." "Thanks. How about you Bernice? What sort of work do you do?" "Well, I'm a salesperson." "Yeah? What do you sell?" "Uh... ladies' blouses." Howie could see her embarrassment. "I bet you're a great saleslady Bernice." "Well, I just started a few weeks ago but I'm doing okay I guess." They scanned their menus and a few minutes later the waiter arrived. "Are you ready to order folks?" They both nodded. The waiter turned to Bernie. "I'll have the veal parmesan and the house salad with ranch dressing." The waiter then turned to Howie. "That's incredible. I chose the exact same thing." The waiter collected their menus and left. Bernie broke a short period of silence. "So you've been married?" She didn't want to pry but she was really curious. "Yeah. Five years ago I married an Israeli girl I'd met right after I passed the bar. And two years after our marriage she visited her mother in Haifa. The two of them were standing at a bus stop and a homicide bomber detonated himself. Killed 14 innocent people including my wife and her mother." "Oh my God. I'm so sorry." A moment of silence ensued and Bernie spoke. "I have to tell you something Howie." "What?" "I lived in New York before I relocated to Florida. I was engaged to a girl who died on 9/11. She was a passenger on one of the planes that crashed into the World Trade Center." They looked into each other's eyes and felt the connection. It was almost uncanny. The waiter delivered their salads and they ate in silence for a few minutes. Howie looked up at Bernie. "So tell me, what did you do in New York?" "I was a private detective. I did the same work here until my... accident." "Are you serious?" "Absolutely." "Were you good at it?" "Yes. Very good." "So why'd you give it up?" "I don't think Dade County is ready for a woman private eye Howie." "Yeah. I see your point. You know I use a private investigations firm on a lot of my cases Bernice. To collect facts, statements, evidence. That sort of thing. Maybe you'd like to work for me?" "Are you serious?" "Yes." The waiter arrived with their entrees. "Will there be anything else?" They both shook their heads. They sampled the veal and agreed it was excellent. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Howie stole a glance at Bernie and smiled. "You know Bernice, you're very attractive. It's hard to believe you're a transitioned woman. I would never have guessed." "Uh... thanks. Do you think I look better than the post-operative transsexual you dated?" "No contest. You win hands down." That remark made Bernie smile. It made her feel good about herself. "Thanks." "Just being honest. Can I ask you something?" "Okay." "What's it like?" "What do you mean?" "Becoming a woman. What's it like?" Bernie thought for awhile. "I'm not entirely sure. I'm still trying to figure it out. It's not something I wanted. It's something I was forced to do. So I guess it's been traumatic for me. And it hasn't been easy to adjust. Everything's so... different now." "How do you mean?"