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The Drag Queen Caper MAG
Quentin washed off his makeup, removed his wig, and began to load his gun. His legs ached from the encore performance the audience begged for. Tonight was going to be the night, but he lacked the energy he needed. He would have to reschedule for tomorrow. Yes! Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd be ready for her, and hopefully she wouldn't be ready for him. Her name is Caspia. Caspia Georgianna Geneva. Quentin never denied her beauty, for it was quite immense. She has lived across the hall from him for three years, yet the only thing she ever said to him was, "Please don't look at me like that!" He always stared at her. Who wouldn't? Her reddish-brown hair flowed down her back like a cascading waterfall. Her figure was quite slender, and her face was always well made-up, like an actress waiting for her close-up. Quentin was a very peculiar, yet intriguing person. Non-stop voices ran through his head, and he never thought twice about listening to them. The last time he listened, they told them to hurt the little girl who never thanked him for giving up his seat on the bus. One minute she's an impolite brat, the next she's a statistic - another name added on Quentin's list of helpless victims.
He first saw Caspia in a clothing store. It turned out they were both buying the same dress. Quentin loved that dress too: a perfect shade of lavender with iridescent beads suffocating the neckline - it was perfect. That was when he realized that Caspia had very good taste. You see, Quentin is a performer. Like other performers, he has a very distinct costume. He wears make-up; tons of it. Sometimes he can peel it off by the end of the day. His dresses are always glamorous and flattering to his curvy figure. Quentin is a drag queen. Man by day, woman by night, you know how it is. But let's get back to Ms. Geneva. Quentin has become obsessed with her. He knows her schedule minute by minute, and is even reading the same book as her. He thinks it will get him closer to her mind. He first became intrigued with her when he noticed her blinding beauty and became jealous. When Quentin had his make-up on, he thought he was the most beautiful woman, and when he saw her, he felt upstaged. He wanted her beauty, but if he couldn't have it, she wouldn't either.
The only way Quentin felt he could deal with this dilemma was to get rid of her; Quentin began to plan her murder. He was going to sneak into her apartment before she came home from work; he knew she kept her keys under the welcome mat. He never hesitated to use them to break into her house. He would play with her for awhile, tease her, taunt her, and then when he was bored with her, he'd slowly clasp his hands around her smooth creamy neck and strangle the beauty right out of her. It was going to be perfect.
The next night, as he looked out from Caspia's apartment window, he noticed her blue Honda Civic slowly pulling into the lot. Right on time, he thought. Everything was
working like clockwork. He heard her footsteps. The door began to open. It was her. Wait ... was it?
"It's you," Caspia screamed.
"But is it you?" he cried.
"Well, I guess I'm not surprised. I knew you'd been following me, but I certainly didn't think you would ever go this far," Caspia blurted, staring intently at the 45 magnum grasped tightly by Quentin.
Quentin's eyes were peeled on Caspia's head. Her hair ... it was ... gone. Well, she still had it. In fact, she was holding it. It was a wig. That glorious luster of hair was a wig! "My god," he yelled, "You're a man!"
"Bravo! You're quite smart for an amateur drag queen."
"Amateur?" Quentin asked.
"Well, my friend, I could teach you a thing or two about your make-up. Your liner is all wrong! And your mascara always seems to clump up at the ends. Well, now, if you kill me, how can I possibly give you my personal beauty tips?"
"Well ... " Quentin murmured, dropping the gun on the newly vacuumed carpet.
"No, Quentin McKenna, you will never be as beautiful as I, Caspia Georgianna Geneva, nor will I allow you!"
As Quentin's eyes glanced down from Caspia's hairless head, he noticed a sharp cleaver grasped tightly in her hands.
"Your nights as a crummy drag queen are over, Mr. McKenna. What would you like your final words to be?"
Before Quentin could plead, Detective Antoin Husherman, from the local police department, and his boys burst in, before either had the chance to use their weapons.
"Looks like both your days as drag queens are over. I've been following you a long time, Quentin McKenna. I've been after you since the murder of that little girl on the subway. I knew you did it, I just didn't have enough proof. But now it looks like I have enough to have you fried like an oily piece of dried up bacon. But looks like you'll have some company in your cold little cell - Philbert Donalbein. Oh, pardon me. I mean Caspia Geneva, or whomever you are today. You too, are under the arrest for attempted murder. Cuff em', boys."