Chapter 39 Colton’s Wild Ride #3
Bella plopped the keys into her handbag. “Short answer: Bella. Bella Bottoms. We’ll get to the long answer later. I’d shake your hand, but, well, you need to wash it first. Besides which, I can’t honestly say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“I want to go home!” Colton whined.
“One step at a time, baby. Let’s get you out of those soiled clothes. Now, kick off your shoes and socks. Shimmy out of your pants and panties. Leave your shirt on. Okay?”
Colton did as instructed.
“Throw your shoes and jeans into the weeds to help disperse the smell. As far away from here as possible.”
Colton did that as well. Flung his clothes into the dark.
Matt was amazed. Was Colton in shock? PTSD? Or was it the vodka? He’d had two drinks but had then thrown up. Either way, the guy was now stranded and nearly naked—miles from civilization, and none the wiser. He stood there shivering, shielding his worm from prying eyes.
Meanwhile, Bella retrieved the bottle of vodka from Josh, who wasn’t pleased to part with it.
“There isn’t any water out here in bumfuck Egypt,” Bella said to Colton. “We have to improvise. I’m going to pour this on you to help clean you up. Alright?”
Colton nodded.
“Now,” Bella said, after she’d washed away most of the mess, “take off your shirt, baby, and tie it around your waist like a sarong.”
Colton complied.
Bella gave him a warm smile. “Good job. How about we move upwind?”
She led him past Clown, Princess, and the Devil.
Colton clung to her arm fearfully.
Bella stopped at the front of the Audi.
Colton stood, swaying, almost catatonic.
“Clown!” Bella got Jake’s attention. She handed him the empty vodka bottle, told him to retrieve the sunglasses and baseball cap from his Jetta and toss all three items into Colton’s Audi.
“Take Princess and the Devil with you,” she said. “You guys can leave.”
Matt remained in the shadows, flanked by Josh and Evan, watching his plan come to fruition in real time, but unable to savor the moment.
He was remembering his thirteen-year-old self, holding a baseball bat, looking down at the face of someone vile enough to have raped him but human enough to be cringing, begging for mercy.
He hadn’t been sure of what to do then, and, six years later, he still didn’t know the answer.
Bella motioned for Matt to bring her his bottle of vodka.
Colton cowered at sight of Matt.
“It’s okay, baby,” Bella reassured Colton. “That was a brutish thing, threatening to shove this bottle in your ass.”
Colton nodded.
“You know a thing or two about brutishness yourself, don’t you?” Bella asked him.
Colton shivered, hugged himself tight, like the truth was a cold wind he had to protect himself against.
“Who are you?” he whispered. “I got your name. Bella. But why are you here?”
Bella retrieved a Solo cup from her handbag and poured a generous serving of vodka. “Sit on the hood with me.” She offered Colton the cup.
He hopped up, drank a little, then wiped his mouth. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“And you didn’t drink enough. You do realize that, right? That one way or the other you’ll be drunk tonight? It’s still the same choice Matt offered you earlier: with dignity, or without. I’m just trying to nudge you in the dignity direction.”
Colton glanced nervously at Josh and Evan, then downed the cup.
Bella poured in two more fingers, which Colton drank as well.
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Feeling anything yet?” Bella asked.
Colton nodded woozily. “You know what? You’re not bad looking—for a drag Queeen.’”
Bella smiled. “You’re not so bad looking yourself, baby, but you smell like an outhouse.”
Colton giggled. “I’m not s-stuupid, you know. You keep calling me ‘baby,’ like you’re my friend or something, but I know you must be with those g-gay goons. I j’es wannna know why?”
“Fair enough,” Bella said. “I did promise you the longer story, so here’s the scoop: I’m the girl who’s going to ruin your life—and save it.”
“Ruinmywyf? How?”
“In a few minutes these Gay Mafia boys are going to clear out, leaving the two of us alone. Then the police will show up. I’m going to tell them that you tried to rape me.”
“RAPE? WHA’THFUCK!” Colton jumped to his feet, lost his shirt/sarong in the process, and stood there wobbling—bare-ass naked. He looked down at himself, and it dawned on him—slowly—just how fucked he was. “THIS’LL RUINME!” And he burst into tears.
“That’s the whole point,” Bella said matter-of-factly. She poured more vodka into the cup and handed it to Colton, who drank it—still sobbing.
“The bad news is that you’re one of the nastiest people I’ve ever met,” Bella said, “and I’m not talking about your current condition.
You’ve hurt a lot of people, and Karma’s gonna kick your ass.
You’re going to be arrested tonight. Maybe even roughed up by the cops.
Probably spend the night in jail. Your political dreams will be toast. Everyone will know you’re gay. ”
Colton bawled. Snot streamed from his nose.
“The good news,” Bella said, “is that if you play your cards right, you won’t go to prison and, after you’ve made amends for your deeds, you’ll have the chance to live your truth—as a gay man.”
“Play my c-cards right?” Colton sniffed. He swiped at the snot stream, smearing it across his cheek.
“Leave the Gay Mafia out of it. You and I were the only two people here tonight. Got it? Not a peep. Do that, and my gift to you will be that I will refuse to testify against you. Sure, you will be ruined in the public eye. But that’s going to happen regardless.
At least this way you won’t be convicted.
That was my condition for agreeing to all of this.
Everyone—even you—deserves a second chance. ”
Colton sniffled.
“Ready for showtime?” Bella asked.
“I’m scared.”
“Me too, baby. Cops are assholes to people like us.”
“Tell William it’s time for the phone call,” Matt whispered to Evan. Harley, still at the rendezvous point, was standing by the pay phone, waiting for the signal to call 9-1-1 and make an anonymous report of a rape in progress. William would call Harley from his mobile phone.
The clock was ticking.
8:12 p.m. OCPD headquarters, 700 Colcord Drive. Matt and Molly stood vigil at the rear of the squat, three-storey structure, waiting for Colton and Bella to arrive.
They were in the alley watching a steady stream of patrol cars disgorge their captive, human cargo, first to be paraded—handcuffed—on a perp walk in front of any print or TV journalists; then to be sucked into the building’s bowels where they would bounce along the conveyor belt of justice—questioned, finger-printed, strip-searched, etc.
; before, finally, the lucky ones would be excreted out the front doors, escorted by their lawyers or bail bondsmen.
Matt had obviously seen too many bodily fluids that evening. How else to explain that his thoughts were in terms of excreta—plural?
“I think I see them,” Molly said, pointing. “There.”
The patrol car slowed and stopped, waiting its turn in line.
Matt recognized Bella’s French twist and curls.
Bella craned her head, searching, until she saw Molly in her hot pink fedora.
Molly bent to her tripod, fiddled with her camera.
Two cops exited the patrol car, one thick around the middle, the other a young gym rat.
They walked to the rear of their vehicle, opened their respective doors, and ordered Colton and Bella to get out. Now!
Colton was naked. And with his hands cuffed behind him, he had no way to cover his “shame” (as fCOC doctrine described the male appendage)—not that his penis merited any pride as far as Matt could tell.
Gym rat cop had obviously drawn the short straw and been stuck with the drunk, excreta-slimed (there was that word again) Colton. Gym rat sported rubber gloves and struggled to find a spot safe enough to touch his prisoner.
Matt gasped at sight of Bella.
Her wig was askew, sprinkled with twigs and leaves, as though she—or it at least—had been on the ground. Her grayish wig cap peeked out like a garish bandage on a head wound. Her dress was torn. She was limping, one shoe missing entirely.
Bella’s cop—the one whose body was trying to equalize its circumference and height—wore the “I-smelled-a-fart” frown of homophobes everywhere. He pushed the handcuffed drag queen along as though he was taking out the garbage.
Molly fussed with her camera, fine-tuning the framing. The nature of the perp walk was such that the prisoners approached, then passed, the media on their way into the building.
Molly called out Colton’s name.
Colton turned instinctively and beamed his frat-boy Colgate smile.
That was Bella’s cue. She twisted violently and wrenched free of thick-cop’s grasp. She hurled herself forward into the same photo frame as her alleged attacker. Her face bore marks of trauma (tear-streaked mascara, purpling bruise on her cheekbone).
The contrast between the beaming scion of privilege and the worse-for-wear drag queen was jarring.
Molly clicked away—including capturing the moment thick cop caught up with Bella and kneed her violently in the groin.