Free 01. Labyrinth of Dreams by Jack L. Chalker

her—Whitlock's—things and they wouldn't let him in the door. I happened to be passing by and played kind of Sir Galahad; got somebody who could go get what he wanted."
    "What'd he look like?" Brandy asked.
    "I dunno. Average height and build, I guess. The only thing I remember clearly is he had long, flowing blond hair and a bushy blond walrus moustache and really gorgeous blue eyes. Looked kind of like an overage drummer from some rock band. Dressed that way, too. He was quite attractive, but it was kind of funny."
    "Yes?"
    "You sometimes get a sixth sense about these things. It can't be, of course, but I'd swear he wasn't the least bit gay."
    I nodded. "When was this?"
    "Just day before yesterday. That's why I remember him."
    That was about all we could get from Joey, but it was both valuable and puzzling. Now we had at least one other player in Martin Whitlock's bizarre double life, and that player was a total unknown.
    Honey Rodriguez was the second and last name on our list, and was also the one referred to by Joey Teasdale. This was strictly Brandy's to handle now, for the same reason that our mysterious blond man couldn't get in to get Martin Whitlock's things, although it was frustrating to me. They just didn't let men in the Center City Lesbian Center and Coffee House without a warrant.
    She was in there about forty minutes while I guzzled black coffee on the corner across from the dump, wishing I'd taken up smoking again when the money came back. Brandy had, unfortunately, which only made it worse. Neither of us needed to smoke at all, and poverty had been a real good excuse to give it up, but deep down it was the only reason we'd given it up. It's bad for you, and antisocial these days to boot, but, damn it, we'd only ballooned out to our weights when we quit, and while I might be healthier now I sure didn't feel any better. Maybe not cigarettes, but in self-defense maybe an occasional cheap cigar or one of those curved Sherlock Holmes-type pipes. On Little Jimmy's card, naturally.
    She finally came out and gave me a smile and crossed over and we walked over to a small cafe off Chestnut. "Well? Did she convert you?" I asked her.
    Brandy laughed. "There were some mighty-good-lookin' broads in there, but when you got down to it they all lacked an essential ingredient, and since it's the only thing we keep you men around for anyway, why spoil it?"
    "Got anything?"
    "Some real interesting stuff, but it only gets crazier and crazier. This kind of shit ain't for small-time P.I.'s, honey, or big-shot feds, either. It's booby-hatch time."
    "Shoot."
    "Whitlock took a bunch of pills and shots and stuff, all right. Hormones, almost certainly. Kept a whole medical kit in a private locker in the back of the center, there. Whitlock money's been supportin' that place, almost. Thousands of bucks' worth. They all swear that Whitlock's a she passin' as a he, not the other way 'round, but several were there when she or he or whatever changed, and they swear there's not a scar or stretch mark on that body, and that it had all the right curves and moves, including average boobs that were strapped down in a kind of corset that also filled out the upper body, made it look muscular. I don't know much about transsexuals, but the people over there seem to know a lot, and they swear that Whitlock was as natural-born a woman as they know. What do you think of that?"
    "I don't think. Not at this stage, anyway. So if that's true, then who fathered those two kids of his? Besides, they aren't that old. I think Mrs. W. would have noticed a lot sooner, at least by the honeymoon. Besides, I got on the phone that he was a member of the Triangle Health Club, and that's rich men only. If he went through that kind of operation, it'd take months and cost a fortune. He couldn't cover it up that long and keep his regular schedule. Those things take months before all those hormones kick in."
    "Where'd you learn so much?"
    "The National Enquirer. So I'd