Free Pearls of Asia: A Love Story by Lee Geiger Page B

replied Mayes, relishing the moment. “Do tell.”
    Mac put down the Rubik’s Cube, which looked more unsolved than when he had picked it up. “You see, the girls who work there are like pearls. Very early in their lives they have the sense they’re not who they should be. It’s like they’re trapped in a shell. Over the course of time they get braver and braver, and the shell starts to crack open. Then one day the shell opens up, exposing a pearl. Then the real self comes out and the pearl gets polished to a beautiful radiance. Since most of the girls who work there are Asian, they call the place Pearls of Asia .”
    Mayes was impressed with his partner’s dissertation. It was the first time in months he’d seen that twinkle in Mac’s eyes, a spark that disappeared along with his best friend and his wedding ring.
    “Okay Mac, that’s very interesting. Now here’s a question for you. Is someone born transgender, or do they become transgender?”
    Mac’s voice pitched to another level, and his hands became as animated as a puppeteer’s. “I’ll take a stab at it, partner, no pun intended. I think they’re born that way, just like you were born to read books and I was born to chase bad guys. In fact, my mom and I were talking about this yesterday, and she pointed out how much courage it takes for someone to transition from one sex to the other. You put everything at risk: your job, your family, and your friends. It’s more than just being gay and coming out of the closet. You have to expose yourself everyday, to everybody, while you evolve from A to B. It takes courage for you and me to put our lives on the line every day, but imagine the guts it takes to say to the world, ‘You all may not be comfortable with what I’m doing here, but I have to do this.’”
    “Well Oprah, you’ve convinced me. By the way, did San Jose State offer a class in Gender Studies? They did over at Cal, and I got an ‘A.’ Now shut up and grab your coat. In ten minutes, Longley expects us to be in Chief Stone’s office for a briefing.”

     
    NINE AND A HALF minutes later, the detectives found Chief of Police David Stone sitting behind a desk more vast than an aircraft carrier. His chair was placed beneath a large portrait of Thomas Cahill, not only because his name was on the building, but also because Stone and Cahill shared an affinity for strong Irish whisky. And even stronger Irish women.
    “Where do we stand on the Michelle Osher case?” barked Stone. “The media’s farther up my ass than a botched colonoscopy. Please tell me after forty-eight hours you’re closing in on a suspect.”
    Mayes, who didn’t enjoy as close a relationship with Stone as his partner, decided to lead off. “Sir, the medical examiner’s report says that based on the depth of the wound, the murder weapon was a Balisong switchblade. They’re handmade in the Philippines and illegal to carry in California. So far we haven’t been able to locate it. The report also said the angle of the wound suggests the killer was left-handed and at least six feet tall.”
    “Great. So far you’ve described my gardener,” growled Stone. “What else?”
    It was Mac’s turn to step up to the plate. “We’ve checked the financial and phone records of both Paul and Michelle Osher. Other than spending money faster than my soon-to-be ex-wife, Michelle Osher’s records are fine. Paul Osher is another story. His spending patterns and phone calls are consistent with someone having an extramarital affair. He denies it, of course, but we believe we’ve identified a…um…woman…who could be his mistress.”
    Stone’s face turned redder than a poison ivy rash. “I was afraid of this. Paul Osher has always had a hard time keeping it in his pants. Who is she, and have you been in contact with this ‘maybe mistress’ yet?”
    Mac squirmed in his seat, knowing the next words out of his mouth might set off Stone’s famous temper. “Sir, when we