The Stalker Pressed Send

By Perley J. Thibodeau

The Stalker Pressed Send continues the story of LuLu's Back In Town, as a professional New York City Female Impersonator again returns to her small home city of Bangor, Maine to play a club date, aware that she'll come into full contact with the dangerous psychopathic computer troll whom she met and ignored forty-two years previously, and who has now been stalking her relentlessly for years all over the world wide web.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Perley J. Thibodeau
• Release date: Feb 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310084812

Perley J. Thibodeau

Perley J. Thibodeau was born and lived the first 45 years of his life in Bangor, Maine. He now resides in Manhattan, New York

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THE STALKER PRESSED SEND

A novel by

Perley J. Thibodeau

Copyright © 2010 Perley J. Thibodeau

TALES OF MYSTERY PUBLICATIONS

All rights reserved.

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A partly fictional crime story built around actual documented facts.

DEDICATED

TO

MRS. WINSTON (MARLENE ALDRICH) STUBBS

My Hairdressing Instructor

1973/1974

D’LOR BEAUTY ACADEMY

Brewer, Maine

Who styled the wig for this cover photograph.

With

Love

PERLEY

CHAPTER 1

BANGOR NIGHTCLUB

LULU’S INITIAL PERFORMANCE

A person parking their car in the fairly good sized parking lot out front of the former Sally’s Place, now renamed My Place," nightclub in Bangor, Maine would be aware of the other surrounding parked cars in the black tarred lot. Stepping out and locking the door behind them, they would suddenly be aware of the disguised voice of an anonymous male or female singer that could be heard above the busy sounding din of late night crickets chirping loudly in the surrounding dark trees bordering the softly artificially lit area under the vast opened black background star filled sky

A GUY IS A GUY

"I walked down the street like a good girl should

He followed me down the street like I knew he would

Because a guy is a guy wherever he may be

So listen and I'll tell you what this fella did to me

I walked to my house like a good girl should

He followed me to my house like I knew he would

Because a guy is a guy wherever he may be

So listen while I tell you what this fella did to me

I never saw the boy before

So nothin' could be sillier

At closer range his face was strange

But his manner was familiar,"

Approaching the front lighted door of the club the newly arrived guest would encounter a friendly looking entryway leading into a smallish room with walls that are paneled in a soft glossy thin pine veneer, a long coat rack to the left for guests to check their outer cold weather coverings, a long dark green leather sofa and coffee table on the right wall, and a matching pine veneer and green leather hotel type desk square in front of the door beyond blocking further passage until a male attendant sees that a cover charge is paid then the outer wrappings accepted by a second male attendant, a black printed number on a small white cardboard square given to the paid patron, and a duplicate affixed to the newly numbered garment as it’s put on a wooden hanger and hung from the coat rack for safe keeping until the guest departs at a later time. All of this having been done, the patron or patrons then go around the desk and through the door beyond as the voice on the microphone grows louder and louder

"So I walked up the stairs like a good girl should

He followed me up the stairs like I knew he would

Because a guy is a guy wherever he may be

So listen and I'll tell you what this fella did to me’’

I stepped to my door like a good girl should

He stopped at my door like I knew he would

Because a guy is a guy wherever he may be

So listen while I tell you what this fella did to me

He asked me for a good-night kiss

I said, It's still good day

I would have told him more except

His lips got in the way"

Now standing inside the door the full width of the cabaret is opened to the guests’ eyes, as they look around the room to see that the place is furnished with square pine colored tables with small candles flickering in glass globes in the middle, and are surrounded by sturdy looking round backed captain chairs. Most of the tables are already occupied with people with drinks in front of them. Several tables have been pushed together to accommodate a big party of friends who are all joined together with the rest of the people in the crowded room who are happily drinking, making small quiet conversation, while appreciatively eyeing the tall well built blonde female impersonator who is in the spotlight on the small raised platform stage at the back of the room on the other side of the small dance floor. An attractive looking performer, she is standing in front of a floor stand microphone and wearing a light a blonde curly wig and a pink strapless 1950’s bouffant net skirted waltz length gown with a dozen layers of net, crinoline and chiffon multi colored petticoats that almost makes the skirt stand straight out at the voluminous hemline

SINGING

"So I talked to my ma like a good girl should

And Ma talked to Pa like I knew she would

And they all agreed on a married life for me

The guy is my guy wherever he may be

So I walked down the aisle like a good girl should

He followed me down the aisle like I knew he would

Because a guy is a guy wherever he may be

And now you've heard the story of what someone did to me.

(Wedding bells chime on the loud speaker)

And that's what he did to me.

With the audience’s applause ringing loudly, LuLu takes her bow and leaves the small raised platform on the back wall that comprises the club’s stage. her eyes slowly adjusting to the dimmer light of the club after the glare of the spotlights, She wends her way to the door under the red glowing EXIT LIGHT on the left side of the wall and disappears in through and past the door that leads to her dressing room, the club’s business office, and the small employees private kitchen/coffee room.

CHAPTER 2

COFFEE ROOM BACKSTAGE

LULU HAS A TALK WITH GORDON

James is holding the door for her, as she walks by. Great performance just now LuLu. The audience is really wild for the act.

She smiles at James, the young longtime employee at the club as she passes him and heads directly into the coffee room by way of the door to the right across from her dressing room door.

Thank you, James. She says, as she’s walking. Keep your eye on the house will you? Gordon said he wants to have a meeting with me.

She enters the coffee room and sits down at the chrome and Formica top breakfast table in the middle of the room.

Gordon, the young man who’s the club’s official manager, who has been waiting for her to finish the night’s last performance pours a cup of coffee and places it before her on the table where she immediately prepares it to her taste preference with cream and two small lumps of sugar. After stirring it gently, she lays the spoon down on the table, and gingerly sips the hot brew

Gushing, his usual youthfully exuberant manner, Gordon says. I loved that last song, LuLu. The audience was with you all the way.

Thank you, Gordon. She says, gratefully. It sounds better in a song set to music than it does written out on a computer.

Reassuring in tone, he answers. Don’t bother obsessing about that multi user name jerk on the computer anymore, LuLu. I’ve asked around, and nobody even knows who he is, except for one old guy who comes in here who says he’s fat and unattractive, and he claims that the guy is crazy, but completely harmless.

Gordon suddenly has LuLu’s undivided attention as she stares questioningly at him

Oh? She says. And did he say that the cyber stalker ever comes in here to the club?

He said the guy lives alone, and never really bothers anybody. He spends all of his time on the computer trying desperately to pull anonymous bloggers into his world. But it’s mainly just a game that he plays, and like the moderators of the blog sites; nobody ever takes him seriously. That sounds just like the moron that I’ve been forced to deal with, alright. Except for one thing…

Now Gordon’s curiosity has been aroused, Oh, and what’s that?

I’ve learned from experience to take everybody seriously.

Enthusiastically changing the subject, he now replies. It’s great to have you back in Bangor, and performing here at the club, LuLu.

With almost skeptically arched eyebrows), she answers. Even if you did have to lure me back here with the promise of a good salary, a fun time and a missing person; possibly homicide investigation?

Shrugging nonchalantly. Whatever it takes. His face registering a quick blush.

I can see that you’ve been doing a really good job managing the club ever since Sally was convicted of homicide in Massachusetts and started to serve her life sentence in a men’s prison there. LuLu talks on.

I let you go through the financial records so you could see how much business we’ve taken in for the past two years. He Pauses. Figures don’t lie. He finishes the sentence.

Lightly said, swallowing the hot coffee. No, but sometimes book keepers do!

Mouth agape with surprise. I wouldn’t go cooking any books for anything, LuLu. You know better than that. The last thing I want is to have to answer to the state of Maine and the Internal Revenue Service.

Soothingly, so as to settle Gordon’s mood down, she says. I know how honest you are, Gordon. Your special friend James has already assured me of the success of the club in the past two years. He also told me that Sally wants to sell it so she can get her money back in order to finance her further court appeals.

Suddenly disgusted, he ruffles. That’s the trouble with James. He tells everything that he knows.

Teasingly. Well, maybe not everything. But I’m leaving it up to you to tell me the rest.

Defeated in his respect for the people he’s talking to. Alright, you’ve got me, LuLu. I wanted to buy the place myself and continue to run it with James, but the bank wouldn’t finance the deal. They thought I was a bit too young to own my own business, even if I have been keeping it in the black for the past two years.

And of course, your parents wouldn’t spring you for the initial amount.

I’d say not. Heck, they wouldn’t even co sign for me. Not with my mother and father owning the local hell and damnation church, and all. As a matter of fact, you know yourself it was mom and dad’s church money that wrongfully financed this place for Sally in the first place.

I never did find out what the monetary arrangements were with that secret transaction, but I’d almost assume your parents want their initial investment back again.

It’s a matter of trust in the church with them. Dad has reasoned with mother that the parishioners shouldn’t have footed the bill for a gay liquor serving nightclub in town. But the problem is real estate has gone up so high in the past couple of years that anything the club sells for now over the original investment would be profit.

I can see that I’m going to have to put on my thinking glasses for this one. She smiles. Of course. what would be a profit for one wouldn’t be a profit for both parties involved. Meaning the church money and what Sally would want out of it, naturally!

Naturally. She says.

I can’t see either mom, dad, or Sally agreeing to an even split, if that’s what you’re thinking. He warns.

Slowly she responds. That’s just what I was thinking.

Brightening right up, Gordon adds. almost running all the words into one in his haste to elicit the answer he wants to hear. Then you’ll agree to buy the club and allow James and me to continue to run the place while you make at least four two week appearances here a year?

Dropping her jaw in surprise. Huh?

Shouting toward the slightly ajar door of the small room. James. James. LuLu’s’s agreed to buy the club and keep us working here running it!

James comes bounding hurriedly into the room and sits down at the table opposite Gordon and LuLu

Out of breath, James exclaims his happy response. I was listening at the door, and I think that it’s just fabulous, LuLu. I was telling Gordon what a wonderful idea it was and, I was just sure that you’d agree.

Wait a minute. She intersperses. Just wait one minute. I never said that I would buy this place. As a matter of fact all I said was that you let me look at the business ledger and it seemed to be a going profit making club.

Slightly aghast, James says. Well, what more do you need?

Well, it might help to have a professional property appraiser look at the building and grounds to give an accurate estimate of just how much the whole package would cost.

Nodding agreement, Gordon says. That’s a done deal. A friend of ours is in the real estate business and, he’ll do it for nothing just to keep James and me in a job.

Hopelessly agreed, by James. Yeah, jobs aren’t too easy to find here in Bangor, you know.

Sadly, Gordon verbally agrees. You can say that again.

Leery eyed, LuLu now agrees. He really doesn’t have to. I grew up and lived part of my life in Bangor. How well I know.

So, what else do you have to know? Gordon says.

Enthusiastically, James asks. Yes, what else do you have to know?

Chastising slightly, Gordon offers. Will you kindly stop parroting me, James? Think of questions of your own, for crying out loud. You know how I hate when you do that!"

And you know how I just hate it when you openly rebuke me in front of people, Gordon. I do wish you’d cut that out, too!

The two of them turn their heads away to stare sullenly at the opposite sides of the room

Boys. Boys.’ Lulu is now the official referee. What kind of an impression do you think you are presenting to a possible investor by blowing off at each other like that?"

The two of them continue to look away from each other as each of them speaks.

You’re perfectly right, LuLu. James shouldn’t have done that.

Yes, LuLu. But it wasn’t me who did it, as you can see it was Gordon who started it. Glaring at Gordon. He’s always starting it!"

LuLu amusedly takes in the scene of the two very youthful Celtic looking young men who could very well be obstinately feuding brothers and smiles accordingly. Honestly. They say you can always tell an Irishman, but you just can’t tell him much!

The two friends recognize the old Irish saying, and turn to each other with merry laughter lighting up their faces

Well, with that settled, I now have to have a talk with Gordon’s father and mother to see how much money would settle their claim to the property, and its inventory. LuLu calculates, aloud. "Not to mention to have a lawyer talk to Sally to find out just how much she’ll take to get out from under the legal ownership.

Reassuringly, James plunges right in. That’s simple. I know a lawyer who’ll do that for nothing just to keep Gordon and me working here.

Almost bewildered, LuLu says. Doesn’t anyone have a paying job here in Bangor? Don’t tell me the main paying occupation of the city is still stealing other people’s property.

Snapping from Gordon. There you go taking over again, James. You’re all the time taking over.

Now defensively replied. I was only saying, Gordon. I was only saying.

Mildly demanding. The two of you settle down right this minute or we’ll not go on with this discussion at all.

Gordon and James turn and smile sweetly at each other, their differences quickly forgotten in light of LuLu’ words.

Now with firm authority. Gordon. You make an appointment to have me meet with your mother and father, and I’ll think of a way to deal with Sally myself.

Thank you, LuLu. I’m sure you won’t be sorry. Gordon and James speak the same words at the same time.

I sure hope not. She sighs. Especially seeing as I don’t remember ever agreeing to this business proposition in the first place.

Oh, but you did. Gordon and James again speak in unison. Oh, but you did!

The two young men look threateningly narrow eyed at each other again

Okay, okay. Just to keep peace in the family; I’m sure I did!

Now all three smile at each other sweetly

CHAPTER 3

KENDUSKEAG STREAM PARK

NINE OCLOCK P.M.

Having known each other for many past years and also renew their friendship during a recently past Bangor police murder investigation, plus subsequent personal meetings in Manhattan, LuLu dressed as Louie and Bangor Chief of Police Dunn in plain clothes now sit in a black unmarked police car in the small parking lot overlooking the currently rushing fairly wide Kenduskeag Stream that runs down through the middle of town and divides Bangor’s East Side from its West Side.

Both are now dressed in jeans, tee shirts and light nylon type summer jackets, with visored baseball caps partially casting a hiding shadow across their faces as they sit with Chief Dunn at the car’s wheel, and Louie in the passenger’s seat talking and glancing out the windshield of the car. While Chief Dunn’s cap sports a Red Sox Logo on the front, Louie’s cap proclaims it to be for the New York Yankees

Matter of factly, Chief Dunn says. Looking to see if young Ronnie Banks is walking around here is a long drawn out process. It’s lonely being on police stakeout.

Thanks! Louie states, emphatically.

Confidentially, he replies. I’m speaking in general, Louie. Being here tonight with you serves two purposes. Number one is the fact that we can be together while making it sound like official police business.

Looking at him with an amused smile. And number two is?

With dry amusement crinkling his eyes, Dunn answers. Being here tonight with you on official police business.

Being an avid police work amateur specializing in homicides, Louie says, the thought of being here on official police business makes my blood run hot with anticipation.

And being with me? Dunn inquires.

Flirting slightly, Louie says. I could think of a much more personal pretext.

I’m sure we both could. But not while I’m getting paid to be on the town’s clock.

I thought Frank Currier, The Town Wreaker tore that clock down when he demolished the old city hall on Hammond Street Hill during Urban Renewal in the early seventies.

Two different clocks. He replies. I’m thinking about the one that I figuratively speaking have to punch everyday for my livelihood.

So, what does your wife think about all this plainclothes undercover work in gay cruising areas with a well known female impersonator?

Which one?

Louie is now confused. Which one, what?

Which wife? The chief insists.

How many wives have you had? Louie asks.

Three. He freely admits. Marriages have a very short life expectancy rate with law enforcement officers."

So I’ve heard. Any particular reason in your case?

:Too many long hours, two much danger of not ever coming home, and too many personal temptations.

Philosophically, Louie answers. Well, I can see all of you have that much in common. He pauses. Well, you weren’t married when I remet you again here in Bangor a year ago. Or at least you didn’t tell me you were when you came down to the city a month later and you came to the club to watch the show, and have a few drinks. I wouldn’t have seen you if you had been another’s husband. I may well be promiscuous at times, but I still have my scruples.

With a broad smile lighting his slightly ruddy complexioned Celtic face. You and I didn’t do anything else other than what you just stated as fact, so it really shouldn’t have mattered one way or the other.

Accusingly, Louie says. Then you were married at that time.

Putting his hands palm up in front of him to show surrender. That’s very true. And I’ll tell you another secret. Remember my coming into the dining room bar at the Bangor House back when we first met, and the members of the beauty school you attending were having a birthday party for one of the girls? I sneaked out on my wife that night also, just to get away from the family arranged monotony for a few minutes, and to have a chance to see how the rest of the world lives.

Tenderly looking straight into his eyes. You were very young at the time. Quickly changing the subject. So, alright. let’s try the present wife. What does she think of all this?

Matter of factly spoken. There isn’t any present wife.

Showing a slightly grateful reaction, Louie says. And if I may ask; what did you do to her?

Simply put. She divorced me. What do you think I did, kill her?

Well, what am I supposed to think? That’s a well known occupational hazard, too.

Granted, but not with me. Dunn concedes.

So, you’re backing it?" Louie continues to look straight ahead out of the car’s windshield staring across the darkened expanse to the other side of the stream and to the tree covered rise beyond

You might say. Something like that. Dunn agrees, quickly looking at his lighted faced wrist watch. You know, I’m technically on taxpayer’s time, so maybe it would be a little better if we talked again about crime.

Wouldn’t want to get the property owners up in arms, so to speak." Louie admits.

Of course, New York City is tremendously bigger for its number of people, and far more ethnically and racially diversified than Bangor, but as bad as Bangor is getting, what with the new people moving in and all, crime is still proportionately about even when statistics are compared for both places. Dunn says, in an official sounding voice.

Louie continues to look straight ahead through the darkened windshield

Oh, yeah? Louie glances sideways at Dunn. Don’t plan on going to a hospital emergency room once the night time temperature goes above 70 degrees. That’s when everyone in the city gets shot, stabbed, or violently punched out and the stretchers are coming in like the ambulances are on conveyer belts. All of these night time warriors are treated first by the only triage nurse on duty, while people with serious home grown ailments are left to sit and wait to be seen well into the crack of dawn. I can remember when people went out nights to socialize and have a good time, not to weigh the level of their enjoyment by the number of gallons of blood that was spilled!"

Ironically Dunn declares. In that case, I’d say that proves that Bangor and Manhattan are both even crime wise.

True, but it’s not so lonely on stake out when you’re a civilian volunteer working under cover in New York. Especially if your investigational ground is the Ramble in New York’s Central Park and all the gay guys know you as being gay.

Now even more interested in the turn of the conversation when it again becomes centered around police work, and especially pertaining to events that have transpired in New York City. Oh? Dunn asks. And how long did that investigation go on?"

Twenty years. Louie says, Off and on.

Almost choking with the next one word question. Oh?

Not changing his vocal tone, Louie goes on to say. Actually, that was the length of time that I’ve volunteered for the NYPD. It was actually a series of different investigations and a lot of under cover work right out in the open, but the one that comes immediately to mind and took the longest time to bring to the climax of turning the killer in to the police took all the way from Mother’s Day to the nineteenth of the next October. Sounds like only five months, but it was a lot of time and concentrated effort on my part to get it accomplished in that time span.

Duly impressed, Dunn says. A killer? Sounds pretty dangerous and scary to me.

It was, but I was running on automatic pilot and wouldn’t let myself realize just how dangerous it was until I confronted the killer who was much bigger than me, while I sat beside him on a dark bench near the Azalea Pond, and he was preparing to wrap the knit ski band that he had used for the strangling around my neck.

What did you do then?

Just what you’d do. Louie says. I immediately stopped with the round about inquiring banter of saying I saw him in the park at the time of the killing, excused myself and got the hell out of there."

And?

Speaking casually, Louie explains. I high tailed it over to the peninsula that juts out into the rowing lake behind the Boat House Restaurant, and got the two cops on duty to pick him up on the orders of the Precinct Captain, and the Community Affairs Officer.

And they did?

Stan Stanton and Casper Foose.

That was his name? He asks.

No, Louie explains. "Those were the names of the arresting officers. I never did find out the killer’s name as the blue wall of silence dropped between the