Dee's Song

by Willowluvyr

 

Copyright Disclaimers: Xena and Gabrielle are the property of MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. The story is purely for entertainment purposes. The author does not benefit financially in any way from this story.

Violence Warning/Disclaimer: This story depicts scenes of violence and/or their aftermath. Readers who are disturbed by or sensitive to this type of depiction may wish to read something other than this story.

Sexual Violence Warning/Disclaimer: This story depicts scenes of sexual violence and/or their aftermath. This may disturb some readers and anyone who is sensitive to this particular issue may wish to read something other than this story.

Love Sex Warning/Disclaimer: There are blatant discussions, references and description of sexual relations between consenting adults of the same sex. You must be over the age of 18 and it must not be a crime to read material of this nature at your present location.

 

Language Warning: The language is representative of street language. Therefore is quite vulgar. You must be over the age of 18 and it must not be a crime to read material of this nature at your present location. If this bothers you, you should find other reading material.

 

Note: This is intended to a work of fan fiction. Any similarity to real life person past or present is purely coincidental.

 

My thanks to my beta reader Katia, Jennifer, Dawn and Amy for their wonderful help in writing this piece.

 

Summary: A tragic story of love lost to prejudice and hatred set on the Mississippi Gulf Coast in 1970.

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My name is NoŽl. I guess it all started when I was born to two parents who didn’t give a shit. My mother was a drunk, who had more husbands than a stray dog has fleas, and a father I didn’t even see after he left home when I was seven until he just reappeared when I got into trouble. I guess I was sort of lucky he showed then, because the judge saw what asshole parents I had and took pity on me.

 

I was a street punk. I was born with all sorts of gifts. I’m beautiful, tall, strong and very smart. I have a 187 I.Q. I’m 6’2ľ". I’ve got a great body. I had to have one, because I always knew I was gay and in the 1960’s in the projects of New Orleans, a gay woman was a target. So, I had to keep strong to win every battle. I couldn’t lose, because they would never let me up.

 

I also had some things going against me. My maternal grandmother’s father was Cherokee and in Louisiana they had a law that if you were 12.5% or more of a non-white race then that’s the race that went on your birth certificate. So as far as the State of Louisiana was concerned I was American Indian. So, to the white kids, I was a breed. To Indian kids, I was a breed. To the black kids, I was white and a target. None of the gangs wanted me. They were ethnic in those days. I didn’t fit. So I started my own gang. I gathered all the other guys and gals that didn’t fit and we became the worst of the worst. We had to be.

 

Like I said, I always knew I was gay. Hell, when I was eight years old, I thought I was Elvis. I had the coal black hair and deep blue eyes. So, hell, I had to be the King. To my mom’s horror and shame, I wore ducktails and a leather jacket. My mother tried to make a little girl out of me. She bought me the frilly dresses and made me take ballet lessons, but she gave up when I got sent home from ballet class for roundhouse kicking Timmy Wilcox, my ballet partner. Well, he tried to kiss me.

 

I learned my martial arts from my uncle, who was a frogman during World War II. The frogmen were the predecessors to the SEALS. He had gotten an honorable discharge from the Navy, because he was a war hero and he was gay. Had he not been a war hero; they would have just given him a dishonorable and ruined his life. He recognized it in me early I guess, because he started training me in Tae Kwon Do when I was four years old.

 

I light a candle for him everyday, because without his training I would have never made it out of high school alive. You see we lived in the St. Thomas Housing Projects. The Archdiocese started them for poor Catholic families. Then the Federal Government took them over in the mid-60’s. They were, and still are shit holes.

 

I got into my first fight when I was six. I broke Chris O’Donnell’s nose. I killed my first enemy when I was thirteen. He tried to rape me. By the time I was arrested for two counts of armed robbery and assault with the intent to kill, I had six kills to my name. On the street, I was known as Fini. The word was you funk with Fini and it was The End.

 

I was only seventeen, but I was legal. I had graduated high school a year earlier and was studying accounting at a Jefferson Parish Vocational/Technical School. I wanted to go to college and study Literature, but that wasn’t going to happen. I was a street kid and street kids didn’t go to college.

 

So, there I was standing before the judge, guilty as sin, caught red handed and I didn’t give a shit. I was tough I could take it. I was ready to go to prison for the next fifty years. But after the judge viewed my record, interviewed my cop uncle and my parents, he came up with a ruling that changed my life. He gave me a choice, the Army or prison. I took the Army.

****************************************

It wasn’t easy getting through basic. I had attitude. I was mad at the world and I didn’t mind telling everybody. But to their credit and for the good of my soul, they ground me into the dirt. They made me straighten out. They made me a soldier. I was great at hand-to-hand. I qualified as expert with both pistol and rifle. If I had been male, I would have been sent to Special Forces. But because I was a woman and smart I got sent to corpsman training. I became a corpsman. I hated it.

 

I wanted combat. I wanted to fight. Hell, there was a war going on, I wanted in. What can I say; I was young and stupid like every other teenager that ever lived. It wasn’t going to happen though, I was a female and females don’t go into combat. I was so tired of hearing that. I volunteered worldwide and for Viet Nam. I volunteered for every special project that came along, but no go.

 

So, I was sitting in a bar in Biloxi, Mississippi with a real mad going on. I was looking for trouble, because the place was what was referred to in those days as a colored bar. Bars were so segregated then. I wasn’t allowed in white bars, my ID said I was American Indian. I usually went to the Airman’s Club on Keesler. I was here for some special training and hated hanging out with the air-wieners; they were so sissy.

 

So, I just went off base in uniform looking for the first colored bar and all the trouble I could get into. And boy did I find it. I wore my hair short like a good soldier. I had whitewalls and tits. It was very butch.

 

I walked up to the bar and ordered a double JD black. I was asked for ID. So I showed him and he gave me the drink and went and said something to a guy at the other end of the bar. I had just finished my drink and was about to order another, when this big black guy comes over. He was at least four inches taller than me and weighed in at probably 250.

 

He strolled over tough like and said, "You had your drink Pocahontas, so why don’t you get you honky ass out of here?"

 

He never saw the truck that hit him. I gave him a backhand blow to the nose, which broke it. I followed that with a front punch to the heart and followed with a double roundhouse to the right side of his head. As he lay on the floor, I ordered another drink. It came promptly.

 

I could hear the whispers and the moving of their buddy. I heard them take him out the door and probably to the hospital. About two hours and a half of a bottle of JD later, a small caramel colored woman came in the bar with fire in her hazel eyes. She stood about 5’2" and didn’t weigh but 90 pounds, but she came over to me and punched me in the ribs. It didn’t hurt much, but it shocked the hell out of me.

 

She was yelling, "You, stupid bitch, you could have killed him. You gung ho mother fucker, who do you think you are?"

 

On and on, she’s yelling and swinging, I was too shocked to do anything. I just held up my hands to keep her off the face. I let her wear herself out, so I could find out what the hell was going on. She was way too cute to hit. Finally, she tired herself out and I said, "What do you want to drink? It looks like you could use one."

 

She looked at me like I was from Mars or something and she answered, "Rum and Coke."

 

I got her the drink. I figured she could use it. Then, I asked her, "Why are you mad at me?"

 

Her face changed. She took a deep breath and said, "You put my brother in the hospital. He has a broken nose and jaw, three broken ribs and a punctured lung. I know he’s a hot head, but they told me all he did was ask you to leave and you beat him up."

 

"That’s a lie."

 

I ordered two more drinks a double JD and a rum and Coke. She looked me and said, "That’s it? That’s all you have to say? You could have killed him!"

 

"If I had wanted to kill him. He would be dead."

 

She stood there staring at me. I could tell she wanted to say something, but she couldn’t figure out what to say. I was enjoying her frustration. She was cute and I was mean. It was working well.

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She took a long swig of her drink and asked, "Aren’t you sorry you injured a man so badly?"

 

"Nope."

 

I could see the frustration growing as she said, "What is it? He’s just some nigger for you to take your frustrations out on?"

 

"I didn’t notice."

 

At the top of her lungs she yelled, "You didn’t notice what?"

 

"He was a nigger. Just I like I didn’t notice you are an oreo."

 

Then I felt the slap and I saw the tears. I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, but I was in a bad mood and I was a little drunk. I wanted to apologize, but didn’t know how. I had never apologized for anything before. So I did the only thing I could think of I handed her my handkerchief and started to leave.

 

But she just sat there crying, so I sat back down and muttered, "I’m sorry."

 

She looked up and yelled, "You’re sorry for calling me a name, but not for almost killing a man! You’re a sick person. You know because of you, we’re going to lose the house. My brother can’t work. And the mortgage is due..."

 

She was crying again. I felt really bad. I hadn’t thought about the consequences of my actions. Hell, I never thought about the consequences of anything I ever did. I had to help her. I went into my wallet. I had just been paid, and I’d been saving for a new stereo. I had three hundred and eighteen dollars. I put it on the table and left.

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I went back to base that night with a head ache and heavy heart. I had never felt rotten before. It was a new experience and I didn't like it. I was about to enter the gate, when the girl from the bar caught up to me. She was mad again. All I could think was, ‘What do I do this time?’

 

She walked up to me and grabbed my arm and put the money in my hand and said, "We don’t need YOUR money."

 

Then she walked off. I was shocked and I had no idea what was going on. She had blamed me for their money problems. I solved them. So, what was the problem? I ran after her and ordered, "Wait!"

 

She had her hands on her hips and asked, "What do you want?"

 

"I don’t understand."

 

She shook her head and said, "I know you don’t and you never will."

 

"Explain it to me. You need it and I was trying to help."

 

"Why?"

 

I was really confused, "Why, what?"

 

She sighed and asked, "Why do you want to help?"

 

"I felt guilty."

 

She was becoming frustrated and I didn’t know why. She asked with building rage, "Why did you feel guilty?"

 

"You were crying."

 

A smile crossed her face and she took the money from my hand. She reached in her purse and took a pen and note pad. She wrote down something and I was totally confused. I was hoping that sobering up would help make sense of all this. She handed me the piece of paper it was her name and phone number. She said, "This is a loan. And I’m only taking it because we need it so bad and I think you may be trying to take responsibility for your own actions. I need your name and phone number."

 

"NoŽl. I don’t have a phone, but you can reach me at the Med Center Emergency Room. I’m taking triage training there."

 

She smiled as she wrote down the information. Then she kissed me on the cheek and said, "Thank you, NoŽl."

 

"You’re welcome, Dee."

 

She left me standing there dumbfounded. But my headache felt better.

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I thought a lot about that night over the next couple of weeks. I still didn’t understand what happened. I couldn’t believe I gave that girl all my money. I had to borrow ten bucks from Gloria my roommate to make it through the month. It would take another six months to get my stereo. Gloria said I just was a sucker for a pretty face. She knew I was gay. I thought I was just drunk.

 

I was working the late shift at the emergency room. It was a slow day. There hadn’t been a patient the entire shift and it was almost morning. So, I decided to go get some chow downstairs. I had to pass the main desk to get to the elevators to go to the chow hall. As I passed the main desk I saw Dee working the telephone routing board.

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I was eating my instant eggs, burnt bacon and watery grits, when Dee sat down at my table with a cup of coffee. I said, "Hi!"

 

She smiled and replied, "Hi. I expected you to call me. I saw you walk by the main desk. I thought you’d be coming down to eat."

 

Determined to avoid talking about not calling her, I asked, "So you work here?"

 

"It’s nothing. I’m the telephone operator. It’s a Federal job and it pays better with better benefits. So, why didn’t you call?"

 

I was trapped, so I answered honesty, "I thought you’d rather not see me."

 

"Well, I did and I do."

 

I decided to skirt the issue and asked, "How’s your brother?"

 

She seemed nervous when she answered, "He’s back to work. We can start paying you back soon."

 

I found out I really didn’t care about the money and said, "That’s alright take your time. There’s no hurry. You know it’s not safe to be seen with me. See I’m a suspected homosexual and any woman seen with me gets investigated. My roommate got called in last week. Which was really funny, because she is such a guy slut."

 

She laughed, "That’s the least of my worries. I’m a black woman living in Mississippi, being seen with a suspected homosexual won’t make it any worse."

 

"I guess not."

 

She reached out and touched my arm and inquired, "Could you come to dinner tonight? My brother and I would like to thank you for helping us. And he needs to apologize for starting that fight. I got the whole story from Mike the bartender."

 

I couldn’t think of a reason to refuse and I was very lonely. I had to admit she was cute and she interested me. So, I asked, "What time? And should I bring anything?"

 

I was reward with a huge smile that lit up her entire face as she responded, "6:30 and how about bringing dessert?"

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I borrowed another twenty from Gloria. This was going to be a short paycheck. I stopped by a bakery and bought four chocolate eclairs and a loaf of fresh French bread. Then I stopped at a florist and bought a dozen long stemmed roses.

 

I made it to her address at 6:25. I was never late. It was a clean place, not like a lot of the houses in the neighborhood, which was pretty run down. It was a shot gun house built off the ground. This was a common practice down here, because of the heat. They called them shotgun houses, because you could fire a shotgun from the front door to back door without hitting anything. It made the house easier to cool during the long hot summers.

 

I knocked on the door and her brother answered. He yelled, "Dee, your white dyke friend is here."

 

I decided I didn’t like him and told him so with my eyes. When I get angry my eyes turn steel blue and they get very cold. It had the desired affect; he took a step backwards. I used the opportunity to get through the front door. Dee came in and punched him in the stomach. He winced so it must have hurt. She smiled at me and apologized for her brother.

 

Then she looked at him and he apologized. I handed her the flowers and the eclairs. She laughed and said, "Thank you. I love chocolate eclairs and roses. You go sit in the living room and I’ll go get a vase for these."

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I gave a wicked smile to Dee’s brother and said with an extended hand, "Hi, I’m NoŽl. Nice to meet you."

 

He chuckled and shook my hand. He replied, "I’m Walker. So you be nice to my sister. She ain’t had it easy. Let’s go set on the sofa. You wanna beer?"

 

"Yes, I would. Thank you."

 

Walker left to get the beer, while I sat on the couch. He came back with two Dixies and a tray of cheese on crackers. Well, my family is mostly Cajun and this reminded me of my grandmother. She would always sit and watch Johnny Carson and eat cheese on crackers. It was my one happy memory of childhood.

 

I toasted Walker with my Dixie and started eating some cheese on crackers. After a couple of minutes thinking about it, I had to ask, "What kind of hard time?"

 

Walker glanced to see where Dee was and asked, "Where you from?"

 

I laughed, "The lower ninth ward, New Orleans."

 

He shook his head and said, "Then you know how it is. You know how it is for a mixed race down here."

 

I gave him my you-have-got-to-be-kidding-don’t-you-remember-who-you’re-talking-to looks and said, "I have some idea."

 

He chuckled again, "Oh yeah, Pocahontas. No offense. Don’t hit me."

 

I laughed and he continued, "Well, Dee is from Berkley, California. Her mom was white. See we’re just half brother and sister. We had different moms. Anyway, she was raised by a pretty wealthy mom and went to the best schools and all. Well, her mom died about five years ago. Dee was only 14. So my old man inherited everything.

 

He comes here one day and buys this house. He gave me $5,000 and says take care of the girl. Next day, he’s gone. We haven’t seen him or the money her mom left since.

 

About a year ago, I got rousted by the cops and was arrested for armed robbery. I didn’t do it. You know how it is, all niggers look alike and all. Well anyway, Dee mortgaged the house to hire a lawyer. He got me off, but I was in jail for two months. So, I lost my job. It took me another three months to find another job."

 

I shook my head knowingly and interjected, "You got a record now."

 

He smirked and sighed, "Yeah, that was it. Anyway, we got behind on the mortgage. We were just catching up, when I got stupid in a bar."

 

"I’m sorry, I hurt you. I was looking for trouble that night."

 

He chuckled, "I know, so was I. I was lucky. You could have killed me. All I got was some sore ribs and a cracked jaw."

 

"Dee told me I broke your jaw."

 

"Well, just a little crack. It wasn’t bad enough to be wired shut, just a little pin, see," he said as he showed me his wound.

 

Walker leaned over and whispered, "Don’t tell her I told you, but she was raped while I was in jail. The cops came over and ransacked the place. Looking for evidence, they said. They forced her into the bedroom and took turns for two days. It messed her up bad."

 

I felt bad for her. It wasn’t the first time I heard the story though. One of my gang got taken in the back of a patrol car on the way to lock up. I got off lucky. My uncle arrested me. Walker could see from my face how I felt, he said sadly, "Yeah me too. I want to kill the sons of bitches, but they’re cops. Well, she wasn’t into men before, if you get my meaning. You’re the first person she’s even tried to see since then. And I... well I...ah... want you to be nice to her. Don’t hurt her."

 

Innocently, I asked, "How do you know I’m not after you?"

 

He laughed hard and coyly replied, "Then, the flowers were for me?"

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We ate dinner. It was nice. She had made one of my favorite dishes, red beans and rice with hot sausage. She saved the French bread, because she had made cornbread. I hadn’t eaten anything like it since I left home. I told her so.

 

Walker had to leave right after dinner. He had to go to work. He took one of the chocolate eclairs with him for a snack. Dee and I sat on the sofa. We were drinking raspberry tea. I had never had it before, but I thought it was great.

 

We sat nervously on the sofa. No one talked. No one breathed much. Finally, Dee said, "I want you to make love to me."

 

I sprayed the far wall with tea. I was wiping my mouth with a napkin, trying to formulate an answer when she continued, "I like you and I think you like me. I know you’re only here for a few more weeks, so I didn’t think we should waste any more time."

 

So, I did the only thing I could think to do. I kissed her.

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It went on like that for several weeks. We’d meet whenever we could, sometimes at her house and sometimes in a motel. We were in love. I was due to be shipped out to Thailand in two weeks. I was finally getting into the war. I wasn’t going into the field, but I was going to a field hospital. It was something anyway. Dee was scared I was going to get killed.

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Then one night we had an omen of things to come. We were in the bar that we met in, having a drink and some barbecue ribs, when the police came in to roust a black bar. They were Harrison County sheriff’s deputies. The first thing they did was check ID’s.

 

Two of them came up to me and asked, "Soldier, what are doing here in a nigger bar?"

 

"Because I like it here," I replied as I handed him my ID.

 

"Pete, she’s a red nigger. She belongs here"

 

It was tough keeping my temper, but it wasn’t the first time I had been roused by cops. They looked at Dee and me and asked, "Are you two together?"

 

Dee broke in and answered, "No, we’re waiting for my brother to get off work."

 

It was a brilliant answer. Now, they thought I was dating her brother. So, I just smiled and went along for the ride. They gave me a disgusted look and said, "What a waste. Soldier, you better watch who you hang around with. This one likes group parties."

 

They were laughing as they left and I was wondering what that last comment was about. It had really hurt Dee. Then, I remembered the gang rape and I knew I had just met some of the participants. I was ready to go do some damage, when I felt her restraining touch. I looked and saw her smile while shaking her head no. So, I didn’t go after them. It was a mistake.

****************************************

We were lying in a motel room discussing plans for the weekend. When the door next to us was busted open. I knew we were in trouble. I told Dee to get dressed. I grabbed my clothes and put on my pants. I heard them cursing that they had the wrong room.

 

I helped Dee out the window. Then I jumped out. Homosexual activity was illegal in Mississippi. We knew that if they caught us the best that could happen was jail and a discharge for me. That would mean I would have to go back to prison in Louisiana as well. We couldn’t let them catch us. Dee suggested we split up. I stupidly agreed.

****************************************

I never saw Dee again. She disappeared. I went to her house. Walker told me that he hadn’t seen her either. He gave me the I-know-she’s-dead look. He gave me a big bear hug and closed the door.

 

I tried to find out what happened. I called my uncle and asked him to help. He called a couple days later and told me to go on with my life and forget about it. He also said something that severed my last tie to my family for a lot of years. He told I knew better than to fuck a nigger.

 

I went overseas. I got in a lot of shit over there, but that’s another story.

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Prolog:

 

Several years later I made some money and inherited some more. I used part of it to hire a private investigator to find out what happened. It seems that six deputy sheriffs from the Harrison County Sheriff's Office raped Dee to death in her jail cell.

 

She had stayed outside the motel room in order to give me time to get away. I should have figured out what she was doing. I could have stopped them. I could have killed them to protect her, but I ran. I have never forgiven myself for that. I never will.

 

Four of those deputies were convicted of police brutality for later incidents and were serving time when I found out what happened. But the other two had slipped through the cracks of justice. They were doing clean work now and staying out of trouble, any way that was the word I got. They were straight arrows according to my private detective. But the word on the street was they were on the take from drug dealers that smuggled grass in small craft that came in through Biloxi harbor.

 

They say vengeance is a dish best served cold. So I took mine. Those cops will never rape another woman. I didn’t kill them that would have been too quick. No I ruined them. They will rape no more.

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Fini


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