TRIAL RUN

by

Jennifer Jane Pope

 

Part One - "Fit Ups"

 

`Well, that’s me screwed, once and for all.’ Kenny Miles tossed the newspaper onto the bed and turned away to the window, where the last vestiges of daylight filtered in through the narrow band between the all but drawn curtains. Behind him, a grainy black and white image of his face stared up from the newsprint at the yellowing ceiling. He couldn’t read either the headline or the two columns of hellenic script beneath his picture, but he didn’t have to.

Annie McNaughton bent over, picked up the offending paper and stared at it in silent contemplation. She was a tall girl, slightly taller than Kenny, darkly pretty and with the long legs of a dancer, which in fact she was, but currently her attractive features were clouded with worry and she was scarcely less upset that Kenny himself.

`No wonder they allowed me bail,’ Kenny snapped, without looking back at her. `This bloody island is like a prison in itself and now, if I dare even put my face outside this damned pokey little hotel room, everyone’ll be screaming for the bizzies!’ His clipped Liverpool accent was even more pronounced than usual, a sure sign of his desperate mental state.

`Every bloody copper on this God forsaken lump of rock will have copies of that picture,’ he groaned, `and every upright citizen of Klos will be more than eager to play spot-the-criminal, you can bet your life on that!’

`Perhaps you should have stuck it out ’til the jury reached their verdict?’ Annie suggested, quietly. `Doing a runner like that was as good as admitting you were guilty.’

`Do me a favour!’ Kenny snorted. `That entire trial was a farce and you know it as well as I do. Everything was rigged - the evidence, those jurors and even my so called bloody defence lawyer. Letting me have bail like that was just because they knew the foreign press were lurking around, so they wanted to make it look like they were giving me a fair deal.’

`Or giving you the chance to make yourself look guilty as sin,’ Annie retorted. `I don’t suppose you thought of that, though, did you?’ Kenny rounded on her, his mouth already opening to say something dismissive to that, but the words dried up before they had even started to form. Instead, he just stood there, staring at her in disbelief.

`And I took the bait, didn’t I?’ he said, finally, his voice now little more than a whisper. `They gave me just enough rope and I went and hung myself with it. What a fucking idiot I am! I should have seen it, shouldn’t I?’

`You could always give yourself up again,’ Annie suggested. `Plead that you just panicked, but now you’re determined to stand up and see your name cleared?’

`Oh yeah, and it will be, won’t it?’ Sarcasm dripped heavily on every word. `And the Pope’s Jewish, I suppose? No, Annie, I’ve kippered myself good and proper. If there was even the remotest chance of that bunch of zealots finding me not guilty, it went out the door with me.’ He turned back to the window and peered suspiciously through the curtains, but the street beneath the window remained quiet and the few people he could see seemed interested in anything but the hotel building.

`I can’t stay here much longer,’ he said, shaking his head. `Even this Mickey Mouse police force will make the connection from me to you and from you to Cathy and then they’ll come here, kicking doors down and waving their guns and big sticks. Wouldn’t even surprise me if they shot me and then said I’d resisted arrest. It’d save them the cost of keeping me in prison for Christ knows how many years.’ Cathy Nicholson was another member of the touring theatrical company to which Annie belonged and this room was registered in her name.

`I’ve been thinking about that,’ Annie said, carefully. `If we wait until later, when everyone’s either out, asleep or in the bar, we can sneak out down the service stairs. There’s a door leads out to the car park at the rear. Cathy’s gone over to see that guy Milos, the one who keeps trying to get into her knickers, to borrow that little old van of his.’

`And then what?’ Kenny sighed, heavily and spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness. `What do I do then? Hide up that bloody mountain? Even the goats up there look half starved!’ He grunted. `And there’s nowhere to hide up there anyway. If they send up a spotter plane, I’d stick out like a boil on a bald man’s head.’

`Where’s the best place to hide a matchstick?’ Annie demanded. Kenny half turned and regarded her with a look that was part quizzical, part impatient.

`What’s this?’ he demanded. `Twenty bloody questions, or Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?’ Annie did not answer immediately, but there was a curious smile on her face. She reached down for her handbag, opened it and took out a box of matches, which she dropped onto the bed. Kenny’s eyes narrowed.

`Okay, the best place to hide a matchstick is in a box of matches,’ he conceded, `but I still don’t see what you’re getting at.’

`You will,’ Annie replied, soberly. `You will. And if my idea works, we’ll get you off this island from right under their noses and by the time they realise you’re gone, maybe someone will discover who really put that cocaine in your luggage.’

`Well, whoever did is probably sitting back in England now, laughing his bloody socks off!’ Kenny stormed.

`Or crying his eyes out,’ Annie said. `That package was worth a lot of money to someone and if that someone could be made to think that the local cops here only found about half of the deal, maybe they’d come creeping out of the woodwork.’

`We’d have to get back to England first,’ Kenny pointed out. He paused, thinking. `Even then, I wouldn’t quite know where to start. I’ve had two weeks to think about this and I can’t narrow it down to less than about a dozen people who might have been able to get at my case and that’s assuming the stuff was put in there before I left the hostel.

`That packet could have been planted almost anywhere on route, including the airport.’

`Yes, but that would have been something done at random,’ Annie replied, `which wouldn’t have been much good if someone was supposed to be retrieving it at this end, would it? Or do you think someone was just making a present of twenty grand’s worth of coke to you?’

`No, of course not,’ Kenny said. `But it’s all probably immaterial now anyway. I can’t see any way of me getting off this island, not unless you happen to know a friendly submarine captain!’

`Matchboxes, Ken,’ Annie said. `Matchboxes. But first we have to turn you into a passable matchstick.’

Kenny had first met Annie in a small nightclub in Southampton, back home in England, almost a year before. She had been working behind the bar, filling in time and bolstering her bank balance between dancing contracts and he had found himself instantly attracted to her, though she had at first been quite cool towards him.

Eventually, as the ice had thawed, however and they had dated loosely a few times, though all his efforts to get her back to his flat and thence into his bed had proved ineffective. Notwithstanding, they had become firm friends and it had been she who had told him about the job with the Parker Kemp Review company, who wanted a lighting and sound engineer for their summer tour of the Greek islands.

The position actually involved just about every other manual job going, from humping costume hampers and props to keeping stage door Johnnies at a safe distance from the twelve girls in the company, but it did offer the prospect of a free holiday with reasonable wage packets thrown in and Kenny had long since grown tired of his assistant’s job in the local musical instruments store, so he required very little persuading and all had looked set for a very enjoyable three months in the sun.

Everything had gone swimmingly and the company had arrived at the airport on the mainland and transferred to the ancient looking ferry to complete the journey to the island of Klos itself without incident or upset, from where the task of moving all the equipment to the spanking new holiday hotel complex and settling the various company members into a series of rooms in slightly less spanking hotels went as smoothly as could have been hoped for.

The next day was spent in rehearsals, sound and lighting checks and assorted disagreements between Don Tattersall, the artistic director and just about everybody from the youngest dancer to the oldest hotel employee, which according to Annie was only par for the course and would be all forgotten when the show opened in two nights’ time.

And then the wheels had come off, as far as Kenny’s pleasant summer sojourn was concerned.

There were three policemen waiting for him when he returned to his room to change for an evening testing out the various sea front bars with Annie and several other of the girls. Two wore the uniform of the local gendarmerie, as Kenny thought of them, sporting obvious guns in obvious belt holsters; the third man, who did almost all of the talking, wore plain clothes and was apparently part of the island’s drug squad.

No, of course he couldn’t explain the packet of white powder in the bottom corner of his suitcase, Kenny protested. No, he didn’t use drugs himself and no, this trip wasn’t just a cover for shipping drugs into their precious island. The case had been in the room, unguarded and still with half his clothes in it, all day and anyone could have put the stuff in there.

No, he didn’t know who and no, he couldn’t think of a reason for them doing it. Okay, so the stuff had to have been planted beforehand, probably back in England and no, he had no idea who could or would have done it, either. Besides, he’d tried to tell them, if he’d known the stuff was in the case, would he have simply gone off for the day leaving it there, where anyone, including a nosy chambermaid might have found it?

They’d arrested him, all the same, as he’d known all along they were intending and then a distinctly uncomfortable and unpleasant night had followed, during which he found out that a sniffer dog at the airport had alerted the customs officers there that his case contained something it shouldn’t and that he’d been under observation ever since.

`So why didn’t you just keep observing?’ Kenny suggested to the detective, whose name he still didn’t know. `You could have nabbed whoever tried to get the stuff then, couldn’t you?’

`Ah, so you were expecting someone to collect it from you?’ the detective said, sneeringly. He had little piggy eyes and a shock of very black hair and a stomach that suggested far too much easy living.

`No I bloody well didn’t!’ Kenny protested, almost screaming in frustration.

`Then you were to deliver it in person, is that what you are saying?’ And so it went on, until eventually, long after the sun had reappeared beyond the tiny window high in the wall, Kenny had finally refused to answer any more questions and had simply sat, arms folded, head lolling forward and buzzing from sheer fatigue and confusion.

The island of Klos was nominally Greek, of course, but Kenny quickly discovered that it was a law unto itself in many ways and their methods of dealing with suspected drug traffickers was one of those ways. How they dealt with convicted traffickers was even worse and, apparently in an attempt to scare Kenny out of his silent resistance, they gave him a demonstration.

The prison was a grim looking stone edifice, set half way along a rocky promentory on the northern end of the island and there, after a short trip in the back of a windowless police van, handcuffed to and sandwiched between two more burly uniformed officers, Kenny was taken up into an office that overlooked the high-walled exercise yard, from where he witnessed part of the punishment of a recently convicted heroin courier.

The girl looked scarcely more than eighteen, dark haired like most of the local females, slim and probably quite pretty beneath the layers of sweat streaked grime that now covered her from head to her bare toes. However, as two uniformed warders tied her to the heavy post set in the centre of the courtyard, the plain clothes detective quietly explained that her name was Francesca and that she was actually Italian and that the court had sentenced her to ten years hard labour and a monthly flogging for the first twelve months of that period.

`The flogging was imposed because the stupid little slut refused to name her accomplices,’ No-Name explained. There was a strange glint in his eyes and Kevin was in no doubt that the man was savouring every moment of the spectacle beneath them, especially when what remained of Francesca’s ragged dress was ripped off her, leaving her shivering in just a grimy pair of panties, despite the heat of the sun overhead.

One of the warders then stepped forward and thrust a wad of something into her mouth, tying it about her head with a thin strap.

`To stop her biting through her tongue,’ No-Name explained, casually. `Don’t worry, she’ll still scream enough to be heard half a mile out to sea.’ And scream she had, as the second warder produced a long, thin cane and began methodically lashing her shoulders, back and buttocks. Half hanging from her bound wrists, she writhed, leapt and kicked, but all to no avail and eventually she slumped, head hanging, toes trailing in the dust, mercifully unaware of the final three or four cuts from the vicious bamboo.

`Only twenty five this time,’ No-Name remarked, shaking his head. `Next month it will be thirty and then thirty five and so on, unless she decides to cooperate, of course, in which case we shall ask the judge to consider leniency.’

The image of Francesca, left hanging unconscious, her back a mass of dark red welts and seeping blood, remained seared in Kenny’s mind during the short trip back to the police station and thereafter every waking moment up until the date of the trial, less than two weeks later. He even saw her in his dreams, heard her agonized shrieks and watched as blood fountained up from her splitting flesh.

At the initial hearing, to his utter astonishment, the judge had granted him bail, but then, as No-Name had pointed out, that saved them having to feed him in the cells and there was nowhere to run to and no way off the island, even if they hadn’t taken his passport. Probably they were continuing to watch him, he thought and maybe they might even catch whoever was really responsible for his plight, though he knew in his heart of hearts that that was a forlorn hope now.

Whoever had planted the drugs in his case wasn’t going to come within a mile of his room now, not unless they were terminally stupid, or had been walking around with their eyes and ears closed for the past few days.

The trial had been even worse than he had imagined it would be. The same judge’s body language made it clear that he already considered Kenny guilty and the lawyer appointed to his defence was worse than a bad joke. The proceedings were all in Greek and although there was an interpreter who was supposed to keep Kenny informed as to what was being said, the man’s English was so bad that it was easier to ignore his broken translations and depend upon guesswork and facial expressions.

And the expressions on the faces of the twelve jurors told Kenny all he needed to know, long before they filed out to consider their verdict. After they had retired and the judge had disappeared through the little door behind him, Kenny had, to his surprise, been left unattended in the courtroom and had wandered into the corridor outside to smoke a much needed cigarette.

There were two guards on the outer door and another wandering up and down in the age old disinterested fashion of bored policemen all over the world, but none of them appeared interested in him as he slipped into the toilet. Not that he had done so with any intention other than to relieve the painfully growing pressure that nervous tension was inflicting upon his bladder, but when he had seen the open window, the broken and twisted bar and the thick clumps of bushes that came right up to it, instinct and fear had taken over and a minute later he found himself running, almost doubled over, for the sanctuary of the small wooded area that began on the far side of the narrow track that ran along the back of the court building.

More by luck than judgement, he had finally made it to the stage door at the hotel, where he had slipped inside and waited until Annie and Cathy had arrived. The two girls had been at the court earlier and described the furore that had erupted when his escape had been reported.

`You can’t stay here,’ Annie had decided, immediately. `And you definitely can’t go back to your room, either. They’ll already have that covered and their bound to check here before much longer.’

`My room,’ Cathy said, firmly. `I moved down to a little hotel by the casino yesterday. I couldn’t get a wink of sleep in the other place and the bed was falling apart. I don’t think anyone knows I’m there as yet.’

`It won’t take them long,’ Kenny muttered, but it was better than nothing and did offer the chance of a few hours breathing space, they decided between them.

`You’ll have to stay in my room, though,’ Annie told Cathy. `That way, if they do find Ken in yours, they can’t do you for aiding and abetting, or whatever. We can always say he must have taken your key when you weren’t looking. With any luck, we can think of something better before they get that far, anyway.’

Kenny said nothing, but the expression on his face showed that he didn’t hold out much hope on that score.

`Where the hell are we?’ The little van, which had seen much better days, bumped off the already bumpy track and across a stretch of even bumpier grass and stones and finally settled to a mildly protesting halt. Kenny knelt up and leaned forward between the two girls, peering through the dust encrusted windscreen into a veil of impenetrable black.

`There’s a little cabin just up there,’ Cathy said, pointing a finger dead ahead of them. `It belongs to Milos’s uncle, but it hasn’t been used this year. Something to do with termites in the woodwork and needing to let the smell of the spray stuff fade a bit first.’

The offending odour assailed their nostrils even before they opened the door of the squat, single storey building and Kenny guessed it would be another month or two at least before anyone would want to spend any more time here than they needed to. Cathy flicked on a small flashlight and swung the narrow beam around the room.

`Hang on,’ she called back. `Wait there and I’ll get some light organised. There’s supposed to be .... ah yes, here it is.’ A few seconds later, a match flared, followed by a much brighter flame as Cathy lit the hurricane lamp she had found on the table. As she adjusted the wick and replaced the glass cowl, Kenny and Annie followed her inside and Annie closed and bolted the door behind them.

`Let’s get these curtains drawn,’ Cathy said, straightening up. `This place can’t be seen from the road below, but better safe than sorry. If the police have patrols out, you never know where they might look.’

`What about the van outside?’ Kenny reminded her. She nodded. `I’ll move it further up,’ she said. `There’s a small clearing behind the next lot of trees.’

`You seem to know your way about pretty well,’ Kenny remarked. Cathy winked back at him and grinned.

`I came up here with Milos a few times last summer,’ she said. `I worked in another show for a few months and then stayed on doing bar work in the hotel we’re playing this season. Mind you,’ she added, sniffing the heavy air, `it smelled a whole lot better then.’ She stood in the centre of the room, turning slowly, as if to refamiliarise herself with the geography. Finally, she pointed to one of the two small doors that led off this main room.

`There’s a kitchen through there,’ she announced. `Milos reckons there should be a virtually full gas bottle still connected and there’s coffee and sugar in one of the cupboards. Only powdered milk, though, I’m afraid. You two get a kettle going and I’ll get the bags in and shift the motor. Won’t be long.’

Like Annie - and in fact like all the other girls in the troupe - Cathy was tall, well above the average height for a female and with the same long legs and easy grace of movement, although there was something almost boyish about a lot of her mannerisms. Where Annie moved with smooth femininity, Cathy almost bounced with a lithe enthusiasm, her dark red hair - usually pulled back in an untidy pony tail when she wasn’t actually performing - flailing about behind her.

She was certainly very pretty, Kenny thought and Milos wasn’t her only admirer among the locals and visitors, but he found that there was something almost intimidating about her, even though she had never been anything but completely friendly towards him.

`She certainly like to get the troops organised,’ he commented drily, when the door had closed behind Cathy again. `Reminds me of a sports mistress.’

`She’s a damned good friend and very clever,’ Annie replied. `The sort of friend everyone could do with in a crisis.’ Kenny grinned, apologetically.

`I wasn’t knocking her,’ he said. `I think she’s brilliant.’

`But a bit scarey?’ Annie suggested. Kenny made a face, but not a reply. `C’mon, then,’ Annie said, moving towards the kitchen door, `let’s get this little home from home a bit organised and then we can start working on you. Cathy managed to get everything we needed and she also brought a few things from my room, so the sooner we start, the better. I just hope there’s enough water in the storage tank to provide for a decent shower.’

`A shower?’ Kenny peered down at himself. `Well, I guess I could use one. It’s been a stressful day.’

`Oh, you’ll need one okay,’ Annie assured him. `But first, I think we’ll organise the coffee and stick a drop of something stronger in it. When you hear what I’ve got in mind, you might well need it.’

`No - no. No, definitely no.’ Kenny shook his head emphatically and looked from Annie to Cathy and back again, his eyes wide with disbelief in a face now deathly pale with stress and anxiety. `No,’ he said again, `there’s no way it would ever work. I’d just end up getting caught and then looking like a total pratt on top of everything else!’

`Have you got a better idea, then?’ Cathy demanded, her eyes flashing in the lamplight. `Annie’s gone to a lot of trouble for you over this and so have I, come to think of it and all you can do is sit there shaking your head like some kind of moron. The least you could do is give it a try.’

`But ... but it’s just too ridiculous!’ he protested. `You can’t seriously think I could ever hope to pass as a girl, for God’s sake?’

`Not in bed, no,’ Cathy said and sniggered into the back of her hand. `But that aside, I see no reason why not. You’ve got a slim neck and quite small features, quite delicate looking hands and your feet aren’t overly large. All the rest of it is simply cosmetic engineering.’

`No, I can’t!’ Kenny sounded as if he were close to tears, but neither girl moved to comfort him.

`Listen, Ken,’ Annie said, quietly, `at least let’s see what we can do, eh? I mean, what’s the alternative? You can’t just hole up here indefinitely. When the cops don’t find you in the town or in either of the villages, they’ll start looking further afield and someone’s bound to mention this place, among others.’

`For all we know,’ Cathy added, darkly, `they may already know.’

`You mean your friend Milos?’ Kenny retorted, accusingly. `How much does he know?’

`As much as he needs to,’ Cathy replied, evenly. `Which is most of it, actually, though not this part of the plan. And don’t worry, he won’t say a word, not unless he wants me to do something different to his cock than I’ve been doing up ’til now! But there will be other people know this place is here - his uncle for a start and whatever workmen sprayed this horrible termite stuff. Then there’s whoever brings out the gas bottles.’

`But you don’t know what you’re asking!’ Kenny wailed. Cathy gave him a withering look.

`All we’re asking is that you give us a chance to help you save your stupid bloody skin!’ she snapped back. `Maybe a submarine would be better, but it ain’t going to happen, is it?’

`What about one of the fishing boats?’ Kenny pleaded.

`What about them? They’d get you as far as the mainland, if they didn’t turn you in for the reward and then you still have no passport and whilst Greece is supposed to be part of the EEC now, they still make cursory checks. Besides, your face is all over the front page of the local rag, so you can bet it’s made a few inside pages across the water.’

`At least try it, Ken,’ Annie urged. `The police are looking for a bloke, so they’ll not think twice about a bunch of girls. If we make sure there’s always at least two or three of us with you, you can just blend in. Matchsticks, remember?’

`Two or three?’ Kenny echoed. `How many of the others are in on this?’

`Most of them,’ Annie admitted, `and the others will have to be told, including Don, if we’re going to pull this off. But don’t worry, we’re all on your side. Everyone knows you were fitted up and we’ve all heard stories about the local police and prison. We’ll all do our damnedest to get you out of this.’

`But you have to help us to help you,’ Cathy said, firmly. `Stop sitting there wittering on and let’s get started, before we end up with a load of size twelve boots trying to kick the door in.’

The shower cubicle that led off the small bedroom was crudely constructed, but at least it worked and there was obviously plenty of water in the storage tank behind the cabin to produce a reasonable pressure through the rusting shower head that someone had lashed onto a wooden cross beam just below the sloping ceiling.

`This stuff smells almost as bad as the termite stuff,’ Kenny moaned, as he methodically washed the gooey cream from his arms, legs and chest, taking with it the fine body hair that it had dissolved so effectively. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, but kept to his task and eventually, after ten minutes, he emerged, dripping cold water and with one of Annie’s towels wrapped about his waist. He stood, framed against the shower doorway, self consciously aware of how the cool air felt so different on his now hairless body.

`Did you make sure all the hair’s off your bum, too?’ Cathy demanded. Kenny nodded and felt himself starting to blush. `Not that you’re very hairy, thank goodness,’ she said. `The stuff Mikey gave me for your face should hold for two or three days at a time, I reckon.’

`Just exactly who is this Mikey?’ Kenny demanded. `You keep dropping his name, but I haven’t got a clue who you’re talking about.’

`Michael Cross,’ Annie replied, `better known as Michelle St Croix.’ Kenny’s eyes widened in surprise.

`You mean that drag queen over at the Constantine!’ he squeaked. `He’s a poufter!’

`If you mean that Mikey’s gay, then yes, he is,’ Cathy retorted, `but we don’t like words like "poufter", understand. Mikey’s an old friend of ours and also happens to be very talented. He’s a top drag artiste and a damned funny comedienne. If he hadn’t lost half his career to repeated bouts of malaria, he’d be at the very top of the tree by now, believe me!’

`And I suppose Mikey" also knows all about this?’ Kenny snorted.

`Of course he does,’ Cathy said. `You don’t think he might not have guessed anyway, seeing the sort of stuff I asked to borrow from him? You think he might just think I needed silicone breast forms?’ She stood there, thrusting out her chest as if to emphasise the unlikelihood of anyone ever making such an assumption.

`Jeez,’ she continued, relaxing again, `sometimes I think all men keep their brains in their balls. Now, get over here and get that towel off.’ She raised a warning finger as Kenny opened his mouth to protest. `And before you say anything, you’re going to need a hand with this, at least for the first time.’ She held up something pale pink in colour, not unlike a g-string in appearance.

`What is it?’ Kenny asked, suspiciously. Cathy raised her eyebrows in frustration.

`It’s called a cache-sex,’ she explained, `sometimes better known as a gaff. It’s to keep all your male bits tucked safely out of harm’s way and save any tell-tale bulges. How do you think female impersonators do it - you think they cut their goolies off, or something?’

`Dammit, it feels like they’ve been cut off!’ Kenny stood in the centre of the small bedroom, his shoulders hunched awkwardly, his thighs pressed self-consciously together, so that all that now remained visible where his genitalia had previously been was a small, neatly rounded bulge.

`I can’t go around like this,’ he whined. `It feels like someone’s kicked me in the pit of my stomach! besides, this has to be cutting off the bloody supply. Everything’ll shrivel up and drop off!’

`Well, nothing will drop far inside that, at least,’ Cathy quipped. She was referring to the fiercely elasticated properties of the small cache-sex pouch which now confined Kenny’s manhood, holding it discreetly up and back between the tops of his legs.

`Anyway,’ she added, smirking, `Mikey assures me that you’ll soon get used to it. Apparently everything goes a bit numb after a while.’

`See?’ Kenny cried, accusingly. `Numb! No circulation - I’ll end up with gangrene, or something even worse.’

`I can’t imagine anything worse than gangrene,’ Cathy retorted, `except maybe thirty years stuck in that prison and getting flogged once a month for however long it amuses those sadistic bastards. I’d sacrifice my balls to avoid that, if I had any.’

`Yeah, well, that’s easy for you to say,’ Kenny muttered. `Wait ’til you’ve got something, before you start saying whether or not you’d be willing to barter with it.’

`Oh, do stop whinging, Ken,’ Annie put in. `Mikey wears one of those for up to twenty hours at a time and it hasn’t done his tackle any harm.’

`Oh, you’d know, would you?’ Kenny said, accusingly. Annie grinned.

`I hear stories,’ she said, mysteriously. `Now, will you just shut up and let us get on with this? Here, put these on.’ She tossed something black towards him, which fluttered and hung in the air between them for a second and Kenny just had time to snatch it before it fell.

`You’re kidding,’ he croaked, as he held out the black lacy panties. Annie stifled a groan.

`Just put ’em on,’ she said. `You’ve been trying to get into my knickers for months and now’s your chance.’

`You mean these are -?’ Annie nodded.

`Yes, their mine,’ she confirmed, with a grim little smile. `And their fresh laundered and all nice and clean, so get ’em on and stop buggering about, will you?’

`Nice arse,’ Cathy commented, when Kenny had finally slithered into the panties and drawn them snugly up over his buttocks and concealed crotch. `Most lads have skinny arses, but yours is quite feminine. Look, Annie, he’s got lovely rounded buns, hasn’t he?’

`Don’t make things any worse for him, Cath,’ Annie laughed. `The poor bugger’s bright red as it is. Ignore her, Ken and just lay back on the bed. Those blankets look clean enough to me.’

`Lay back?’ Kenny echoed, confusion showing in his eyes.

`And think of England,’ Annie sniggered. `No, don’t worry, I’m not after your bits, not with them all trussed up like that, anyway. I just want to fix your boobies, sweetie. See?’ She held up two pinkish coloured shapes that seemed to move about in the palms of her hands. Kenny’s eyes narrowed.

`How do you mean, fix them?’ he demanded. `I didn’t expect -’

`You didn’t expect to have tits?’ Cathy interrupted. `Have I got tits? Has Annie got its? Have any of the others got tits - apart from Don, that is? You want to pass unnoticed, you need tits. A flat chested girl would stand out like a sore thumb in our little crowd, you daft sod!’

`Just lay back and relax,’ Annie urged. `They glue in place and it takes a few minutes for the glue to go off, so the easiest way is if you lay back, otherwise the weight’ll just pull them off.’

`Terrific!’ Kenny snorted. `So now I have to have two sacks of whatever it is dragging down off my chest.’

`Which is why you’ll be wearing a bra,’ Annie said, soothingly, guiding him backwards, his eyes all the while rivetted on the contents of the hand she was using to push him. `You get used to it, believe me. We all had to.’ Kenny opened his mouth to make a reply to this, but thought better of it at the last moment and reluctantly surrendered to the inevitable.

The adhesive spray felt cool and the pliant breast forms even colder and he shivered as Annie placed the first one against his bare and now hairless flesh.

`They’ll warm up after a few minutes,’ she consoled him, seeing his discomfort. `Your body heat seeps into them and after a while they’re the same temperature. Mikey told me,’ she added, as if sensing that he was about to make yet another retort.

`Oh God,’ Kenny moaned, `I’m just glad my mother can’t see me now.’ He had been laying prone for nearly ten minutes now, the breast forms spread out across his chest and now, when at Annie’s urging, he pushed himself slowly back up into a sitting position, the artificial breasts slowly reformed themselves and hung realistically before him. `Shit,’ he hissed, `they’re too heavy.’

`They weigh exactly the same as a real pair would,’ Cathy told him, firmly. `Now you know how we girls feel and just so that you guys can have something to get your hands and lips round. Give him the bra, Annie,’ she urged, `and stop him squinnying. I’m going through to make some more coffee. Everyone want a refill?’

The bra was part of a matching set that comprised the panties that Kenny was already wearing and a suspender or garter belt. He felt stupid, putting his arms through the straps and turning so that Annie could fasten it behind him and even worse when she returned her attention to the front and carefully ensured that the two breasts sat comfortably in the underwired cups, but at least, as promised, the bra took most of the weight off his flesh, even if it did transfer a steady pulling sensation to his shoulders.

`Don’t slouch,’ Annie said. `C’mon, get your shoulders back and try to be proud of your figure.’

`Oh yeah,’ Kenny mumbled. `Dead proud.’ He looked across towards the door through which Cathy had recently disappeared. `She just thinks this whole thing is a fucking joke,’ he snapped. Annie’s expression became suddenly very hard and for a moment he almost didn’t recognise her.

`Listen, you,’ she hissed. `Cathy doesn’t even have to be here - come to that, neither do I - so she’s taking a bloody great risk in order to help you, you ungrateful bastard! If she’s joking about, it’s as much to cover her nerves as anything else. Can you imagine what those greasy bastards would do to the pair of us, given half a chance?

`You told me yourself what they did to that Francesca and you can bet your bottom dollar that a monthly flogging is only the start of her problems. So, if you’re going to keep on complaining, then fair enough, we’ll pack up and leave you to it, understand?’ She fell silent and the atmosphere between them was almost thick enough to bottle. At last, Kenny nodded.

`Fair enough,’ he mumbled. `But just ask her not to keep taking the piss quite so much, eh? And I do appreciate the risk you’re both taking for me, honestly.’

`Okay,’ Annie agreed. `I’ll have a quiet word in her ear, but it’d help if you lightened up a bit, too. We’re not doing this to get some perverse kick and neither are we trying to make you look or feel stupid. Yes, you’re feeling like I don’t know what just now, but keep thinking of the alternative, yes?’

`Yes,’ Kenny sighed. `That’s what I have been doing, otherwise I wouldn’t be sitting here now looking like this and feeling like a complete freak.’

`I’ve put an extra tot of brandy in your coffee, Ken,’ Cathy said, setting the mug down on the locker table close to him. `It may help you relax a bit. And don’t worry,’ she added, `we’re all on the same side here. All girls together, you might say.’ She smiled encouragingly at Kenny, but he was far from amused.

`Let’s just get on with it, shall we?’ he sighed, resignedly. `I still think this is all just a waste of time, but like you say, I’ve run out of options.’

`Trust us,’ Annie urged him. `You might be surprised. Don’t forget, we use make up for stage work, as well as for everyday. You’d be surprised what a bit of slap can do. By the time we’ve finished, even your own mother probably won’t recognise you.’

`It’s not my mother I’m worried about,’ Kenny muttered, disconsolatedly, but he picked up the mug and began sipping at the coffee/brandy mixture. Cathy, meantime, produced another black garment and began loosening the laces that ran up what turned out to be the front of it.

`That’s a corset!’ Kenny gasped. `I can’t wear that!’

`Actually,’ Cathy corrected him, `it’s really more of a waist cincher than a corset. See? There aren’t any cups for your bust. But it’s not just a waist cincher, it’s also a body shaper. It comes down over the tops of the hips, here and here, and there’s padding inside, to give you more of a feminine shape.’

`Is that really necessary?’ Kenny demanded. `Not all girls have wide hips, surely?’

`No,’ Cathy agreed, `and maybe we can do away with it later on, but let’s go with it for the moment, eh? Once we see how authentic you look, perhaps we can re-evaluate, okay? The important thing is to make you passable, so stand up and let me get this fastened up.’

`Another of dear Mikey’s little stage props, I suppose,’ Kenny said, gloomily. `Oh well ...’ He rose slowly to his feet, all the while conscious of the gentle movement transferring to his new breasts, but determined not to look down at them.

Cathy quickly wrapped the garment about him and began fastening the row of hooks at the back and Kenny grunted as he felt his waist being compressed as she worked her way down. When she had finished and began tightening the laces at the front, he began to protest out loud.

`God, that’s tight!’ he squeaked. `No, that’s far too tight. I won’t be able to breathe! Cathy, please!’

`Shut up!’ Cathy snapped. `You’ll get used to it and anyway, I’m not pulling it right in - just enough to give you some sort of figure. You’re hardly fat anyway, so it only needs a bit of help.’ Two minutes later, she declared herself satisfied and stood back, so that both girls could study the effect. Kenny peered downwards himself and was surprised at how the cincher-shaper had changed his outline figure.

His waist, far from thick, as Cathy had observed, was now a good three inches smaller, though it was difficult to be any more accurate than that, as the padded hips emphasised its narrowness considerably. He experienced an eerie feeling as he stared at the effect, but he wasn’t quite sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.

`Stockings or tights?’ Annie asked. Cathy shrugged.

`I couldn’t find a decent pair of tights in my stuff, apart from stage stuff, which is all too shiny or glittery anyway. I asked Mikey, but he had much the same problem.’

`Me too,’ Annie said. `But I did bring a new packet with three pairs of black stockings. Thirty denier, so they don’t run too easily.’

`Stockings it is, then,’ Cathy said. `The garter belt will go on over the cincher okay, but those panties will have to be slipped down and then put over the whole lot again, otherwise he’ll have a struggle when it comes to using the loo.’

`I feel like a complete pillock!’ Kenny said, when Annie showed him how to roll each stocking in turn and draw them up his freshly depilated legs, but he concentrated carefully and eventually managed to get both stockings in place and, with Annie’s help, attached to the hanging garter straps.

`That’s nice,’ Cathy commented, approvingly. `Nice and long, right to the tops of the legs. I hate stockings that come half way up my thighs.’

`Me too,’ Annie agreed. `I always go for the extra long stockings. Trouble is, only a few places stock them.’

`I think half of them think we’re all little five foot dumplings,’ Cathy laughed. She eyed Kenny again and nodded. `Bloody good legs,’ she said. `You’d make a good dancer, sweetie.’

`As long as I just look like one,’ Kenny retorted, morosely. `Just don’t expect me to actually dance, that’s all.’

`We won’t,’ Annie assured him. `I’ve already thought of that. I’ve got a bandage in my bag, so when we’re done we’ll strap one of your ankles and you can pretend you’re injured. Don’s got a fancy walking cane you can borrow, so all you’ll have to do is limp around the stage area and look pretty.’

`Good idea,’ Cathy grinned. `I was wondering about that myself. Now, do we finish the dressing, or do you want to have a go at his make-up? I’ve brought a wig.’

`Not one of those platinum curly things that Mikey wears on stage?’ Kenny was horrified and jumped to his feet in alarm. Cathy gave him a pained look.

`No,’ she said, quietly. `It’s one of his everyday wigs. Mikey likes to tay in character during the daytime, but as you’ve only ever seen him on stage the night before we opened, you wouldn’t be expected to know that. I managed to persuade him to lend me a rather cute bobbed pageboy style.’

`Blonde, I suppose?’

`Yes, blonde.’

`Figures.’

`Just be grateful. Mikey’s wigs are all real hair you know - none of your synthetic stuff.’ Cathy grinned at him and shook her head when this failed to elicit a positive response. `Huh, proper little miss moody pants,’ she muttered and stalked off through to the main room.

Annie, meanwhile, produced her make-up case and, sitting Kenny on the rustic stool that they had earlier found in the corner of the bedroom, set about transforming his face, starting by spreading a thin gel all over his lower features. This done, she took a small pair of scissors and began clipping away the short sideburns and then spread more of the gel over the remaining stubble.

`Have to leave it on for five minutes,’ she told him. `Don’t worry, it shouldn’t sting. Here, let’s have a fag whilst we’re waiting for it to work.’

`More hair remover?’ Kenny asked, with a sigh.

`Yep, but specially formulated for faces, to prevent inflamation and rashes developing. Mikey reckons it costs a fortune. No, don’t try to touch it, just let it work in it’s own time.’

They smoked in near silence, Kenny brooding over what he now considered the hopelessness of his situation. The stench from the termite treatment seemed to have grown stronger than ever, as if to mock his feeling of complete desoltation and Annie, sensing his need for contemplation, said nothing for several minutes. At last, stubbing out his cigarette butt in the small china dish on the bedside locker, Kenny broke the spell.

`Thanks for trying, anyway,’ he mumbled. `But it isn’t going to work. Just wipe this stuff off my face and help me out of these things, will you?’ Annie clipped her own cigarette end and leaned closer to him.

`I’ll wipe it off, by all means, but then I’m going to work on your face, fix your wig and get you dressed,’ she said, firmly. `After that, if you still think we can’t pull this off, then you can change back into your own stuff and do whatever you think, okay?’ The silence descended again, broken only by the muffled sounds of Cathy moving around in the adjoining room. Finally, Kenny let out a long sigh.

`Okay,’ he said. He looked up and forced the semblance of a smile onto his face. `Do your worst, then.’

Annie worked away for what seemed an eternity. First she wiped off the gel and then applied a cleansing lotion to ensure that she had removed all traces of it, after which she began working a light tan foundation into his features.

`You’ve got nice smooth skin,’ she commented, `and you don’t even have an Adam’s Apple as such. That’s unusual in a bloke. Probably why you don’t have a deep voice.’

`That stuff feels weird,’ Kenny said, as the foundation began to dry. `It feels sort of tight on my cheekbones.’

`That’ll pass,’ Annie assured him. `We all feel a bit weird when we first use makeup, but then some of us start experimenting when we’re still little more than toddlers.’

`I don’t think my mum would have been overly impressed if I’d done that,’ Kenny said and surprised himself by chuckling at the thought. Annie laughed with him.

`My brother Jimmy got hold of my makeup box when he was five,’ she said. `We were all out in the garden, sunbathing, and then he appeared and wearing one of my old sundresses, too. It was miles too big for him, obviously, but he thought it was great.’

`What did your parents say?’

`Dad went barmy, but mum just laughed and took him indoors to wash all the makeup off his face. He’d made a right mess, as you can imagine. Trouble was, he did the same thing a couple of days later, only this time he tried using one of mum’s half slips as a sort of strapless dress. Still swamped him, of course.’

`Seems like he had a bit of a fixation,’ Kenny laughed. `Bet your mum spanked his arse for that?’ Annie closed the top on the foundation cream and stood back.

`Not at all,’ she replied. `Mum just told me to wash his face again - dad was out somewhere for the day - and do his eyes and lips properly. Then she jumped in her car, drove down to the nearest shops and came back with a proper little sundress for a girl his age, a pair of white tights and some pretty little patent shoes. Oh yes, and some proper girl’s knickers in his size.

`She took him up to his room, dressed him up, fluffed his hair out a bit and then made him come down into the garden with us again.’

`I’ll bet that upset him, didn’t it?’ Annie grinned and shook her head.

`All the little perisher was worried about was that mum and I had bikinis for sunbathing and she hadn’t bought him one in his size. Apart from that, he was quite happy, skipping about like a little girl all day. Mind you, I won’t tell you what dad said when he came in.’

`How old is your brother now?’ Kenny asked. `I know you’ve mentioned him before, but you never mentioned his age.’

`Nearly seventeen,’ Annie smiled. `Beautiful face, long legs and a bit taller than me, but that doesn’t stop him asking to borrow all my cast-off clothing.’

`You mean -?’ Annie nodded.

`Yes,’ she said, calmly, `my brother likes dressing up as a girl even now. he’s thinking of going into show business and doing an act something like Mikey’s.’ She grinned. `And, before you ask, Jimmy isn’t gay like Mikey. He has every girl in the area chasing after him and he doesn’t run away too fast, I can tell you. A few weeks ago he even found one who seems quite prepared to accept Janey.’

`Janey?’ Kenny was momentarily confused.

`His alter-ego,’ Annie explained. `When he dresses up, he becomes Janey.’

`Oh.’ There didn’t seem much else worth adding, but one thing still puzzled Kenny. `What about you?’ he asked. Annie raised her eyebrows.

`How d’you mean?’

`I mean, how would you feel if you had a boyfriend who kept wanting to turn into a Janey?’ Annie shrugged and smiled again.

`No idea,’ she replied, candidly. `I’ll let you know, shall I, Lucy?’

`Lucy?’

`Lucy. That’s the name on the passport I’m trying to get for you. An old friend from school, but I’ll explain later, if it looks like I can organise it.’

She turned her attention to Kenny’s eyebrows now, plucking carefully away with a small pair of tweezers. Kenny hissed and winced, but otherwise made no sound, despite the fact that the operation was surprisingly painful in places. At last, Annie declared herself finished and used a soft pencil to define the two arches more accurately.

`That’s pretty good,’ she remarked, `even if I do say so myself.’ In rapid succession now, she added false eyelashes and mascara and then carefully blended in eye shadow and liners, instructing Kenny to keep his eyes gently closed at the appropriate junctures.

`How’s it going?’ Cathy asked, reappearing with fresh coffee. She looked across at Kenny and made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat. `Not lost your touch, girl, have you?’ she said. `Annie won first prize at drama college,’ she explained. `For makeup, that is. She’s a right little Michaelangelo with the warpaint, I can tell you.’

`Lips,’ Annie said and produced a small tube, which she unscrewed and adjusted to reveal a deep reddish brown lipstick. It took her several attempts to persuade Kenny to put his lips into the correct shapes and hold them long enough for her, but eventually she straightened up and declared herself satisfied. Kenny sat motionless, tasting the slightly sweet taste on his lips and fighting back the urge to try to touch it with his tongue.

`Fingernails,’ Cathy suggested. `Those nails of his aren’t exactly tidy and half of them are way too short.’

`Nails split when I’m heaving around equipment cases,’ Kenny explained, defensively. Annie nodded, synpathetically.

`Don’t worry,’ she said. `I’ll glue false nails over these. Nothing too long, just enough to make your fingers look feminine. I’ll colour them to match your lipstick, too.’

`What a performance,’ Kenny sighed, half to himself, but not quietly enough so that Cathy did not hear him. She sniggered, winked and shook her head.

`Maybe you’ll appreciate what we girls have to go through from now on,’ she said. `We go through this sort of performance, as you call it, on a daily basis and getting ready for a show is ten times as bad!’

The wig, when Cathy finally brought it into the bedroom, was mounted on a polystyrene head and it was obvious that she had been brushing it out, for the hair shone like pale gold. Kenny said absolutely nothing as it was lifted off its stand and raised over his own short cropped sandy hair. Carefully, Cathy lowered it into place, stretching the net base and easing it into position.

`The manufacturers guarantee this’ll stay in place through most normal everyday things,’ she said, tugging first at one side and then at the other, `but you can’t go swimming in it and I’d recommend you didn’t go charging around in open topped cars or on the backs of motorbikes. There,’ she said, stepping away, `I think that looks about right. What d’you think, Annie?’

`Excellent,’ Annie said and then fell silent. Kenny saw that there was a strange expression on her face now, almost troubled in a way, though not quite, as though she was struggling with a mixture of emotions.

`Thinking of Janey?’ he asked, quietly. The question seemed to jerk her out of her reverie and she quickly became all business like again.

`No,’ she said, firmly, `I was just thinking what a very good job we’ve done between us.’

`Can I see?’ Kenny asked, but both girls shook their heads in unison.

`Not yet,’ Annie said. `Finish getting you dressed, first. Now, we have a slight problem with footwear,’ she continued, looking sideways at Cathy. `Your feet are bigger than either of ours and Mikey didn’t have anything much to spare, apart from a pair of boots he doesn’t need for his act at the moment.’

`Oh? Is that a problem?’ Kenny demanded. By way of an answer, Cathy ducked out through the door again, returning immediately, holding up a pair of long, black leather thigh length boots. Kenny almost slipped off the bed in his astonishment.

`Now you’ve got to be joking,’ he exclaimed. `If I walk anywhere in those, people’ll think I’m some sort of tart on the pull!’

`Well, they’re all we have,’ Annie stated, `and we’re lucky even to get these. Mikey uses them for his Miss Whiplash character, but he’s had to scrub that bit of the act this week, as they’ve got a load of old fogeys booked in there. He said we could borrow them, but said to warn you that if you break the heels, you won’t need to use a gaff to make like a girl in the future!’

`I’ve brought a long denim skirt with me,’ Cathy added, seeing Kenny still dumbstruck at the sight of the boots. `It’s mid-calf length, so no one will realise how long those boots really are. Anyone seeing you will just assume they’re ordinary knee boots.’

`But how am I supposed to walk in them to start with?’ Kenny demanded. `Look at those heels. They must be six inches high!’

`Don’t exaggerate,’ Cathy scolded him. `They’re four inches, that’s all. And boots are easier than shoes. Look, when these lace up, they give you plenty of support round the ankles. You’ll just have to practise walking up and down in here for a while. We’ll find a shop and buy you something with a lower heel when they open in the morning, so you won’t have to do too much walking anyway.’

`This is getting madder by the minute,’ Kenny sighed, but he sat quietly as the girls took a boot each, slid them up his stockinged legs, eased his feet into the required arched shape and began the laborious process of lacing them up. Cathy then brought in the skirt and, after a considerable amount of balancing on one leg at a time and using their shoulders to steady himself, Kenny managed to get into it and Annie zipped up the waist.

True to Cathy’s promise, the skirt did reach down midway between knee and ankle and, apart from the slightest ridge under the denim, it was impossible to tell the true nature of his bizarre footwear.

`Seems almost a shame to hide them,’ Cathy giggled, but Kenny was not in the mood to appreciate the joke.

`Long sleeved black top with fairly high neckline,’ Annie announced, holding it up. `Those breast forms are good, but without the proper makeup to blend them to the skin, anyone standing close to you will see they’re falsies. This way, no one gets to see the join. C’mon, let’s get you into it and then you can take a look at yourself in the mirror.’

`Not that it’s much of a mirror,’ Cathy added, nodding towards the battered little wardrobe in the corner. `You’ll have to wait ’til we get back to my room to get a proper look at yourself, but at least you’ll get some idea of the effect.’ Kenny shrugged himself into the stretchy black top and stood whilst Annie smoothed the fabric into place and twisted the sleeves around so that the seams ran straight down the outside of both arms.

`Final touch,’ Cathy announced, and before Kenny had time to react or resist, she had clipped a small gold earring onto his left lobe and was already manoevring around him to repeat the operation on the right ear. `I was thinking,’ she mused, as she adjusted its angle, `maybe we could slip you into the hotel salon first thing and get Stella to pierce your ears. It’d look far more realistic.’

`No!’ Kenny exclaimed, but Annie placed a quietening finger to his lips.

`Wait ’til later before we start arguing over little things,’ she said. `Come over and take a look at Lucy now and then we’ll have to think about getting tidied up and getting out of here. The smell is starting to get to me now.’ She held Kenny gently by the elbow, as he rose once more onto unsteady feet and then guided him the few short steps to stand before the wardrobe.

Releasing her grip on him, she moved to one side, reached out and swung the door open. At the same time, Cathy lifted the oil lantern higher and advanced towards them, so that a stronger pool of light was reflected back onto him. For several long seconds he stood there, transfixed, mouth hanging slightly open.

`Well?’ Annie asked, finally. Kenny shook his head and watched in amazement as the shoulder length tresses of the blonde girl in the mirror swayed to and fro as she mimicked his action.

`I have to admit -’ he began, but stopped again, still staring at the trim and undeniably attractive female before him. `No, it’s just a trick of the light,’ he said. `It’s halfway dark in here, don’t forget.’

`It’s a trick all right,’ Cathy agreed, `but it’s got bugger all to do with the light. I told you Annie was a wizard with the makeup, didn’t I? And thanks to Mikey and a few bits and bobs from our own stuff, here we have one perfect little Lucy. Say hello to her, why don’t you, but try to keep your voice a bit whispery. You’ll need to work on that, or else pretend you’ve got laryngitis for a few days.’

`You really believe we can get away with this, don’t you?’ Kenny said, but his eyes still hadn’t wavered from the mirror image. Annie placed a hand gently on his shoulder and now he saw two pretty girls together, the dark haired one smiling, the blonde, taller than her in her heels, looking as though she had just seen a ghost.

`Yes,’ she whispered, her lips close to his ear. `Yes, we can pull it off, but there’s still a hell of a lot to do. This isn’t some story, you know, this is real life, so now we have to teach you how to walk like a girl, sit like a girl, gesture like a girl and even make sure you sit down to pee like a girl.

`If we are going to succeed, you’ll even have to start thinking like a girl. Forget about Kenny - Kenny’s gone. He’s a fugitive, on the run out there somewhere. You’re now Lucy Butterworth, dancer and actress, aged twenty eight, though you usually claim to be only twenty four.

`You were born in Somerset, your mum is a semi-professional watercolour artist and your dad, who is now dead, was a commercial pilot who had a drink problem. You have one sister and one brother. Your sister’s name is Laura and she’s two years younger than you. Oh yes,’ she added, `and with any luck, you’ll be meeting your sister in the next three or four days, depending on how quickly she can get a flight out.’

`Eh?’ Kenny squeaked. `The real Lucy’s sister is coming here? What on earth for?’ Annie looked across at Cathy and they both sighed as they shrugged to each other. Annie turned back to Kenny and allowed the back of her hand to gently caress his cheek.

`My dear Lucy,’ she said, with a hint of gentle exasperation, `how else did you think we were going to get your passport out here? Bloody homing pigeon?’

 

To be continued.

 

So, in best cinematic tradition ...

 

Will Kenny’s disguise fool the authorities? Will Laura arrive with Lucy’s passport? Will the "girls" discover who really put the drugs in Kenny’s case? Will they all get off the island in one piece?

And just how long will it take Kenny to discover that there are some quite positive aspects to becoming Lucy?

 

Find out the answers to some of these and other nail-biting questions in Part Two of Trial Run, coming to a wide-screen page near you soon!

 

 

 

© 2001
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