Yours Truly, Jackie Dollar 24-01

The ringing sound of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" rang around 4 a.m. A femboy drags out of bed an answers it after rubbing their eyes.

"....Jackie Dollar." they answer.

"Jackie, it's Marcia McCracken, American Mercantile Insurance. I need you like pronto."

"What now, someone leave their door open and steal $100 in fine china?"

"Very funny Jackie. I need you immediately. It's serious. It involves dangerous people."

"What do you mean "dangerous people"? Do you mean the mafia? Because you know I don't like mafia guys. We have better people for that."

"Jackie, normally I'd agree, but this is different, the deceased mobster was a drag queen. Who better to investigate?"

"I don't know.........."

"How about if I offer double your usual pay and usual expenses?"

"Hot damn, why didn't you say so? I'll be at your office in 15 minutes."

Jackie hangs up and gets dressed.

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Tonight, the transcribed adventures of the femboy with the action packed expense account. America's fabulous freelance insurance investigator......

"Yours Truly, Jackie Dollar."

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Expense account submitted by special investigator Jackie Dollar to the home office of the American Mercantile Insurance Company, Hartford, Connecticut. The following is an account of my expenditures during my investigation of the Genovese Matter.

Expense 1: $25.00

The attendant filled up my tank in a dark section of Newark, New Jersey. Given it was 3am there were not many options for gasoline at that hour. But the attendants knew me well because I was a night owl. I'm a femboy on the side of my regular job, busting insurance fraudsters around the world. My grandfather, Johnny Dollar, did the same thing in the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s for various insurance companies. That was until he met my grandmother, Betty Lewis. When they married in the 1960s, the days of risking his life was over. My grandparents raised my father and he told my father and I about the many fraudsters he went after. All the men he shot and those who shot him. My father did not want to, but I wanted to be like my grandfather. But whereas Johnny was very macho and able to flatter women all around the world, I never had the ability to be a macho person. I realized young that I would be a lot more feminine and embraced it. One of the benefits is that I can fit into any community well with a little bit of makeup.

My grandfather had it lucky in the 1950s. There were no cell phones, no internet, no artificial intelligence. At the time, he had to work in paper trails, calls made via rotary telephone or even more archaic styles. Nowadays, I can be summoned on a text. In some ways he had it easier. The typical fraudster is simple-minded because they have a singular goal: to get their money. Back then, there were only a few ways to fraud the insurance company. Nowadays there are numerous ways and they get nutsier every day. He would probably not be able to handle the type of cases I do. He was probably better off. He and my grandmother have long passed, but I like to think his spirit hides in my Irvington, New Jersey apartment. Johnny Dollar is my inspiration. I only hope to be an iota close to what he was.

After the attendant finished up, I hit the gas for Hartford, Connecticut, a trip I was used to making. Like my grandfather, most of the insurance cases were based from Hartford. He lived there as a result. My father though moved us to Jersey when I was a young child, hoping for a quieter life. As a result, now I make commutes to Hartford to meet up with the insurance adjusters. The George Washington Bridge was nice and quiet as I crossed it into New York City. No traffic on the Cross Bronx Expressway made the drive easy. Around 7am I reached Hartford and pulled up to the building that housed American Mercantile Insurance Company. I sat around for a bit to wait until Marcia would make it, smoking out of my vape in my bright red Honda Accord. My grandfather smoked, but my parents were big on making sure I didn't have nicotine cigarettes, so I got them to agree to letting me vape. The effect is still the same.

Around 8:30am, Marcia finally pulled up in her Maserati. Her grandfather, Pat McCracken, worked with my grandfather. However, she worked for a different firm and was a very obvious lesbian. Short cut hair, thick rimmed glasses and nose ring that could be seen from Venus in the right sunlight. Her grandfather though left her with good money and raised well above the normal paygrade. I greeted her and we walked upstairs to her office.

"So, what is it so important that you made me drive out here this early in the morning?" I asked.

"Pietro Genovese.....or that's what everybody knows him as. To people in Miami, Pietro was more like Lady Belle, a very affluent drag queen who could entertain anyone. And I mean anyone. She made good money, even though she came from money."

"Why does this matter to the insurance company?"

"Because American Mercantile holds all the life insurance policies for the Genovese family. And well, the Genovese family, Jackie, is one of the five families of New York City, when it comes to the mobsters."

"So let me get this straight, your company is just willy-nilly handing out of the policies to the mafia? In this economy? Why would the company even consider it?"

Marcia sighed. "Because the executives at the top like their money. It's not a big deal that their policies are with mafia. They know the mafia will pay better than the general public. I don't like it either."

"So what happened that requires my involvement?"

"Pietro was shot and killed in front of a gay bar in Miami 2 nights ago. We hold a $7.5 million life insurance policy on his life. We think it was an inside job with the mafia. They don't seem to be high on drag queens. It appears someone wanted him dead to prevent the embarrassment in the family. We need you to go find out before we pay the giant claim. His father's attorneys contacted me last night to file, but it smells fishy and not just cause it's Miami. My offer on the phone is still good. If necessary, I'll even triple it. Just come back alive."

"Alright Marcia. I'll get on the first plane I can."

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Expense account #2: $15 for extra gas.

I raced back to Irvington as fast as I could. I knew I would need to be on a first plane for Miami. The mob moved fast and if I had any chance of catching the person who shot Pietro, I needed to be in Miami tonight. When I got back to my ragged apartment, I packed as fast I could, deciding what makeup I wanted to bring with me. Easier to get answers out of drag queens if I'm en femme. I grabbed a couple wigs and packed them with my toiletries. I Googled for a quick flight to Miami. That's expense account number 3, $212 for a quick flight to Miami from Newark Liberty International Airport. I would deal with a hotel when I got to Miami. Expense account #4, $30 for an UberX ride to the airport.

When the plane touched down, I grabbed my carry-ons and waited at the baggage claim for 15 minutes for my checked bag with all my femme gear. I texted Marcia McCracken that I had landed safely in Miami and she told me to wait for Detective Sammy Jackson of the Miami Police Department, who would bring me to the station and catch me up to date. After grabbing my bag, I turned around and saw a cop in full uniform, not a detective, but his badge had the name JACKSON in full text.

"Are you....Jackie Dollar?" he asked.

"Yes. I am. Detective Jackson I presume?" I answered.

"Indeed." He stretched his hand out for a shake. I offered a fistbump instead. He obliged. "Marcia McCracken tells me you know what's going on."

"I do, let's head over to the station, then we can check you into your hotel." Det. Jackson pointed to the doors of the terminal. Outside was a modern 2024 Ford Explorer that was being used for police duties, but unmarked. He loaded my bags, including my Gucci purse into the trunk then offered me the passenger seat. Afterwards, we sped down to the Miami precinct headquarters on NW 2nd Avenue. The police headquarters in Miami was a beautiful modern structure in the city, which was incredibly hot at this time of the year. Air conditioning was a nice invention and in a place like Miami, almost required. We walked into his office on the second floor. On his desk was a file marked GENOVESE.

"So, what happened?" I asked.

"Pietro Genovese, better known as Lady Belle, was shot cold-blooded in front of a bar on South Beach. A gay bar, one he hung out at frequently as Lady Belle. I believe Marcia told you that."

"She did."

"Well, there was a few witnesses at the bar, but they are nervous because they knew Genovese was connected to the crime family back in New York City. They also are not big fans of police, so they were afraid to say if there were any witnesses or even what happened. We tried for hours but no one would break. After a while, we gave up and continued investigating the scene. All of the reports are here in the folder. I don't know how well you'll do, but Marcia tells me you would have a special way of getting to them. If you're as good as Marcia claims, maybe you can break this."

"I think I can, but I admit, I'm not a fan of the mafia myself. All the stories of Jon Gotti, Mickey Cohen and Jimmy Fratianno certainly remind you they are dangerous characters. One of the few reasons I took the case was because my expense account and fee may be tripled if I can solve this. Pietro Genovese had a $7.5 million life insurance policy and the family, particularly his father, Marco, already filed claim to make the money. Where was the shooting at?"

"Club SB on the boardwalk in Miami Beach. It's a local gay club with an eccentric clientele, particularly drag queens."

"Alright, let me get checked into my hotel and then I will head over there and see what I can do. Probably better off not going with me. If they figure out I'm working with the police, they may clam up."

"Alright, let's head to the Hilton Cabana Miami Beach, should be a good place for you to fit in."

We jumped back in the Explorer and drove to a tall hotel that had palm trees everywhere. Expense account number 4, $500 for security deposit on an executive room at the Hilton Cabana. After checking in, we brought my bags upstairs to room 413.

"Detective Jackson, here's my card with my phone number on it. You can text me if necessary if something comes up."

He accepted the card. "I will put your number in my phone and text it so you have mine. I will give you personal cell because I may not have my work cell operating at all times. Let me know how you do."

"I will. Good night Detective Jackson."

"Eh, you can call me Sammy."

"Ok, good night Sammy."

Sammy shut door behind him and I pulled my clothes off. I took a shower, because my suit had me sweating in the humid Miami heat. I took a long cold shower, shaved and took out my makeup collection. I decided to bring out my "Jackie, the Hot Mistress" outfit for the trip to the Club SB. I pulled out a pencil thin skirt, a black leather corset and white blouse. I pulled out thick rim glasses and a feminine black tie to look like a hot bitch. Some extra makeup and eyeliner and I was golden. I called for room service to bring me a bottle of brandy and some coffee. That's expense number 5, $15. After downing some of the wine, I put on some black stilettos I brought with me and headed out to the club. It was going to be a long night, so I packed my vape and a flask of the brandy-laced coffee I made.

Reaching within a block of the club, I could see a commotion in front of the building. There was a dead body, and at least 50 patrons, 7 or 8 of them in full drag, were staring at it. I asked one of the patrons who that was.

"Marcus Langford. He was the sugardaddy for Lady Belle, who was murdered the other night."

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There will be another story in our series, the Genovese Matter, next month. Next month, I have two dead people now. I hope I am not the third. Join us, won't you?

Yours truly,

Jackie Dollar ;)

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I make no qualms that this a drastic change from what I usually write, but despite my young age, I am enthralled with the Bob Bailey version of "Yours Truly, Johnny Dollar." I have for months thought of doing Jackie Dollar as a spiritual successor on Literotica. Obviously transcribing what was a radio drama into text is not the simplest thing. If I continue to do this beyond The Genovese Matter, each series will be 5 stories long, like the 1956-57 season of the radio drama was 5 15-minute stories. Each will follow the same general structure like the radio show did. I hope you will be patient with me on this series, because it's going to be a lot of fun to write.

-- Amanda "Not Bob Bailey" Sadie.