Fredrick von Thurston stood in front of the men’s room mirror preening. He’d selected his best Armani knockoff, alligator boots, and a sequined bolo tie for a special evening. As he finished preparing, he sensed the door to the restroom open. At first glance, the person seemed a stranger, but oddly familiar. The one thing he knew for certain was they were in a men’s room, and she was not a man.

“Miss, I believe you’re in the wrong room.” Neither Frederick nor the intruder moved. “Hello?” he said. He tried to figure out if he really knew this person in front of him. When she smiled, he had a good idea he did.

“Gwendolyn?” He watched her smile grow as she stepped into the room. He heard a click when the door lock engaged. “You’re early, and why the getup. You look like a hitwoman, all dressed in black. And a veil? Really?

They both stood in silence, until Frederick said, “I’m confused.” He took a paper towel from the dispenser, and wiped sweat from his brow. His confusion returned as he watched the woman peel layers of fake skin from her nose and cheek.

“Hello, Frederick,” Amy said.

“What are you doing here?” Frederich replied. Amy was two years older than Gwendolyn, and, except for a small scar on Amy’s right cheek and nose, they could be twins.

“Keeping Gwen from making a big mistake.” She stepped forward, a switch blade in her hand, the smile gone. “I do background checks on all her boyfriends. Yours is particularly interesting. There’s Marianne in Tucson, and Colleen in Newark, and… Shall I continue?”

Frederick stood frozen, fear covering his face.

“Now we’re going to walk out of here, and you’re going to find some other lonely woman to victimize, or,” she waved the knife in front of his dilated eyes, “I can introduce your man parts to Victor, my personal enforcer.”