Acts of Violence (15 page)

Van had a
reputation among us lowlifes for being both generous and patient. He’d loan you
a lot. He’d be more than happy to give you time to repay. He’d even set up
repayment plans for you, just like a bank. But being a nice person in such a
business as loans meant he had to ensure the repercussions of pushing your luck
too far were severe. The surprising result of all this was that nobody messed
him about. Nobody but me.

It wasn’t
intentional. My last client had skipped town without paying. Probably realised
a fake PI couldn’t take non-payers to court. I’d helped Van out here and there,
so he was particularly patient with me. But that patience was coming to an end.
He had a reputation to uphold.

The other problem
was that this was WET. Webster’s strip club. I didn’t think it too likely that
his staff here would be on the lookout for me. Still felt like I was about to
walk into the lion’s den though. With four bullets and a bad attitude.

I stood across the
street in the shadows of a cafe’s overhang. The cafe hadn’t lasted long once
Webster opened the club. No one wanted to sit and have coffee and cupcakes across
the street from that kind of depravity. I wouldn’t mind, myself.

Two bouncers stood
at the door, but they’d paid no attention to the last two guys to go in. They
were only there to keep out the real drunks. A little drunk was fine. More
money in the girls’ garters. If they wore that much. But the blind drunk idiots
might climb onto the stages, grope the girls. Get themselves hurt. Badly.

The building was
two storeys. There was a basement, too, but only rich private members were
meant to know about that. It was glass fronted like The Web, except on each
side of the door was a girl. Holograms. The two girls were repeated all along
the glass at different stages of undress. On the far left, a brunette secretary.
On the far right, a blonde cowgirl. The last holograms on either side of the
door showed the brunette wearing only her glasses and the blonde in nothing but
her hat and boots. Of course, their breasts were hidden by the words ‘See Me’
and their southernmost regions by the word ‘Inside’.

The most striking
thing about the outside of the club was its sign. They’d gone for an old neon
style display. A blinding pink outline of a woman’s legs. The legs were spread
wide. From between them, a powerful squirt erupted every ten seconds or so,
splashed against an invisible wall and dribbled into the word WET.

I was sure it was meant
to be appealing. I found it pretty repulsive. Maybe the latter was meant to add
to the former. The raw, dirty obviousness of it probably got blood pumping
pretty effectively. If my blood pumped harder, it would start squirting out of
my shoulder.

In the dark, I
couldn’t really tell how much blood was showing through my coat. It was
creeping down my arm now, but slowly. There was nothing I could do about it. I
crossed the street. Covered the wound, trying to make it look like I was
rubbing an aching shoulder or scratching an itch.

Both bouncers glanced
at me. One looked away. The other held his gaze. I fought the urge to reach for
my pistol. Something was wrong. He’d started to look away, but then hadn’t. It
was almost a double take. I nodded at him and aimed for the door.

‘Hey, aren’t you
Mason?’

Shit.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Van’s been lookin’
for you, Mason. You still owe him big, what I hear.’

Relief washed over
me. Not much, since Van was clearly spreading the word that it was time I paid
up. But at least this guy didn’t know Webster was looking for me. Didn’t mean
Van wouldn’t know. He didn’t exactly like Webster though. I hoped that would
work in my favour.

‘Well that’s a
happy coincidence, because I’m looking for Van.’

I tried to walk
past, but a hand on my chest prevented it. Might as well have been a solid
wall. I wasn’t pushing past that hand. And its partner would have something to
say about it if I tried.

‘You ain’t carryin’
now are ya?’

‘Only a torch for
that cowgirl. She in?’

‘You’re not a nice
guy, Mason, what I hear. Think I better make sure you don’t got intentions
counter to what Van’s is.’ I guessed stereotypes existed for a reason.

‘You hear a lot for
a guy that stands at a door all night.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Hey, you hear
that?’ I tilted my head a little, as though listening.

‘What?’ Poor guy
actually strained to hear what I was hearing.

‘That’s the sound
of go fuck yourself. That’s the best I can come up with on short notice,’ I
added, after an awkward silence during which I heard how stupid I’d sounded.
‘I’m not feeling myself right now.’

‘Then you’re in the
wrong place, guy.’ That was the other bouncer. I wasn’t sure if it was just a
joke, or if it was meant to be at my expense somehow. Hard to tell with idiots.
The air was still fairly light, so I guessed the former.

‘I hope Van’s got
his sewing kit,’ I said. Made for the door again. The hand stopped me again. I
felt a hot flash. Rubbed some life back into my face so I wouldn’t do anything
else with my hands.

‘Back of my
waistband,’ I said. Turned and lifted my coat.

He pulled the gun
while the second bouncer patted me down. Surprisingly, he was careful not to
pat my wound. I’d braced myself for it. I suspected Van had made a point of
having his people act like pleasant human beings. Even to people like me. It
was a weird thing to find in Harem.

‘Can I keep this if
Van removes your limbs?’

‘Sure.’

Finally, I pushed
through the door. Infrared thing above me. I was dry again for the first time
in days. Or hours. I wasn’t sure any more.

Immediately inside
was a short hall. On each side was a door marked ‘Staff Only’. A long window
ran along the wall beside the right-hand door. A girl stood behind it. She wore
only transparent underwear and glowing tribal tattoos. I wasn’t sure of the
point of either. The tattoos were straight from a marker pen.

‘Welcome to club
WET,’ she droned, probably for the thousandth time. ‘Where we’re always wet for
you.’ That made me cringe a little. Webster was trying too hard. Or Van. I
guessed he was the manager here, so he was probably responsible for leaving
nothing to the imagination. Nothing subtle and seductive. Didn’t seem like him
though.

I tried to make my
eyes respectful as I looked the girl over. Probably didn’t. I was probably just
leering. I smiled apologetically and moved on. Probably made me look like even
more of a weird creep. Women this sexually open and uncaring made me
uncomfortable.

She handed me two rectangular
credit notes as I stepped away. That was club currency. Just like old money,
except instead of a president or a king or something, a crude sexual imprint. Credit
chips weren’t exactly easy to slip into a dancer’s various bits of skimpy
‘clothing’. Besides, if the patrons got carried away at the end of a show and
started throwing money onto the stage, it wouldn’t do for the dancer to be
pelted with lumps of hard plastic. Cards were fine, and larger sums were more
easily dropped, but Van had found more money was taken overall if the patrons
could actually reach out and slide a note into the side of a girl’s underwear,
or wherever. Actually have their fingers brush her skin as they did so. More
likelihood of them doing so again and again.

‘Can I take your
coat, sir?’ she called after me.

‘Get your own. Before
you catch a cold.’

The next door took
me into the club proper. A stink hit my nose. A sweet, sticky stink. I didn’t
know what it was. Place like this, I didn’t want to know. It was accompanied by
a distinct rise in temperature. I didn’t know if it was for the sake of all the
girls and their lack of clothing, or if it was generated by them and their
gyrating.

Like probably every
guy who walked through the door, I stopped just inside to look around. Partly
while I adjusted to the thumping music and flashing lights. The layout was
pretty much identical to that of The Web. The circular dance floor was bigger
and contained one long stage, like a catwalk, and about six small, round ones. Each
stage had something different. One had the normal pole. One had a glass box,
just large enough for one person, containing two shiny, oiled up redheads. One
had a swing, on which a blonde dangled with, naturally, a lollipop. I wasn’t
particularly interested in what the other stages held. Mainly because the dancing
and gyrating on those was done by men.

All around the
raised platform encircling the main floor, comfortable sofas formed a half ring
around tables, which doubled as stages. That allowed the girls to make extra
money with more private dances. A few of these had opaque forcefields around
them for complete privacy. Van had invested a little extra money on those
things. The girl inside only had to say a certain word and whoever was in there
with her would get shocked so hard he’d be convulsing for an hour.

I didn’t really
know what I thought about this place and the kind of work the girls did. But I
did know that in this industry, Van was probably the best person in the city
for them to be working for. He was fair, kind and protective. That didn’t quite
gel with my theory of how Webster got most of his girls. But maybe I was wrong.
Or maybe Van didn’t know. Or maybe I just didn’t know Van as well as I thought.

Didn’t matter right
now.

As I started
towards the steps, one of the waitresses came up them. She wore what could only
be described as a strap around her chest. From the centre, another ran down
between her legs and up her back. Like a big T. I couldn’t honestly say it
looked attractive. Though the body it pretended to cover certainly was. Between
her breasts, wads of notes were stuffed under the belt. Probably more money
than I made in a month.

‘Hey there. You
look like you’ve had a rough day.’ I decided she didn’t mean that as an insult.
‘Can I get you a drink? Or maybe something else will relax you…’ She ran her
fingers lightly down where my tie should have been if I knew where it was.

My skin shivered
and tightened under her electric touch. I couldn’t help wondering just how much
more pleasant that touch would be without clothes in the way.

‘No thanks,’ I
said.

I took her hand
gently. Lowered it until our arms just hung, like lovers holding hands. In my
other hand, I still held the notes. I glanced at the wad already under the
belt. Not enough space. Getting too close to intimacy could be dangerous with
so many shock emitters dotted around the club, but I decided to risk it. Slid
the notes under the belt a good couple of inches below her navel. I liked the
way her pupils widened just a little as she anticipated where this might go.
With the notes in place, I returned my hand to my side. Her green eyes returned
to normal. I wasn’t dangerous.

‘Just take me to
Van,’ I said.

The eyes creased
slightly into a smile. I enjoyed women. Not just to be in bed with. They were
beautiful creatures. The way they moved. Their shape. Their smell. How
different they were to men. Well, not all. Some were pricks just like any man. It
was the eyes I liked most. I’d sit for hours watching Lucy’s eyes while she
talked to me. Their colour. Their shape. The way they changed depending on her
topic. That was before I split her skull and sunk her to the bottom of the
lake.

The waitress, who
other nights might be up on one of the stages, kept my hand as she walked
around the platform ring. Probably a better route than I’d intended. I reckoned
it was about half eight, but the place was already busy. In another hour it
would upgrade to packed. An hour after that, seething. It would stay that way
until the early hours began to get tired.

Guys, and some
girls, watched with envy in their eyes as the waitress led me past them. I
wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea that they thought I was paying for
some special treatment from her, but it wasn’t exactly the biggest issue on my
mind either. As I passed other waitresses attending the tables, I saw that my
waitress was one of the most attractive girls in the place. Probably why she
got those looks and the wad of notes.

At the far end of the
platform, she led me down the steps to a door beside the main stage. It was
just like The Web, except instead of the bar, here was a curtain leading off
stage to the dancers’ dressing room. Or undressing room. The bar was on the
other side of the stage. Above, an office hung from the ceiling, suspended by
thick cables. Probably some tech too. Just like Webster’s office, the walls and
floor were all glass. As this was a bigger building, though, the office
extended through to the other side of the curtain. Above the stage, all I could
see was the underside of a black leather couch.

While I was staring
up at that, the girl spoke to the security guy on the door. He looked a little
more trained than the bouncers outside. More professional. Less pleasant. He
just nodded curtly and stepped aside. She pushed the door open and led me
through.

Here, the place got
completely different to The Web. The stairs were in the same place, but to the
side was a doorway through to backstage. The dancer who’d just finished her act
stepped backwards through the curtain, blowing a few kisses. As soon as the
heavy red material fell back into place and hid her, her posture dropped a
little and she sighed as she stepped down and out of sight. Whether she was
tired of her life or just tired of today, I didn’t know.

At the foot of the
stairs were two other doorways. One probably led to more dressing rooms, and I
could hear chattering from beyond. It was tempting to slip through there and
find myself in the midst of girls dressing and undressing. The temptation
wasn’t particularly strong right now though. As I kept needlessly reminding
myself, I had much bigger things to think about. Besides, I’d be willing to bet
it was far more interesting in my imagination.