Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) (6 page)

“
Did you do
this?
”

Joakim waved his hand in
dismissal.

“
This train disappeared
down Line C several months ago. It was unfortunate timing because
an earthquake tore through Prague, and the train bounced off the
tracks. Almost everyone died in the crash.”

“
Do the police
know?”

“
No, and we intend to keep
it that way. We’ve made our home here and we can’t afford to be
driven out. As you surely saw on your way, portions of the tunnel
caved in. It’s too dangerous for anyone to venture here alone,
although I see you’ve managed.”

“
Mikhael showed me the
way.”

“
Ah, yes, Mikhael. He was
the only survivor of the accident.” Vivian looked at the boy
huddled near the bonfire. He had since unraveled from her leg and
stared thoughtfully into the gasping flames.

“
I often find him wandering
the tunnels, still searching for his deceased parents,” Joakim
lamented. “Every day, every night—not that we can tell the
difference down here. I simply didn’t have the heart to tell him
they’re gone. He’s a part of our family now. Now he has sixteen
fathers to look after him.”

“
That’s awfully kind of
you.” Chewing over Vivian’s words, Joakim gazed paternally at
Mikhael,

“
Kindness has nothing to do
with it. Any decent man would take him as a son.” He abruptly
nodded at the train. “Shall we discuss our transaction
inside?”

The gang bangers hungrily watched
Vivian as she followed their leader. She recalled a pack of stray
dogs that once eyed her in a similar manner, an uncanny comparison
to members of her own species.

Once inside the train, she navigated
over the suitcases splayed in the aisles. She suspected Joakim and
his accomplices already raided the personal belongings of the dead,
leaving behind only trash in their wake. Magazines and newspapers
dating back to the day of the crash littered the seats.

Joakim nimbly swept into one of the
decorated rail cars. Books were strewn across the room, lying open
to passages about organized revolution and anarchy. Maps of Prague
hung from the walls with red pins stuck in certain municipal
districts. Vivian had decorated her bedroom in a similar manner,
except with anatomy charts and medical terminology.

“
Fancy,” she
quipped.

“
Each member has his own
personal chambers on the train. We may as well make use of the gift
God sent us. Please, take a seat.”

Dozens of ID cards littered the table,
stripped from the bodies of deceased passengers. It looked as
though Joakim and other gang bangers were attempting to adopt the
identities of the crash victims. She almost wondered if Joakim
would forge one for her. The prospect of running far away from
Prague always proved enticing.

Joakim instantly swept the cash off
the tabletop, making it crystal clear he did not trust the intruder
in his midst.

“
Mar javam?”

“
What?”

“
Mar javam, a special blend
of salvia and shisha. Would you like some?” Vivian glanced at the
hookah pipes reverently arranged on shelves once used to hold
luggage.

“
No, that’s okay. So tell
me about this proposition you have.”

“
I always conduct business
over shisha. To decline is an insult to my hospitality.”

“
That seems a bit
excessive, don’t you think?” Joakim gingerly sprinkled mar javam
over the hookah filter, ignoring her. He added a few sizzling coals
and the rich smell of vice permeated the chamber. Vivian watched as
he pursed his lips against the mouthpiece and imbibed his share of
delirium.

“
I have a problem that
needs some resolving,” he hissed as tendrils of smoke slithered
from his lips. They twined like snakes in the air, circling Vivian
as if in search of prey.

“
As you might imagine, I
have many business partners scattered across the metropolitan area.
I’m in the habit of providing medicine for those in need of my
charity.”

“
Like what?”

“
My wares include salvia,
marijuana, ecstasy, and methamphetamine. I have gained quite a
loyal following of clients, but unfortunately, we do not always see
eye to eye.” Joakim offered the hose extending from the hookah. The
ornate glass base swirled with sapphire lights. “Are you a fan of
ambience?”

“
Maybe. What does that have
to do with anything?”

“
Music enhances the salvia
trip.”

“
Go ahead.” Delighted,
Joakim swooped toward an old record player. It was perhaps the only
way he could channel music into this underground abyss.

An eerie ambience oozing with emotion
fell like autumn rain. No stranger to hookah, Vivian sucked the
mouthpiece until her lungs tingled. They traded the hookah back and
forth, quietly soaking in the music.

“
A man named Thuomas has
failed to fulfill his part of our bargain,” Joakim finally said. “I
need you to motivate him to pay.”

Vivian choked on the hookah, violently
expelling a laugh.

“
Do I look like a mercenary
to you?” she said, flinging out her arms. They felt weightless,
barely hanging from their sockets like a marionette. Even her head
tilted at an odd angle.

“
No,” Joakim said. His
voice was traveling through another medium now, perhaps water or
plasma. “In all honesty, I just need a body to carry out my
commands, regardless of your talents.” His blunt tongue caught her
off guard. Joakim’s eyes narrowed dangerously and she knew at once
he wasn’t a man to be trifled with.

“
His fiancée works at The
Toxic Mistress club. Judging by your appearance, I’m sure you’re
familiar with it. The woman in question is named Audrey. I want you
to leave her a gift in the back room.”

“
That’s an odd way of
extortion.”

“
It isn’t extortion when
someone rightfully owes me money. Besides, this is unlike any gift
she’ll ever receive. I would deliver this myself but I wouldn’t
dare show my face above the surface. According to my sources, the
chief of police is determined to make me hang. I’ve heard he has a
special cell block set up just for me, the sort of filthy hole you
might expect in Turkey.”

“
And why does he want your
head?”

“
I’ve corrupted several of
his top lieutenants. In fact, I bribed one of them to assassinate
Josef Láska. As you can see, his efforts obviously failed. And
while he was being
interrogated
, the bastard let my name
slip.” He shook his head and uttered a few “tsk’s.”

“
I wager the sleazy bastard
thought his confession would save him. Never trust the word of a
cop, nonetheless anyone working for them.”

Vivian shifted
uncomfortably.
I suppose you wouldn’t trust
me if you knew the truth.
Fortunately,
Joakim either missed or chose to ignore the signals Vivian’s body
transmitted.

Instead, Joakim approached a vase and
plucked thirteen calla lilies. He quickly scribbled something on a
piece of paper and tucked it in an envelope.

“
Lilies?” Vivian piped up.
She remembered seeing lilies somewhere before. An image drifted
into focus in her mind.

Krista
. Twelve milky white lilies surrounded her portrait at the
candlelight vigil. The flowers seemed to whirl around from the
effects of salvia. She gave a start when she looked down and saw
the lilies in her own hands. They bounced up and down to the melody
of the music.

“
Everything will be
explained when the task is done. I also want you to include this
letter.” He pressed the envelope into her hands, his cold
fingertips kissing hers.

“
Then you’ll guide me to
the outskirts?”

“
Of course.”

Vivian meekly nodded and turned away,
clutching the flowers in both hands like a surreal wedding
bouquet.

“
One last thing,” Joakim
interjected. “Don’t let anyone see the flowers you’re carrying. You
might draw unnecessary attention.”

“
What if Thuomas doesn’t
pay?”

Joakim only flashed a smile, and that
told her everything she needed to know.

Before she even realized it, he
planted a farewell kiss on her cheek.

* * *

The Toxic Mistress awaited her as
always across the street, the gathering place exclusive to the
cyberpunk community.

Prepared to play her role, Vivian
donned garters, a boned corset, combat boots, and a playful bow in
her hair. Jet black mascara bled down her cheeks. Her red eyes
snapped wide open like portals to Gehenna.

She thrust the door open with the
dominance one had come to expect from Red Widow. A conclave of
prosthetic men and women inhabited the darkness, a realm somewhere
between a perverse harem and a hospital.

Artificial hair made of braided wire
and vibrant plastic tubing dangled from their heads. Women clad in
body suits and latex surgical masks fetched drinks for the writhing
masses. Musical distortion with a high tempo and odd noises
saturated the club atmosphere.

It was Vivian’s natural domain, the
sort of environment a high-strung character like Nikolai couldn’t
set foot in without tripping a radar.

Gas mask respirators obscured the
faces of three patrons, from which hoses filtered into a glowing
hookah pipe. They expelled the fumes through nasal passages in the
masks, their eyes fogged with ecstasy.

Vivian wished she could join in their
hedonism but the task ahead surely demanded her wits be intact. She
had only carved her path halfway across the room when every eye
fell on her. Within moments, she lurched to a halt. Even the sound
of swelling bass and synthesizers abated.

Why are they looking at
me?
The burning flush that flooded her
cheeks was strong enough to peek through even the fairest
makeup.

Suddenly, the stage curtains pulled
back to reveal the evening’s entertainment: female twins conjoined
at the hip, further entangled by two straitjackets. Two pairs of
naked legs dangled pendulously from the stool, and their alabaster
skin glowed in the lacy shadows. Their rosy lips leaned toward the
microphones dangling from IV tubes.

An avalanche of voice distortion,
deranged synths, and hypersexual lyrics assaulted Vivian. Blending
electronically, the sultry voice bounced around in her
cranium.

“
Carve off my face and
replace it with latex and silicon. Make me just like all the other
prissy whores splattered on the TV screen.”

Suddenly, a man across the room
snapped into focus. Industrial blades jutted from his scalp in a
razor-sharp Mohawk. A monocle gleamed on his left eye. Clad in
black suspenders, a striped shirt, and a tie, he embodied the
quintessential butler, although Vivian suspected no ordinary
servant would operate in such a place as The Toxic Mistress—and
certainly not one with a Mohawk fashioned from blades. If those
blades didn’t poke out her eyes, surely his jutting cheekbones
would. And yet, a certain air of dignity and morbid elegance clung
to him.

Overcome with curiosity, she skipped
toward the bar.

“
Who might you be?” she
chimed, leaning her elbows on the counter. “I haven’t seen you here
before.” He looked up as a sly smile creased his thin
lips.

“
Gavin, one of the
proprietors of The Toxic Mistress. I recently enlisted with this
legion of debauched souls only several weeks ago. To whom do I owe
this luscious pleasure?”

“
Red Widow.” A crack
splintered through the glass he rammed down. He had fallen
completely still. Gavin finally lifted his eyes from the foggy
absinthe swimming in the glass.

“
So it is true,” he
murmured softly. “You look just like her.”

“
What do you mean?” She
staggered back as he excitedly lunged over the counter.

“
Don’t you recognize me,
Vivian?” The glimmering monocle didn’t ring any mental bells, nor
did the coy voice he carried with unwavering confidence. Surely she
would remember a man with blades embedded in his skull.

“
No, I’m sorry.”

“
I taught your anatomy
class before you dropped out.” Her silence spoke volumes. “I had
hair instead of blades in my head back then,” Gavin chuckled,
flicking his finger against the metal plates.

“
I suffered a horrific
accident in a local factory where our anatomical models are
produced. One of the machines exploded and shrapnel cut through my
scalp. The ambulance hauled my disfigured body to the ER, where the
surgeons managed to remove some of the shards in my chest. However,
the blades could not be removed from my brain for fear of
paralyzing or killing me. One of my friends suggested stylizing the
blades to be less… unsettling.”

“
Of course. I’m sure that
fashion statement puts all the girls at ease. So how did you
survive with blades lodged in your brain?”