The Quest of the DNA Cowboys (6 page)

She lay back down on the bed and rang for her personal Hostess. Moments later an almost too pretty blonde in tight pink covers stood in the doorway.

‘You rang, Miss?’

‘I’m hungry.’

‘You’d like to be served dinner here?’

‘Screw dinner, I only just woke up. I want breakfast.’

‘Shall I dial you a breakfast menu?’

A.A. Catto sat up and shook her head.

‘No, no. I’ll have orange juice, three poached eggs, wholemeal toast and coffee.’

The girl nodded.

‘Yes, Miss.’

A.A. Catto liked to order her food directly through servants rather than dial it for herself. She knew that the only time the girl would taste any of the menu would be if she stole her leftovers. The girl turned to go, but A.A. Catto called her back.

‘Tell me, girl, did you notice that I was naked?’

The girl coloured slightly and nodded.

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘You could hardly miss the fact?’

‘No, Miss.’

‘Do you like my body, girl?’

The girl blushed more.

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘Do you think it’s a beautiful body?’

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘More beautiful than your body?’

‘I think so, Miss.’

‘Yes? Why?’

‘Because you’re one of the directorate, Miss. The directorate are the most beautiful people in the whole citadel.’

A.A. Catto smiled. This girl had been well trained.

‘Tell me girl, would you like to touch my body? Would you like to handle it, play with it?’

The girl began to look frightened.

‘I think so, Miss. I think that would be a wonderful experience.’

Her training went deep. A.A. Catto laughed.

‘Well, you won’t get the chance. Go and get my breakfast.’

The girl hurried from the room. A.A. Catto stood up and reached for her robe. As she slipped into it, she smiled to herself. She really should try to resist baiting the servants, but it did relieve a few moments of boredom. She went back to the main console and punched for information. The screen flickered into life with the image of another pink uniformed Hostess-1. This time she was a brunette.

‘Information. May I help you?’

‘What’s happening?’

‘Tonight, Miss Catto?’

‘Not next year.’

‘Tonight the Glick family are giving a formal dinner for Cynara Meltzer at 22.00.’

A.A. Catto scowled at the screen.

‘Forget that. The Glicks are tiresome, Cynara Meltzer is tiresome, and the dinner will be tiresome. What else?’

‘At 24.00 there is to be a party given by Juno Meltzer.’

A.A. Catto raised an eyebrow.

‘Yes? Do you have any information as to what attractions she’s providing?’

‘No, Miss Catto, only that they are to be a surprise.’

A.A. Catto smiled. Juno Meltzer could be exceptionally wild at times. The surprises might even be surprising.

‘Anything else?’

‘I can get you the vu-screen schedules if you require them.’

A.A. Catto shook her head.

‘If that’s all, don’t bother.’

‘There is one thing, Miss Catto.’

‘What?’

‘I’m instructed to remind all callers that there is a full meeting of the directorate at 10.00 tomorrow.’

‘Yeah sure, you reminded me.’

She snapped off the screen, and wandered idly to the entrance of the balcony. It was almost dark outside, and the perspex blister gave a distorted reflection of herself and the lighted room.

There was a hiss behind her as the door slid open, and her Hostess-1 came in with the breakfast tray. She hesitated inside the doorway.

‘Would you like it here or in bed, Miss?’

‘Oh, I’ll go back to bed.’

The Hostess-1 nodded.

‘Yes, Miss.’

She carried the tray through into A.A. Catto’s bedroom, and A.A. Catto followed. She picked up the glass of orange juice and curled up on the bed.

‘Run my bath.’

‘Yes, Miss.’

‘And then come back to attend me. You can help me bath, it’ll be another chance for you to look at my body. You might even get the chance to touch it.’

‘Thank you, Miss.’

A.A. Catto laughed.

‘You’re very well trained.’

‘Miss?’

‘Never mind, attend to the bath.’

The girl disappeared into the bathroom, and A A. Catto pushed a finger of toast into one of the eggs. The problem that remained was what to wear to Juno Meltzer’s party.

She finished toying with breakfast, and lit a cigarette. It was one of her personal blend, a lovingly reproduced mixture of Turkish tobacco and ground Nepalese hashish. As she smoked it, she reflected on the time and trouble it must have taken to obtain the contents of the cigarette. She flicked the ash over the remains of the meal. A.A. Catto took a primitive delight in spoiling food.

The Hostess-1 returned to tell her that the bath was ready, and A.A. Catto crossed the bedroom, slipped out of her robe and stepped into the sunken tub.

After she was dry again and the Hostess-1 had massaged her and done her hair, she asked for the peacock cape outfit to be laid out. She had had it hand made from an archaic print that she had discovered one bored afternoon in the directorate library. She had added some modifications of her own, and it seemed suitably perverse for Juno Meltzer’s party.

For a while she sat naked in front of the pink glass mirror, studying her face and body. It pleased her to think how many of the sub-class women in the citadel took their idea of beauty from her vid-lounge image.

She had herself made-up, and then stood up so the Hostess-1 could perfume and dress her. Once finally dressed, she turned.

‘What time is it?’

‘23.35, Miss.’

‘Damn, that means I have an hour to kill, I can’t possibly turn up on time. Switch the screen to an entertainment channel.’

The girl hurried to the console, punched buttons, and a bloody battle with tanks and infantry sprang into roaring life. Four men crouched behind a rock were incinerated by a burst of flame that lashed from the turret of a tank.

‘Change the channel.’

A dozen or more couples writhed and squirmed in a tank of black oily liquid, to a background of electronic music.

‘God no, try another.’

A comedian appeared, going through some sort of rapid-fire patter.

‘Forget the channels.’

‘What would you like, Miss?’

‘A fast burst of 91 k.’

After the quick, pleasant radiation bath, she dismissed the girl and, careful not to crush her dress and cape, she sat for half an hour watching an ancient movie. Then she shut down the console and picked up the box that held her injectors. She gently pulled up her long black skirt and pressed the one marked altacaine against her thigh, and gasped with pleasure as the first rush of the drug rocketed round her system. She pressed the button twice more. That would see her flying for at least twenty hours.

She was ready for the party.

They stood in the main street of Dogbreath and looked at each other.

‘How the fuck was I supposed to know they didn’t take Pleasant Gap money?’

The Minstrel Boy mimicked Billy.

‘How the fuck was I supposed to know? How the fuck are you supposed to know anything? Oh yes, I’ve got some money, let’s have a drink, and you pull out that funny money and we get the bum’s rush.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘No, you never fucking know.’

‘Okay, okay. You made the point, what do we do now?’

‘What do we do now? Nothing, man! We’re fucking broke! We can’t get a room, we can’t get a meal and we can’t get a drink. We can’t even get the stage out of here.’

Billy and Reave fell silent. There didn’t seem to be anything they could say. A drunk staggered out of the saloon, across the boardwalk and collapsed in the shadows. The Minstrel Boy grinned.

‘I think we just fell on our feet.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. Follow me.’

The Minstrel Boy crossed to where the drunk was lying mumbling to himself, and crouched beside him. He started to go through his pockets. Reave looked at him in surprise.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Rolling a drunk, what do you think? Quick, come and help me.’

Billy and Reave knelt down beside the drunk. The Minstrel Boy gestured impatiently.

‘Quick, go through his boots.’

They both pulled off a boot each, turned them upside down and shook them. The drunk protested feebly and then started giggling. A small package fell out. The Minstrel Boy leaned across and grabbed it.

‘What’s this?’

He unwrapped it.

‘Fucking lucky day. Good quality heroin. We’re doing all right, boys. Hundred and ten in coin, and about an ounce of smack in his boot. We can live with class for the next couple of days.’

They stood up and moved away from the drunk who was now snoring. Reave and Billy looked at the Minstrel Boy.

‘What happens now?’

‘Well, it’d be good to keep the scag and have ourselves a time, but we can’t afford it. We’ll take it down to the store and see what they’ll give us for it.’

‘Won’t they want to know where we got it from?’

‘Nah, they won’t give two fucks. The only law and order in this town is dedicated to protect the mayor’s interests and the police chief’s interests. It doesn’t extend to drunks on the street.’

They hurried down to the store. A small furtive man gave them a thousand in coin on the heroin, and they went off laughing. They avoided the saloon they’d been thrown out of, and in front of one of the others, the Minstrel Boy divided up the money.

‘Remember to save at least a hundred for the stage, or we’ll never get out of here.’

They pushed their way into the saloon. It was almost identical to the one they’d been thrown out of. This time they made their way through to the bar, ordered drinks with a flourish, and paid in coin. The beers tasted good. The raw spirit that followed tasted even better.

A trio of girls walked past their table, pretending not to notice them. One of them, a tall black girl in shorts and halter of a metallic purple material, let her thigh brush against Reave’s hand for a moment, before walking away with an exaggerated sway of her hips.

Reave began to get up to follow her, but the Minstrel Boy put a restraining hand on his arm.

‘Hold on, man. Before you start having yourself a party, we ought to get ourselves a room at the hotel.’

Reave scowled.

‘You sound like my mother.’

‘You boys need a fucking mother, the way you handle things.’

Reave sat down again.

‘Yeah okay, you told us already.’

They finished their beers, left the saloon and made their way down the street to the Leon Trotsky Hotel. It looked dim and deserted in comparison with the bustle of the saloons. Billy pushed open the door. Reave and the Minstrel Boy followed him into a dim foyer. The hotel smelled of dirt and decay, and their boots echoed in the hollow silence.

The only light was a small yellow bulb above the dusty reception desk, and as their eyes got used to the darkness they saw that the only furniture was two beat-up sofas and an aspidistra that drooped sadly in its pot. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust that looked like it hadn’t been disturbed for centuries.

‘Can I help you, gentlemen?’

The three of them started and turned to see that a figure had emerged from a bead-hung doorway behind the reception desk.

‘We’re looking for some rooms.’

He was a small man with narrow shoulders and a pot belly. His large, pale, watery eyes watched from rimless glasses. His skin was a sallow olive colour, and he wore a dirty white suit, a rumpled black shirt and thin white tie. On top of his limp black hair he wore a dark red fez. He smiled ingratiatingly and rubbed his hands together. ‘Three?’

Billy nodded.

‘How long do you want them for?’

Billy looked at the other two.

‘How long do we want to stay here?’

The Minstrel Boy glanced at the man.

‘When does the next stage leave town?’

The little man consulted a yellowing timetable.

‘Tomorrow, at midnight.’

‘What time is it now?’

‘Just after eleven.’

‘Night or morning?’

‘Night.’

‘So we’ve got to wait twenty-five hours?’

‘That’s right.’

‘That’s how long we’ll be staying.’

‘That’ll be twenty each. In advance.’

They all tossed coins on to the counter, and the little man scooped them up.

‘My name’s Mohammed. I’m your host.’

He picked three keys off a board behind him.

‘If you follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms.’

He came out from behind the desk and led them towards a flight of stairs that wound up towards pitch-dark upper floors. At the foot of them he stopped and turned on another dim yellow bulb on the first landing. A fat black cat that had been asleep on the third step raced past them and out of sight under one of the sofas.

They followed him up the first flight of stairs and along the landing. At the foot of the second flight he stopped, turned on another light, again dim and yellow, up on the second floor.

They went up four flights in this fashion. Stairs, landing, stop, click, and up again. On the fourth floor, Mohammed stopped and unlocked a door to a room. Billy let himself be ushered inside. He dropped his bag on the floor and Mohammed turned on the light.

‘You like?’

‘Uh … yeah.’

Mohammed slid out of the door and went to unlock the next two rooms for Reave and the Minstrel Boy.

Billy looked round the room. The kindest thing you could say about it was that it was minimal. Mohammed’s slow burning light bulb shed its sickly glow over a plain iron single bed with two grey blankets and a slightly less grey sheet. On the floor was a yard square strip of worn carpet. There was a chipped washstand and a wooden chair, and that was it, apart from a small sepia photograph of a camel that hung above the bed in a black frame.

Billy kicked his bag under the bed, and walked down to the next room. The Minstrel Boy was looking out of the window. Billy sat down on the bed.

‘Some hotel.’

‘I’ve been in better jails.’

‘Are we going out?’