Served With a Twist

by Jet Lupin

  Once a second home to him, Hole was like a foreign land. He had to figure out how things worked all over again.

  Hole had always been the most popular bar on this side of Izanami, but it had never been as packed as it was these days. Cut had never had to push through customers crammed in the standing areas in the way he did now, all jockeying to talk to the bartenders, though they talked to each other occasionally. It was great! It was suffocating. It was almost like riding public transport, which Cut hadn’t had to suffer through in weeks. Being reminded of it was most unpleasant.

  He used to be able to man the place himself. It was so loud now, and there was an ass in every seat with a few extra standing near the counter. And every single one of them expected interactions not from each other, but the staff. Now it took no less than 3 workers. He left the bar more drained faster than he remembered. Of course, in the pre-curfew days, he’d occupied himself by waiting for Samson to show.

  Having seen him so much outside of this place rendered the bar a relic. Cut picked up hours on days he knew Samson would be preoccupied by important dinners, or on the rare occasion, resting. He was still running himself ragged, trying to overbook, but since their spanking session, Samson’s tension was at an all-time low. If only all problems were so easily solved.

  This night, Cut pulled one of the short stools they kept behind the counter into a corner, and sat, keeping his pod close to his chest.

  As he’d surfed the net before he fell asleep, he’d found a collar that would suit Samson perfectly. He had no idea if Samson was interested in such a thing at all, but Cut thought it better to have it and not need it, than the other way around. He wanted to order it then, but his paycheck was due to hit his account in the morning. He’d had to wait.

  His day had been busy, so he hadn’t been able to find time before now. He brought up the page and looked it over again. It was made of leather, with the options for the color, and if you so chose, you could add fine details like textures, and decorative facets. There was also the option of adding a little tag, with a custom shape, that could be engraved with an inscription or a letter. He’d thought about the different combinations all day, but he’d finally found the perfect one. The craftsman, who lived somewhere outside of Izanami, offered a variety of shipping options. Cut chose the one that was neither too slow nor too expensive. The estimated time was a month and a half which included manufacturing and shipping, but it’d be worth the wait.

  He’d offer it to Samson, for how could he not? It was perfect for him; would look perfect on him. If he refused it, then that would be the end of it. The stress leading up to this purchase made Cut want to have a spanking session of his own.

  A pair of customers preparing to leave drew his attention. He put his pod away and rose to see them off. They tapped their pods to the bit of hardware affixed to Cut’s wrist to settle up. That was new too. No longer did they need to fuss with 4data pads or prices for custom drinks. All drinks had a base cost, and there was a flat fee for seating. If they got food, you hit the button for that as well.

  Their dues went to the house, anything leftover went to Cut, and they were both very generous. Before the curfew, those tips would have had Cut dancing behind the bar. He still liked what they said about his service—but now… This was barely enough to top up his bike. He still gave them what they came for, thanked them because he really was grateful, and sent them on their way.

  A new set of faces quickly replaced them. One was Herschel who, Cut was surprised was still allowed in here, and someone whose face was vaguely familiar. He didn’t know many older men, and nothing came to him when he tried to conjure up a name. Cut didn’t have the time to figure out where from; he had a job to do. At least he wasn’t hard on the eyes, unlike his seat mate.

  “Welcome to Hole, where the drink and company are better than the name implies. What can I get you?”

  “You know what I get,” Herschel mumbled, already losing himself in a bowl of pretzels.

  Cut gritted his teeth. “Friend, I haven’t seen you in almost two months. You’ll have to refresh my memory.”

  The older man cut in, still glancing over the menu. “I’ll have a gin and jam. Can you make that?”

  A sweet tooth, huh? Cut made it moderately sweet and see how he handled it.

  “I’m certainly going to give it a shot. Let me check our cookbook.” After a quick search, Cut assembled the ingredients. “For your jam options, we’ve got blueberry, raspberry, and apricot marmalade. Not exactly jam, but close enough for our purposes.”

  “Dealer’s choice.”

  “Apricot it is.” Cut put the other jars away and prepared the drink.

  “Let me get a whiskey. Neat.” Herschel chimed in, reminding Cut of his presence. He was going to have to wait.

  Cut set the cocktail in front of the older man. He tilted the glass, inspecting the contents. He took a sip, letting it sit in his mouth for a moment. “This is very good.”

  “Of course. You don’t have to sound so surprised.” Cut gave him a wink. “I told you the drinks were good.” He wiped up the small mess he’d made with a towel, and moved the supplies out of sight.

  The man chuckled. “Now I understand why so many people come here instead of the automated bars. There’s no character. I also see why my son comes here. Is this the kind of service you give him?”

  Cut was only half listening as he got a glass and bottle for Herschel’s whiskey. “I’d have to know who your son is before I could say, mister…”

  “Ba. Ramzan. And I know who you are, Kotaro Jones. Though I’ve heard you prefer ‘Cut.’ Is that right?”

  The hairs on the back of Cut’s neck stood up and he slammed Herschel’s order down hard enough for whiskey to leap out of the glass and onto the counter. Cut had only seen him from a distance, and he’d been wearing glasses then. Rami definitely favored his father more than Samson. They had that same lean build, and complexion. All three Ba men shared the same thick head of hair however. Hopefully the elder Ba wasn’t as much of a creep.

  He and Samson hadn’t discussed what to do in such a situation, not that either of them had seen this coming. Did he confess? Deny it? The elder Ba hadn’t made any accusations yet. Cut kept his mouth shut.

  “Let me save us both some time.” The elder Ba paused to sip his drink. “Hmm. My associate here has been keeping an eye on my son for months on my behalf. I know he used to come here nearly every night where he sat at this very bar making eyes at you. I also know that you started working on at his company not too long ago. Around the time his visits stopped. That’s too tidy to be a coincidence.”

  Herschel hid behind his glass, a makeshift shield from Cut’s rage. He’d been sitting here pretending to be a wastrel, a busybody without friends or anyone who cared about him. Cut had felt a little bad for him on occasion. But, he’d been watching them and reporting back to this man for months? How much did he know?

  Cut’s vision blurred with anger. He gripped the counter, the only thing keeping him from wringing Herschel’s neck.

  They’d only known each other for minutes, but he’d taken his measure of Ramzan. He was smug, arrogant. He struck Cut as someone who’d do anything to achieve his goals. He’d use any means to bring Samson in line.

  Ramzan snapped his fingers, trying to reclaim Cut’s attention. “I don’t know what sort of deal you might have struck with my son, but it ends today. You distance yourself from my son, and I’ll pay you enough to keep you astride until you find other employment, away from Deyaa and away from here.”

  He was throwing a lot at Cut leaving him no room to think. There wasn’t enough money in the whole of the multi-celestial government to make Cut abandon Samson. This man proposed the unthinkable! Madness! And the insinuation that Cut was so cheap that he could be bought was incredibly insulting.

  Ramzan smirked, clearly taking pleasure in Cut’s squirming. “Or, you don’t have to leave.”

  Cut ha
d to know.

  “How?”

  Ramzan beckoned him, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You stay on at the company, but you’ll really be working for me.”

  “How?”

  “You send me files as I request them. I’m not sure which yet, but I’ll tell you when the time comes. They won’t be anything someone in your position shouldn’t have access to.”

  Outright betrayal then. He really thought so little of Cut. What sorts of things had Herschel been feeding him? Though, this was probably how he treated people he saw as beneath him. He didn’t think much better of Samson.

  “Why would I do a thing like that?”

  Ramzan leaned back, bloated with arrogance. “Money. I find it bridges all gaps in communication. You’ll get more for this than if you left.” He drained the last of his drink and licked traces of jam off his lips. “I know your past. In the last 10 years, you’ve been on three colonies and a freighter. I’m impressed. My sons only leave my side when I make them. You strike me as someone who doesn’t settle. You have dreams, yes? You’re thinking of the next move to make before you’ve dealt with the repercussions of the last one. With the money you’ll receive for this job, you can see a lot of plans through.”

  And if he found out that Cut cared more for his son than money? More than moving on alone? That might have been Cut’s MO before, but no longer. Plans? All the ones he made now had Samson in them.

  But there was no telling Ramzan that. Not here, and likely not ever. “This is a lot. Let me think on it. Give me your card.”

  Ramzan flashed a greasy smile. “I know this isn’t a decision made lightly.” He slid his barcode card across the counter. “But don’t make me wait too long.” Cut plucked up the card and held it between two of his fingers. It was the same as the one he’d gotten from the drug dealer weeks ago. The same as anyone’s.

  “What if I don’t do either?” Cut met him with a level gaze. He kept his face neutral, but inside, he was all fury and cunning, weighing his options. Ramzan seemed to know that.

  “It’s better not to speak on such distasteful things that won’t come to pass. It’s a waste of time.” He tapped on the counter. “Come. Let me settle up and leave you with your thoughts.”

  Cut presented his forearm and Ramzan tapped his pod to Cut’s bracelet. He was out of his seat before the transaction finished. 20 ICD for the custom cocktail, plus 5 for the new sitting fee, and… Cut’s account was credited with a thousand ICD.

  Cut stared after him, annoyed. If he thought flashing some cash would tip things in his favor, he had another thing coming.

  Using your pod while you were working behind the counter, in plain view of customers was prohibited, usually, but Priya had to make an exception in this case. He pulled it out and snapped Herschel’s pic, leaving the man blinking in the wake of the flash.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Making you persona non grata.” He sounded the words out as he typed them to be sure he spelled them correctly and sent the message to Priya.

  Herschel sputtered, hands flat on the corner as he stood up, drawing the attention of other customers. “I’m just trying to live! You know what that’s like. I was doing my job!”

  “And I’m doing mine,” Cut fired back. “This is a place for people to unwind and enjoy being around people. We can’t have someone like you ruining that for everyone. You don’t shit where you eat.”

  Priya got back to him, asking for more details and Cut delivered. In a flurry of thumb strokes, he told her about Herschel’s status as a PI, how he stalked another patron though he left off the name.

  Code Red’s active.

  Cut’s lips turned in a cruel grin.

  Herschel’s pod started beeping, loud and obnoxious, as if he’d never heard of silencing the damn thing. Suddenly, the beeping stopped a simulated voice intoned “Herschel Berkowitz. You have 90 seconds to vacate the premises, or Izanami's security strike force will be called to remove you.”

  Herschel glared daggers at Cut as he pushed away from the counter.

  “You’re burned. I hope it was worth it.”

  He shuffled out the door, his dirty coat brushing against other customers on the way. He hadn’t paid, not wanting to get close to Cut. Another strike against him as well. Cut hoped that was the last time he’d have the displeasure of seeing him.

  Chapter 15

  “C

  an I see your place?”

  Cut looked up from his sandwich, mustard and crumbs clinging to his mustache. He quickly wiped it clean. “My place? Like, my apartment?”

  Samson looked down, the light in his eyes abruptly quenched. He turned over a few leaves of his salad with his fork. “Should I not have asked?”

  Honestly, Cut hadn’t been listening and now he had to think about it. Since Ramzan confronted him at the bar days before, he had trouble concentrating on anything but the encounter. Ramzan’s words haunted him. Either Cut gave in to his demands or something bad happened to him. He hadn’t changed his mind, wouldn’t. But he had to process this.

  Why was he risking his life for this man?

  Cut liked Samson. He was intelligent, kind, and gorgeous. He could also be soft and hesitant. He’d shown he could stand up for himself when he had to, and could hold his own, but it was those soft parts that needed protecting, and Cut definitely felt protective of him.

  Cut was willing to accept that his feelings were one-sided. He knew Samson liked him well enough, but also saw him as a means to an end. They could have continued on that way, if not for the information Ramzan dropped in his lap.

  Samson had been coming to the bar to see him.

  Him!

  Cut barely believed he’d heard it, but it stood out, a bright, shining point amongst all the slime Ramzan had thrown his way. The possibility excited him, except… Samson hadn’t confessed any such feelings himself.

  Maybe Herschel had interpreted something wrong or Ramzan was voicing a fear he held. Whatever the case was, it wasn’t worth approaching Samson with right now.

  “No, it’s fine. You can come over. What made you ask now?”

  “I’ve always been interested, and you’ve been over to my place a couple of times now, so I figured…” It was only fair.

  They wanted to keep things separate in the beginning. That’s why they’d gone to such lengths as meeting at a hotel, using aliases. Why had it been so important? Since then, Samson had let Cut into his home, his secrets. Cut not sharing a bit of himself was ridiculous at this point, especially something as trivial as seeing his apartment.

  “Tonight’s no good, but maybe tomorrow after work? Give me a chance to clean up. You could stay over, if you want.”

  That brought the fire back to Samson’s eyes. Seeing the big man giddy made Cut’s chest warm and tight. His arms itched to hold Samson, which was definitely not work appropriate. “I’ll make us dinner,” Samson said. “Any ideas of what you’d want to eat?”

  Samson, not only in his house, but cooking him dinner? This was all more domestic than he was used to, but he was with it.

  “I’m sure anything you make will be great.” How could it be anything else?

  Cut went out after work and bought new bed sheets, and cleaned the place from top to bottom. The shelves were made neat and tidy, not a book or data pad out of place. His clothes were all neatly folded and out of sight. He fell into bed after 0300. Exhausted, but he’d done all he could. Yet he felt it was missing something. It always did, even before he started consorting with the wealthy.

  Nothing he had ever felt good enough, because it never was.

  Dreams drove Cut far from home. The stars were full of opportunity. The sky was the limit on Earth, but in space there was no sky. You could go as far as you wanted, or that was what they sold him. He longed to own something brand new, that wasn’t someone’s discards. He hoped that once he struck out on his own, he could make that happen, and he did, to a sma
ll degree. Nothing he bought ever lived up to his expectations. He was always chasing newer, shinier, better. He replaced worn items as he could afford to do so, though it was never fast enough. His living quarters were lacking in many ways. Now he was afraid it wasn’t good enough for Samson, either.

  Those four hours he’d slept felt like more than enough. To stave off any fatigue, he had more coffee than was probably healthy for him. It kept his energy up, when there wasn’t much else to keep him busy. It helped the day went by in a blur, but by the end of it, he crashed. He sat at his desk just outside Samson’s office, waiting for him to finish up some paperwork, his chin dipping down towards his chest. When something stirred at the corner of his right eye, he snapped his head up, sucking up any drool that might have run from his mouth. He concentrated until the scene came into focus on a belt buckle. Samson crouched on the other side of his desk until they were almost eye to eye. “You look rough… We can reschedule for another day.”

  Had anyone else been there, Cut would have discouraged him from being so familiar, but at this point, discretion was just a formality.

  No one in the office had hinted at suspicions about their relationship outside the office, but it was clear to anyone who cared to look: the friendly matter that they spoke to each other, the looks, the inside jokes. He was his assistant, but Cut admitted that their dealings with each other were very affectionate, no matter how he tried to stay professional. Keeping things strictly professional between them was like trying to sift sand out of a desert, but it helped that Samson didn’t enforce a strict policy when it came to interoffice fraternization.

  “No, I’m fine.” Cut pushed himself up, sat up straighter. “S’alright if I ride with you? I left my bike home today. I figured it made sense for us to ride over together.” That, and he hadn’t trusted himself to drive safely on so little sleep.

  Samson straightened, stretched his legs a bit. “The car’s already waiting.”