The Sensation

by Amanda Bridgeman

  “I could be,” he smiled. “Not here, but one of my other clubs uses a lot of that stuff, art films and installations.”

  “Please,” Salvi sat forward in her seat, “tell me more.”

  “You should check out my club Floor to Ceiling.”

  “Floor to Ceiling?” she said. “I went there a few nights ago. You own that too?”

  He nodded. “Did you like it?”

  “Not bad,” she shrugged. “I went there with my husband. We tried to fire things up a little, did some shots on the bar,” she laughed. “We got a little pulse happening, but…”

  “But?”

  “I’ve… had racier moments.”

  “Which level did you obtain?”

  “Which level?”

  “Which floor did you drink on?”

  She shrugged. “The first floor. We wanted to try the others but couldn’t get past the doorman. Said we needed some kind of pass or membership or something.” She chuckled. “I haven’t been back. I was a little offended that I didn’t make the cut. A friend in LA recommended the place, but…” she shrugged again. “Maybe I just hit the club on the wrong night or something. I prefer this place.”

  “The first floor is for tourists,” he said. “The bars get more interesting the higher you go. The Ceiling is the place to be. That’s the point of it. It’s exclusive and you need to earn your way up the floors. Or at least have a friend on the inside that can get you there.”

  “I see,” she said, then sipped her drink again, staring at him flirtily. “And do you know anyone that could help me get to higher ground and see what all the fuss is about?”

  He smiled again, eyes shining, as he took another drink of his scotch.

  “The owner could probably get you in there,” he said smoothly.

  “Oh really?” She smiled playfully.

  “Yeah,” he said. “But it’s not for everyone. It’s exclusive for a reason. We allow people to be free up there, away from prying eyes, away from the paparazzi. It’s somewhere they can truly relax and… enjoy themselves.”

  “That sounds far from vanilla.”

  “It is.”

  “Okay... You have my interest.”

  He studied her with twinkling eyes, then finished his drink and stood. “Alright. Meet me there tomorrow at 10pm and I’ll show you the Ceiling.”

  Salvi smiled. “I can’t wait.”

  8: GOLD ON THE CEILING

  Salvi stood in the empty office tenancy with the Trident team.

  “I can’t believe you caught up so fast,” Kara said folding her arms. “I’ve been on this for months!”

  “Yeah, you went in as a dealer,” Ford said. “That takes time to build trust. Brentt has gone in as a single rich woman and potential client. It’s easier.”

  “Well, I might just see you on the Ceiling anyway,” Kara said. “These rich girls I’m in with, one of them just got her pass. Don’t ask what she did to get it.” Kara closed her eyes and shook her head with a look of disgust.

  Ford turned to Bronte. “Anything with you?”

  “I’m making friends,” he said. “One guy’s been bragging about his connections. He reckons he can get some hard shit, so we’ll see what that’s all about.”

  “This the guy that asked the woman if she’d like to take flight?” Salvi asked.

  Bronte nodded. “Strangely enough I haven’t seen her at the club since.”

  “Interesting,” Ford said. “Should we be concerned about that?”

  “You tell me,” Bronte said.

  “Well, hopefully I’ll find some answers tonight,” Salvi said. “Like who broke the trust of the Ceiling and leaked these drugs.”

  Noble nodded. “And who is out there desperately cleaning up the leak before their exclusivity is destroyed.”

  “Well,” Ford said, “Thanks to the media coverage, the last couple of nights have eased off, but I don’t know how long this will last.” She turned to Sorensen. “Any further update from Narcotics?”

  He nodded. “We’ve got the full make-up of the Fyte drugs and the compounds they contain. Fyte is part cocaine, part meth, part anabolic steroid, mixed with hormone enhancers used to boost testosterone production, along with actual doses of human testosterone. Where they’re harvesting it from, we don’t know, but it contains incredibly high inputs of each element. We’re actually surprised there haven’t been cardiac arrests from its use as yet.”

  “It’ll come,” Ford said, “the more widespread the usage gets, and certainly when the cheaper knock-offs hit the streets.” She turned to Noble, “Anything new from Cyber?”

  “Drone surveillance hasn’t turned up much, but we did pick up John Dorant near Floor to Ceiling last night.”

  “You did?” Salvi asked.

  Noble nodded. “The drone lost him, though. He went into a building and never came out, apparently. We think the disappearance was an intentional tactic to lose the drone.”

  “Any sighting of his buddy Francis Mellon?” Salvi asked.

  “No,” Noble said. “He’s apparently been working from home and staying out of sight.”

  Salvi looked at Ford. “I need to try talking to Myki Natashi again.”

  “I spoke to her. She’s not talking.”

  “You need to let me try.”

  “No, Brentt. We discussed this. You gotta stay away. Focus on Chaney.”

  “Mellon’s involved somehow,” Salvi said. “And if he’s involved, we can bet Dorant is too.”

  “Dorant has always been on our suspect list,” Sorensen said, “but he’s toward the bottom. The problem is the guy’s never had links to drugs before. Money laundering, weapons, a whole raft of shit, yes, but never drugs. The guy lost his father to the stuff and swore against it.”

  “What about the tech?”

  Noble shook his head. “No previous connection with Dorant, but I guess you never know.”

  “And he doesn’t own any clubs,” Ford said. “Restaurants, yes, but not bars or clubs.”

  “Well maybe he’s adjusting his business to suit market demand.”

  “Brentt,” Ford warned. “Chaney. He’s your goddamn focus.”

  Salvi held her hand up. “I’m on it. Tonight I’ll hit the Ceiling with him, and with a bit of luck, he’ll want to show me his basement.”

  “Test her tracker,” Ford turned to Noble. He nodded, opened his datatop and tapped away at the keys. After a moment, he turned the screen to Ford and showed her two devices were registering on his software: the chip they’d implanted in her digital nails, and the one in her powder compact.

  “Remember,” Noble said, “the device in your nail polish will constantly track you. Your compact is your emergency beacon. Open it once to turn it on and engage the tracker. Twice to raise an alarm, and thrice to turn it off. Understood?”

  “Understood,” Salvi said, studying the crushed mirror ball effect on her nails.

  “Alright,” Ford said and turned to Salvi once more. “It’s time to hit the Ceiling.”

  Salvi sat at the bar on the first floor, waiting for Chaney. She was dressed in a slinky black dress with a short flowing skirt and glowing wedge heels. She looked sexy, but she made sure she was also comfortable. She wanted to ensure her body was prepared for whatever it needed to be. If she had to move quickly, she did not want some stupid dress or stilettos hindering her movement.

  As the time marched on, she started to think he was standing her up. Then again, she figured Chaney was a guy who didn’t work normal office hours. He worked club hours. It was past eleven but that was probably only mid-morning to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said when he finally showed, slipping onto the bar stool beside her. “I had to take an urgent business call that ran longer than I expected.”

  “Is everything alright?”

  “It’s fine. I handled it. But that’s why I’m late. Now,” he said looking around, “how about we go somewhere more exciting and secluded?”

  “Sounds good to me
.”

  He led her over to where the muscled security stood before the velvet curtain. They stepped aside automatically for Chaney, pulling the curtain aside, and Salvi followed him up a flight of stairs to the second floor. As they reached the landing, she saw unusual silver cylindrical doors ahead that looked as though they might belong to an elevator. To the left was a Bio-Lume-lit doorway, which he waved briefly to as two women exited.

  “This is a quieter venue, where people can talk,” he said.

  Through the open doorway Salvi saw soft Bio-Lume lighting in all manner of shapes positioned around the room, comfy chairs, and she heard calm, chill beats in the background – in the gaps of the music from Ground Zero, that is. Where the ground floor seemed to have an intense neon pink color palette, this floor was all soft green Bio-Lume lighting.

  The door closed and Chaney tapped her on the shoulder. She looked at him and he ushered her toward the silver cylindrical doors, which he opened with the wave of his hand over the console on the wall. She was confused at first as she didn’t see anything on his wrist or in his hand, but then she realized his access chip must’ve been inside his hand. He noticed her stare.

  “You can’t get more secure than that,” he smiled.

  She gave him a nod, impressed. “No, you can’t. And you certainly would never leave your access pass behind.”

  He laughed as the silver doors parted. They stepped inside the dimly lit elevator capsule, and she watched as he hit the button for the 4th floor. The Ceiling.

  “So what happens on the third floor?” she asked.

  “The third floor has entertainment,” he glanced at her, “exotic dancers and the like.”

  “And the Ceiling?”

  He smiled. “It has a little of everything. Anything goes. If you want to stay public, we have open areas. If you want seclusion, we have that too. Oh, by the way, a warning. You’ll need to hand in all electronic devices at the door. Anonymity is guaranteed. Whatever you do up there, you won’t find yourself on the cover of some gossip magazine.”

  “I like the sound of that,” she nodded, though she wondered how Barker had been allowed to take the photos he did on the Ceiling. Had that been allowed for publicity purposes? Or was that maybe the reason he was killed?

  The capsule doors opened, and she saw a coat check facing them. They stepped out and Salvi handed over her burner phone, and allowed the woman behind the counter to check her bag. When she was done, Chaney ushered her to their right, into the Ceiling.

  As she stepped past the elevator and coat check, her eyes were immediately drawn to a giant white angel that looked over the room; its broad wings spread out behind the bar against the far wall. She paused at the sight of it. It was breathtaking.

  He smiled at her awe. “If you’ve hit the ceiling, you’ve earned your wings.”

  Salvi smiled. “I made it to heaven. Just what my parents always wanted.”

  They moved toward the bar and she glanced about surreptitiously. To their left was an open lounge with intimate round tables, so dimly lit she could barely make out the few people sitting there. Further along the wall to the left of the bar, she saw long curved couches where people lay back in each other’s arms. To their right, she saw private areas sectioned off: some were merely glass boxes where it was easy to see who was sitting inside them, others were hidden by glimmering veiled curtains. As she glanced back at the way they’d come, she saw a space of equal size on the other side of the elevator. That side held a dance floor made of white tiles that lit up in all kinds of colors and patterns, and dotted here and there were small podiums with exotic dancers of both sexes – real, robotic, and in holographic form. Behind them, the entire far end of the building appeared to be comprised of wall-to-floor screens showing an array of artsy footage from mouths sucking lollypops, to clouds moving across the sky, to flowers opening to the sun, to leather whips being cracked, to a motherboard being soldered. This must’ve been what Chaney was talking about when he said he ‘maybe’ had work for her. It was definitely something her cover, Sarah, would be right into.

  “What would you like to drink?” Chaney said, ushering her up to the bar.

  “What have you got?”

  He tapped the bar and a holographic menu appeared. She scanned it and chose a cocktail called a Ceiling Cider.

  “And how would you like it served?” he asked, motioning to the bar staff waiting. Again, they were of both sexes, some real, some robotic.

  And then she noticed two of the human variety were wearing neural tech.

  Just like that, out in the open, not trying to hide it.

  She pointed to the guy with the tech clearly on display on the sides of his shaved head. He wore simple black trousers and shoes, but was shirtless, his buff physique on display.

  “He looks interesting,” she said.

  Chaney waved him over and Salvi studied the device he wore. A silver, circular pad was pressed to his temple, and a thick, long tail curved around behind his ear, while delicate wires and pads radiated out further onto his scalp and cheekbones.

  “What does that do?” she asked.

  “Whatever you want,” Chaney said.

  “Whatever I want?”

  Chaney leaned in closer to her ear. “Some people have android fantasies. This taps into that fetish.”

  “I can see that.” Salvi nodded, eyeing his toned torso. She locked eyes with the man, and she saw he was wearing lenses that were engaged, making his eyes a metallic pale blue. She could see elements within the lenses moving but couldn’t quite tell if they were real or just a gimmick.

  “Some people like the idea of having someone who will do whatever they want them to,” Chaney added, “who will respond to their every wish and command.”

  She nodded again, staring at the bartender as he prepared her drink. He didn’t speak, just did his job, as ordered, while looking like a stunningly beautiful android, with his chiseled cheekbones and defined abs. There was almost something robotic about his movements and she wondered whether it was part of the act. Despite his beauty, however, there was something about him that didn’t sit right with her. Something that disturbed her. Something about his eyes that seemed distant. Then she realized what it was.

  He reminded her a lot of the Subjugates and Serenes of the Solme Complex.

  She noticed Chaney staring at her and flashed him a smile.

  “I’m sorry,” she laughed. “I was mesmerized by your waitstaff.”

  The bartender placed their drinks down, then moved to stand back by the bar.

  Like a good little robot.

  “It doesn’t disturb you?” Chaney asked.

  “No,” Salvi shook her head, eyeing the barman again. “I was surprised, yes, but this doesn’t disturb me. This is the freedom I speak to in my art.” She looked back at Chaney. “People shouldn’t be ashamed of being who they want to be or asking for what they want.”

  “That’s what the Ceiling is all about.”

  Salvi sipped on the metallic straw in her drink, watching as strawberries bobbed around in the bubbles.

  “Do you like?” he asked her, motioning to the drink.

  “It’s good,” she said. A little too good, she thought. She needed to drink slowly or water these down if she was going to stay upright all night. She didn’t have Bronte here to watch her back.

  “We only have the best here. It’s what the clientele demand. Best ingredients, best staff, best surroundings.” He ushered her toward the open lounge area.

  They passed a table where two attractive young men sat. They looked to be early twenties, one dark blond, the other dark-haired. The blond one raised his drink to Chaney.

  “Good evening, Lance,” he said, smiling, running his eyes quickly over Salvi, before offering her a nod of hello. She nodded back.

  “You having a good night?” Chaney asked him, as he moved past.

  “As always,” he said.

  Chaney found a table and motioned for Salvi to sit.

/>   “You must be popular with your patrons,” she said, taking the seat.

  “You could say that. We get all kinds here, but the one thing they all are is respectful.”

  “Do you ever get any unusual demands?” she asked with a cheeky smile.

  “People don’t demand here. They ask. They pay a premium membership fee, but at the end of the day they won’t get this service, this kind of space, anywhere else.” He sipped his drink and smiled. “We do have unusual patrons, but confidentiality means if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

  Salvi stared at him, a slight smile on her face, wondering just how true that was. “Wow, you really do go above and beyond for your guests.”

  She looked around and tried not to stare when she recognized the patrons entering the Ceiling. A big-time music artist sauntered along with one of the highest earning models in the world.

  “Wow,” Salvi said to Chaney. “I feel a little under par now.”

  He grinned. “Not everyone can look like her. And not everyone wants to be with her, either.”

  “I can’t see why not,” she gave a sly smile. “Even I would probably tap that.”

  Chaney laughed.

  She glanced around again, and noticed a woman pulling back the veiled curtain of a private booth and heading toward the bathroom. Salvi noticed neural devices glinting at her temples beneath her hair.

  “So how do you stay out of trouble with people openly wearing neural tech here? I mean, you have your confidentiality, but how can you be so sure?”

  “They’re not doing anything illegal,” he said and sipped his drink. “They’re wearing tech, not using it. I can’t exactly rip it off them now, can I?”

  “I guess not. So they can’t connect in here?”

  “We have connectivity on secure channels, but not for neural tech. We’d be closed down in a second.”

  “So people just like to wear it, huh?”

  He nodded. “Why the interest?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugged and sat back in her chair contemplatively. “I think that’s my one regret from before The Crash, you know. Part of the inspiration behind my work, Tech-Tronic. I tried just about everything but the neural tech. Now I’ll never get the chance.”