I headed up the creaking staircase. Out into the warmth of the small lobby. Except for the circular-patterned, colourless mosaic floor, this was a mirror image of my own apartment building. Through the glass doors, I could see that the rain had eased a little. It had got considerably darker in the short minutes I was in the basement.
I pulled my collar up and pushed through the doors. Outside was a shallow porch area. I stood there and opened the umbrella. With it over my head, the cops wouldn’t stand a chance of recognising me. They had no reason to suspect anyone coming out of the building next to mine.
They were unlikely to spot my face if I glanced back at them, as I felt compelled to do, but it would be unwise. I crossed the street and walked away from the patrol car to the end of the block. The glistening streets were nearly empty. I could probably count on my fingers the number of people in sight. But that’s how Harem always was. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was because there wasn’t anywhere to go.
As I pushed into the rain, which was slowly beginning to push back, a cab pulled up at the next corner. An elderly couple eventually manoeuvred themselves out onto the street. I gestured to the driver to wait for me. He nodded and switched his light back off.
‘Get my brolly, Raymond,’ the old woman said as she tried to fend off the raindrops with her hand.
‘You didn’t bring the damn thing,’ the man said after a deflated look at the driver. ‘I told you six times. “You’ll need your brolly”, I said. But you never listen.’
The old woman rolled her eyes and shook her head at the clouds.
‘Take mine,’ I said. Handed her the umbrella and climbed into the cab. I’d have to owe Mr. Apartment Three a new umbrella. I had bigger things on my mind. ‘Club Web,’ I told the driver. I wanted to add ‘And step on it’. But I wasn’t an idiot.
As we pulled away, the old woman was still staring at the umbrella as though I’d handed her a jar of pickles.
I thought I heard a rumble behind the cab’s humming engine. A few seconds later, what I presumed to be a second flash confirmed it. The weather was getting worse every day. I leaned close to the window. The buildings blocked my view, but now and then I caught a glimpse of black cloud pushing aside the grey.
Club Web wasn’t far away. Through the quiet streets, we got there in just a few minutes. I told the driver to pull up across the street. It was the diner opposite the club that I had my sights on for the moment. Couldn’t think on an empty stomach.
As the cab pulled away, I ignored the rain for a time while I stared at Webster’s premier club. I’d always wondered why a man with pockets as deep as Cole Webster’s would stay in a place like Harem. Whatever he was up to at the mine was the answer. And it wasn’t mining. Like I’d told DeMartino and Lawrence, I suspected it was human trafficking. We were so far away from Orion that the Terran Council was happy to forget we existed. The UPSF would usually deal with that kind of thing, but they didn’t care either. Out of sight, out of mind. And yet DeMartino was here.
The rain got in through the slash in my coat and seeped through my suit. I could have ignored that. Without the umbrella, though, it ran down my neck. I didn’t like that. Something about the cold trickling on the back of my neck annoyed me. Like it was intruding on my privacy. What right did it have running down my neck and going inside my clothing?
I turned and pushed through the grimy glass door of the diner. Some kind of infrared thing above the entrance dried my coat as I passed under it. Left just that patch under the slash. I was pretty sure it was infrared, anyway. I never took much notice of these things. If it worked, it worked.
Two of the diner’s three occupants glanced at me as I crossed to the counter. Two older men discussing the weather. One girl in her twenties, staring out the window. She didn’t look. Probably whiling away the time until The Web opened again.
The waitress slowly made her way from the end of the counter towards me. I’d watched an old film a few weeks ago. Really old. In it, the hero walked into a diner like this. I’d swear this was the same waitress. After all these hundreds of years, didn’t diner waitresses feel the need for a change of appearance? Too much makeup; especially the blusher. Chewing gum with her mouth wide open for me to see the mangled bit of pink rubber. And to match the gum, a pale pink frock with a big white pocket at the front for her notepad.
‘Yeah?’ It wasn’t the same waitress. In the film, she’d looked unfriendly, but when she opened her mouth what came out was something like “what can I get ya, hun?” She’d had the air of being easy and sweet on just about every man who came in the place. Probably why it had been full. Probably why this one was nearly empty.
‘Coffee and breakfast. Please.’ I’d weighed up the choices. Decided matching her attitude and getting her spit in my food wasn’t worth it.
She called into the back. Then filled a mug from the synthesiser behind her. I didn’t know what breakfast was in this place, but it was unlikely to be much different to anywhere else. As long as it was still being served this near to dinnertime and I could eat it, minus the tomato, then it was good enough.
I told the woman I’d be at a table. She informed me that it was a pretty small diner. She’d probably find me easy enough. I opened my mouth. Thought about seeing that pale pink rubber under my bacon. Closed it.
I took the booth between the two men and the girl. The green plastic cover on the bench squeaked as I slid over to the window. The rain was driving so hard and fast against the glass that it didn’t have time to sit in drops and obscure my view. I could see almost perfectly across the street.
The front of the club was mirror glass. Above the concave doors, the shiny black sign bore the name ‘The Web’ in searing blue lettering. At night, when the club was open, there was a forcefield just above that sign to keep the waiting line dry. Except Fridays. Friday was wet T-shirt night anyway, so what was the point?
I wondered what black secrets hid in the depths of that bright, shiny place. Perhaps none. I didn’t know if Webster even had an office there, or if he’d be stupid enough to leave anything incriminating in it if he did.
The coffee was awful. The breakfast, when it eventually came, was mostly burnt and entirely cold. But it did have bacon. Who knew if it was real bacon? It could be synthesised. It could be imported from somewhere. It could be the ass of some alien horse. But it tasted good. I stared at the club for a few minutes while I wondered if I’d ever actually tasted real bacon in my life. If this pinky brown stuff I was shovelling into my mouth wasn’t real bacon, did it taste like it? Perhaps what I thought was bacon really tasted like beef. Maybe beef tasted like bacon. Maybe I should think about something more important.
I avoided the eggs, which looked like a mix of snot and vomit. I nearly left then. But even with such pressing issues on my mind as my imminent execution if I didn’t get to work and find something soon, I decided I needed more coffee. Even if it was awful. I gestured to the waitress. She rolled her eyes.
I searched my pockets. Thought for a second I’d left the bouncer’s cigarettes behind. I found the crumpled packet eventually. It had shifted in my coat pocket underneath an old, musty smelling handkerchief. I pulled out an equally crumpled cigarette and stuck it between my lips. I still had no lighter.
‘No.’ The waitress said as she arrived at my table.
‘No what?’ She filled my mug back up.
‘No I don’t got a light, and no you can’t smoke in here.’
I rolled the paper stick around my mouth while I listened to her saunter away. At least I could taste some of the tobacco. Or could I? Maybe the stuff in my cigarette tasted like bacon.
‘Are you gonna order somethin’?’
I thought the pink-encased witch was talking to me again. I pulled the cigarette out of my mouth and turned to charm her with my winning personality. But she wasn’t talking to me.
‘I don’t—’ the girl behind me started.
‘You can’t sit here all day and not order nothin
’.’ This woman had something against Gs. And manners.
I heard a squeak as the girl slid out of the booth. There were a few ticks interspersed with some tocks as she walked past. I glanced at her feet. She wore mismatched shoes. One had a slight heel, the other was flat. Both were dirty. She wore a trench coat not unlike mine. It was too big. She held it tight around her and kept turning her head this way and that as though she had a million credits in the lining. Her dark red hair looked like it hadn’t been washed for a month and running down from it, just behind her ear, a thin scar disappeared behind the coat’s collar. Looked fresh. Maybe a week old.
The girl was clearly homeless. About twenty and homeless. Someone who couldn’t afford to live in Harem wasn’t just down on their luck. They were buried under it.
Outside, she turned and walked back past the window. As she drew level, she looked in at me. Held her pretty, hazel-eyed gaze until she was past. Maybe I should have bought her a coffee and some food.
I drained my mug and left enough credit chips to cover it all. As I pulled the door open, I heard the waitress sigh. Poor woman had to walk all the way around the counter to get my money. How thoughtless of me.
I crossed the street to a backdrop of thunder. I had no plan, but I couldn’t sit in a diner all evening. I pushed the door of The Web. It opened. Another infrared thing above the door dried me again. It was warm inside. Much warmer than the diner. In fact with my nerves, and my blood pumping extra hard, it was too warm. The carpet under my shoes was pleasant to walk on.
A youngish man worked behind the bar. No one else was in sight. The club was pretty dark, with only the bar brightly lit. The high ceiling couldn’t be seen for all the spotlights and holo-emitters. When they were switched on, the effect was hypnotic and drug-like.
There were a few tables up here on the raised platform that ran around three of the walls. But the focus of the place was the big circular dance floor in the middle. Here and there, small podiums jutted up from the floor to make mini stages for the more confident patrons. Or tripping hazards for the fools like me who should be at home with a mug of cocoa.
Hanging over the bar was Webster’s office. I hadn’t seen it last night, thanks to the lights. It only stretched about as far along the wall as the bar itself and jutted out about twenty feet. All three outside walls were glass. I could see a desk, also glass, and a chair. There didn’t seem to be anyone inside. The problem was getting in there myself. I couldn’t use my badge to get in because the barman would alert Webster and he’d catch on in a second.
I went down the few steps to the dance floor and crossed to the bar. I couldn’t see any bouncers around, but the barman looked like he could double as one if necessary.
‘Whiskey,’ I said when I arrived.
‘We’re out,’ he told me. ‘Got a delivery coming in later. For now we got Ordassi wine. Pretty much the same.’
I nodded. Ordassi. That was some breed of alien. I didn’t know humans could drink alien booze. I also didn’t know how wine could be ‘pretty much the same’ as whiskey. He came back with a tall, thin glass full of bright blue liquid. I looked at him.
‘Enjoy.’ He smirked and returned to organising glasses.
I considered the possibility that he knew who I was and had poured me a glass of poison. I sniffed the stuff. It had a sharp smell. Nothing I could identify. I took a sip. Winced. It was a good wince. The kind of wince I did when I tasted a good whiskey or brandy or similar. A real one, not a synthed one. He was right: it was pretty similar to whiskey. Had a slight fruity tang. Didn’t know what fruit. Presumably an alien one I’d never seen or tasted before.
A cough from the end of the bar startled me. I nearly dropped my glass. I was more jumpy than I’d realised. An old man sat right in the corner, leaning against the wall. He was staring at me. There was no reason to think he knew who I was, but I found myself more paranoid today than usual.
His grey beard was stained brown down the middle. He probably spent most of his days caressing pint glasses just like the one he now held with both hands.
‘Another, Frank?’ The barman knew what the cough meant without looking. Frank grunted.
I rummaged in my pocket for the cigarette. Tried my luck again. There was no smoking in the club during proper business hours, but at this time, the barman didn’t have a problem with it. He even lit it for me with a shiny silver W. It looked pretty tacky to me. Didn’t know why they even had a lighter in a no smoking bar. But it lit my cigarette, so I didn’t care.
I took my time with the drink and the smoke. Tried to think of a plan. I had to get up to that office. The barman wouldn’t just smile and wave as I wandered through the staff only door.
I blew grey clouds at the blistering spotlight pointing down at me from the underside of the office. They probably used hot burning lights so people would buy more drinks. It worked on me. I ordered another alien whiskey. Wine seemed a stupid name for it even if it was made from fruit.
As far as I could tell, I had only a handful of options. I could knock out the barman, assuming he didn’t know kung fu or some shit. I could try to get him talking and, being the friendly gentleman that I was, buy him drink after drink until he needed the bathroom. Then sneak upstairs. Or I could offer to buy the drunk in the corner all the booze he could carry if he helped me out.
Option one was just plain stupid. Option two was even more stupid, especially considering I wasn’t the most likeable of people. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him anyway.
Of course, I could always wait around until the place filled up and then try to get through the door while the barman had a lot of scantily dressed girls demanding drinks from him. But there was no telling what would change then. Webster himself might drop by. Judging by how fast the bouncer got to me last night, I’d guess there was security on the door, or just behind it, when the club got busy. Besides, I didn’t have the time to hang around.
The door to the men’s room was just behind the drunk. I drained my glass and then headed in to drain my bladder. As I washed my hands, I looked around for anything here that might help me. An easily accessible air duct leading from here to the staircase behind the staff door would have been nice. Unsurprisingly, I was disappointed.
When I came back out, the barman had his back to me and the drunk.
‘Hey, Frank,’ I whispered. It made him jump, but I ignored that. ‘What would it take for you to take this guy’s eyes off me for a few minutes?’
Frank turned slowly to look up at me. His eyes were narrowed. He was suspicious. I thought for a moment I’d made a mistake. Then he turned again and pointed to the top shelf behind the bar. There sat a fat brown bottle with a fancy gold-edged label. I didn’t know what it was, but I could nearly guarantee it was the most expensive bottle on display.
I tried not to sigh. Nodded instead. So much for the shouting, smashing and threatening.
I went back to my stool. ‘Give me another glass of the blue stuff, and that bottle,’ I told the barman. He followed my finger and reached down the bottle. It was rum.
‘That’s a hundred.’
I felt like throwing it at Frank. ‘Better spare me the other drink then.’
I handed him all but one of my remaining credit chips. The last one was a ten. Wouldn’t get me far.
‘I was sorry to hear about that barmaid,’ I said.
The barman froze for just a second. Looked me up and down. What he could see of my anyway. ‘How do you know about that? Only happened last night.’
‘My friend’s a cop.’ That seemed to satisfy him. ‘Said it was pretty bad. Were you friends?’
‘She was a stuck up, slave driving bitch. No one could do anything right. Not sure she deserved to be chopped up like that though.’
‘Chopped up?’ I feigned shock. Probably best I didn’t let on to knowing too many details. ‘He said it was bad, but…’ I was shocked at the real revelation though. ‘Was she, like, the boss then?’
‘Some kind
of manager. Never really knew. Just knew she could fire me if she wanted. I’m the third barman to work here since she was taken on.’
I’d assumed she slapped Little Dick because she didn’t know who he was. But if she was management here then I knew for sure I’d assumed wrong. The hell was going on?
I looked at Frank. He was staring at the bottle. Looked like he was hovering above the stool. I turned the label towards him to let him know it was his. If he remembered the deal.
‘This tastes like piss,’ he announced. Held his glass up to his eye as though to confirm his suspicions. ‘Give me something good, will ya?’
‘Do you have the credits for something good?’ It was a rhetorical question. The barman hadn’t even looked at him. He’d have to do better than that to earn his rum.
‘How long have I been coming in here? Giving you my money…’
‘Don’t know.’
‘…and all you give me is synthed, watered down cat piss.’
The drunk reached the glass over the bar and poured out the piss-flavoured beer.
‘Hey!’ the barman shouted. Threw down his cloth. Stepped over to the drunk. ‘You want me to come round there and drag you outta here?’
I slipped off my stool and headed quickly for the staff door.
‘I want you to come round here and kiss my ass.’
‘Okay, you’re leaving.’
As the barman turned and saw me, the empty glass smashed over the top of his head. He dropped to the floor.
‘Jesus, Frank!’
‘What?’ The drunk seemed genuinely unsure what he’d done wrong. He hurried to the bottle and reached over the bar for a clean glass.
I glanced down at the barman. ‘…Good job.’
Acts of Violence Page 8