Acts of Violence

by Ross Harrison

  With those two dead, and no one else behind them, I moved quickly. The guys at the bottom end would probably be running now. They’d have taken the opportunity to advance while I was distracted. I felt in the water for the revolver, which I’d dropped in order to aim better with the fuller automatic. Then crawled quickly through the cold torrent to the front of the car. Held the pistol up high to fire it towards their car. They’d fire back too high. Hurt my damn wrist though. Sure enough, muzzle flashes from both sides the tunnel. Two more from back at the entrance. Only two were coming towards me. I fired again. Couldn’t really aim from up over my head. Their muzzle flashes told me the two were retreating back to the entrance again.

  I crawled under the right hand headlight. Felt for the collision sensors across the fender. Smashed them all with the butt of my revolver. I must have blocked the headlight for a second. The shooting started again. I dived back to cover amid whizzing bullets and those sharp bangs.

  There was still no one coming from the other side that I could see. I pulled open the door again. Reached up and smashed the interior light. Could have switched it off, but the adrenaline wouldn’t allow it. Bullets screamed in through the windshield. Spattered me with little bits of broken glass. I stayed low in the seat. Took off the parking break. Accelerated a little and used the roof of the tunnel to show me when I was straight. Threw the parking brake back on and slid out into the water again.

  ‘Shit.’

  A bullet had finally hit one of the headlights. The other was still bright enough. Until they hit that too. A bullet or two hit the door. They were far enough away that the bullets didn’t cut straight through the metal. I hoped they wouldn’t think to aim under it or I’d lose my kneecaps. For now, they thought I was still in the car. The windshield was like a frozen cobweb, glittering in the goons’ headlights.

  Not to waste my final bullet entirely, I raised enough to fire at one of the muzzle flashes. No idea if I hit anyone. I reached into the car and jammed the empty pistol under the brake pedal, and over the gas, flooring the latter. It was unstable, but I had nothing else. With the steering wheel straight and the collision sensors smashed, this was my best hope of getting to the door.

  I let the parking brake off.

  The car rocketed forward. I barely got my arm out in time. Gunfire filled my ears. Sharp bangs of bullets into the chassis. Clapping as they tore through the windshield. It would cave in soon. Not that it mattered.

  I stayed low and ran as fast as I could towards the door. The car only had a couple hundred feet to go and it accelerated fast. The goons didn’t have time to fire many shots. It was on them in just three or four seconds. I was nearly at the door. The crash was louder than the thunder that followed. The screams of metal on metal hurt my teeth. Drowned out the sounds of the shouting.

  Shapes moved about at the entrance, so I wrenched the door open the moment I reached it. Threw myself through and up two steps. I didn’t get to the third step due to the bullet. I didn’t know where it hit me, but I knew it hit me. I didn’t have a chance to feel the pain because the force spun me and I lost my balance. Fell back down the steps and hit the back of my head on the door.

  I was pretty sure it knocked me out for a few seconds. Just as well. When I realised I could see again, a guy was halfway down the steps. Probably thought I was dead. I was flat on my back. My pistol was still in my hand. Safety on, but cocked. I slowly moved my thumb to the safety catch. Tried to time it with one of his footsteps and flicked it off. He stopped dead.

  I couldn’t risk wasting time. I was alive despite a bullet and I didn’t want that to change. That door could open again any second. He could decide not to take risks and put another one in my head. He was close enough to see he’d only hit my arm, which was now beginning to burn, sting and ache all at once. Close enough to see my eyes were open and moving.

  It was quick. Faster than he could react, luckily. I rolled myself sideways, against the wall. That helped bring my pistol up fast. I pulled the trigger twice. At this close range, both shots hit him square in the chest. Despite the power of the bullets, he managed to fall forwards and hit the ground beside me with a crack. I didn’t have time to roll him over and take his gun. I climbed up, trying to ignore he pain in my shoulder and head. Seemed to be a flesh wound. Might have just grazed me.

  The passage went two ways. Up to the train platform or left to run parallel back to the tunnel entrance. I decided to go up. My car trick wouldn’t have killed any of the goons back there, so I knew there were at least four that way. Maybe no one up the ways.

  My arm ached and itched, but I couldn’t feel blood running down it. It was usable enough to pull open the door at the top with. I let my gun go first. It didn’t see anyone and neither did I. Like I thought, the passage came out right beside the platform. The train sat there, cold and dark. The lightning flashes made it ominous and looming. It could end up being my hearse.

  The area on this side of the line was overgrown. Nothing much, just ankle-high scrub. On the other side, a narrow road ran beside the line, over the top of the tunnel. Just over the tunnel, it broke from the line and sloped down and around to open onto the street below. There was no proper station. No need for one. Only workers and prisoners travelled on the train, so no need for tickets. Except for the platform and the road, the only thing up here was a small parking lot. Could hold maybe fifteen cars. There were none here now.

  This was the end of the line. Or the start. Whatever way you wanted to look at it, the line only went one way from here. Out to Webster’s mining operation, then Anshan. It did so by passing through the gambling district. I didn’t want to go to any of those places, so I turned left and tried to stick to the shadows. It was easy for thirty seconds or so, because everywhere was shadow. Then came a flash of lightning and nowhere was shadow. Then it was easy again.

  Like that, I picked my way through the scrub until it ended at a building. I thought it was the bank. I didn’t have call to visit the place often, so I wasn’t sure. By then, the ground had sloped back almost to the west side’s level. I turned left at the wall and dropped the five or six feet to the sidewalk. Along to the left I could see the two cars. With every lightning flash, I saw smoke trying to drift from one of them, hampered by the thick rainfall and blown into nothing by the wind. There were no people.

  I crossed the street and slipped into an alley. I’d cut between the buildings to the next street before I thought about looking for a cab. Probably wouldn’t even then. Any of Webster’s men out looking for me would stop every car they saw.

  The clinic was close, but I couldn’t go there to get my arm fixed. They’d notify the cops. No, I knew where I had to go. I didn’t like it. It was dangerous. But I had little choice. I couldn’t run around all night with a hole in my arm.

  At the next street, I saw no one. The storm showed no signs of lessening. If anything, it was getting worse. I finally flicked the safety back on and shoved my pistol back into my waistband. Pulled my coat collar tighter. The cold wet material was unpleasant against my neck. Colder than the rain pummelling my face. Then I set off towards the strip club.

  TEN | WET

  Ordinarily, strip clubs weren’t particularly dangerous places. This one was no exception. For anyone but me. The club wasn’t the problem; it was the man I was going to see. I owed him money. A lot more money than I had in my pocket.

  Van had a reputation among us lowlifes for being both generous and patient. He’d loan you a lot. He’d be more than happy to give you time to repay. He’d even set up repayment plans for you, just like a bank. But being a nice person in such a business as loans meant he had to ensure the repercussions of pushing your luck too far were severe. The surprising result of all this was that nobody messed him about. Nobody but me.

  It wasn’t intentional. My last client had skipped town without paying. Probably realised a fake PI couldn’t take non-payers to court. I’d helped Van out here and there, so he was particularly patient with me. Bu
t that patience was coming to an end. He had a reputation to uphold.

  The other problem was that this was WET. Webster’s strip club. I didn’t think it too likely that his staff here would be on the lookout for me. Still felt like I was about to walk into the lion’s den though. With four bullets and a bad attitude.

  I stood across the street in the shadows of a cafe’s overhang. The cafe hadn’t lasted long once Webster opened the club. No one wanted to sit and have coffee and cupcakes across the street from that kind of depravity. I wouldn’t mind, myself.

  Two bouncers stood at the door, but they’d paid no attention to the last two guys to go in. They were only there to keep out the real drunks. A little drunk was fine. More money in the girls’ garters. If they wore that much. But the blind drunk idiots might climb onto the stages, grope the girls. Get themselves hurt. Badly.

  The building was two storeys. There was a basement, too, but only rich private members were meant to know about that. It was glass fronted like The Web, except on each side of the door was a girl. Holograms. The two girls were repeated all along the glass at different stages of undress. On the far left, a brunette secretary. On the far right, a blonde cowgirl. The last holograms on either side of the door showed the brunette wearing only her glasses and the blonde in nothing but her hat and boots. Of course, their breasts were hidden by the words ‘See Me’ and their southernmost regions by the word ‘Inside’.

  The most striking thing about the outside of the club was its sign. They’d gone for an old neon style display. A blinding pink outline of a woman’s legs. The legs were spread wide. From between them, a powerful squirt erupted every ten seconds or so, splashed against an invisible wall and dribbled into the word WET.

  I was sure it was meant to be appealing. I found it pretty repulsive. Maybe the latter was meant to add to the former. The raw, dirty obviousness of it probably got blood pumping pretty effectively. If my blood pumped harder, it would start squirting out of my shoulder.

  In the dark, I couldn’t really tell how much blood was showing through my coat. It was creeping down my arm now, but slowly. There was nothing I could do about it. I crossed the street. Covered the wound, trying to make it look like I was rubbing an aching shoulder or scratching an itch.

  Both bouncers glanced at me. One looked away. The other held his gaze. I fought the urge to reach for my pistol. Something was wrong. He’d started to look away, but then hadn’t. It was almost a double take. I nodded at him and aimed for the door.

  ‘Hey, aren’t you Mason?’

  Shit.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Van’s been lookin’ for you, Mason. You still owe him big, what I hear.’

  Relief washed over me. Not much, since Van was clearly spreading the word that it was time I paid up. But at least this guy didn’t know Webster was looking for me. Didn’t mean Van wouldn’t know. He didn’t exactly like Webster though. I hoped that would work in my favour.

  ‘Well that’s a happy coincidence, because I’m looking for Van.’

  I tried to walk past, but a hand on my chest prevented it. Might as well have been a solid wall. I wasn’t pushing past that hand. And its partner would have something to say about it if I tried.

  ‘You ain’t carryin’ now are ya?’

  ‘Only a torch for that cowgirl. She in?’

  ‘You’re not a nice guy, Mason, what I hear. Think I better make sure you don’t got intentions counter to what Van’s is.’ I guessed stereotypes existed for a reason.

  ‘You hear a lot for a guy that stands at a door all night.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Hey, you hear that?’ I tilted my head a little, as though listening.

  ‘What?’ Poor guy actually strained to hear what I was hearing.

  ‘That’s the sound of go fuck yourself. That’s the best I can come up with on short notice,’ I added, after an awkward silence during which I heard how stupid I’d sounded. ‘I’m not feeling myself right now.’

  ‘Then you’re in the wrong place, guy.’ That was the other bouncer. I wasn’t sure if it was just a joke, or if it was meant to be at my expense somehow. Hard to tell with idiots. The air was still fairly light, so I guessed the former.

  ‘I hope Van’s got his sewing kit,’ I said. Made for the door again. The hand stopped me again. I felt a hot flash. Rubbed some life back into my face so I wouldn’t do anything else with my hands.

  ‘Back of my waistband,’ I said. Turned and lifted my coat.

  He pulled the gun while the second bouncer patted me down. Surprisingly, he was careful not to pat my wound. I’d braced myself for it. I suspected Van had made a point of having his people act like pleasant human beings. Even to people like me. It was a weird thing to find in Harem.

  ‘Can I keep this if Van removes your limbs?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Finally, I pushed through the door. Infrared thing above me. I was dry again for the first time in days. Or hours. I wasn’t sure any more.

  Immediately inside was a short hall. On each side was a door marked ‘Staff Only’. A long window ran along the wall beside the right-hand door. A girl stood behind it. She wore only transparent underwear and glowing tribal tattoos. I wasn’t sure of the point of either. The tattoos were straight from a marker pen.

  ‘Welcome to club WET,’ she droned, probably for the thousandth time. ‘Where we’re always wet for you.’ That made me cringe a little. Webster was trying too hard. Or Van. I guessed he was the manager here, so he was probably responsible for leaving nothing to the imagination. Nothing subtle and seductive. Didn’t seem like him though.

  I tried to make my eyes respectful as I looked the girl over. Probably didn’t. I was probably just leering. I smiled apologetically and moved on. Probably made me look like even more of a weird creep. Women this sexually open and uncaring made me uncomfortable.

  She handed me two rectangular credit notes as I stepped away. That was club currency. Just like old money, except instead of a president or a king or something, a crude sexual imprint. Credit chips weren’t exactly easy to slip into a dancer’s various bits of skimpy ‘clothing’. Besides, if the patrons got carried away at the end of a show and started throwing money onto the stage, it wouldn’t do for the dancer to be pelted with lumps of hard plastic. Cards were fine, and larger sums were more easily dropped, but Van had found more money was taken overall if the patrons could actually reach out and slide a note into the side of a girl’s underwear, or wherever. Actually have their fingers brush her skin as they did so. More likelihood of them doing so again and again.

  ‘Can I take your coat, sir?’ she called after me.

  ‘Get your own. Before you catch a cold.’

  The next door took me into the club proper. A stink hit my nose. A sweet, sticky stink. I didn’t know what it was. Place like this, I didn’t want to know. It was accompanied by a distinct rise in temperature. I didn’t know if it was for the sake of all the girls and their lack of clothing, or if it was generated by them and their gyrating.

  Like probably every guy who walked through the door, I stopped just inside to look around. Partly while I adjusted to the thumping music and flashing lights. The layout was pretty much identical to that of The Web. The circular dance floor was bigger and contained one long stage, like a catwalk, and about six small, round ones. Each stage had something different. One had the normal pole. One had a glass box, just large enough for one person, containing two shiny, oiled up redheads. One had a swing, on which a blonde dangled with, naturally, a lollipop. I wasn’t particularly interested in what the other stages held. Mainly because the dancing and gyrating on those was done by men.

  All around the raised platform encircling the main floor, comfortable sofas formed a half ring around tables, which doubled as stages. That allowed the girls to make extra money with more private dances. A few of these had opaque forcefields around them for complete privacy. Van had invested a little extra money on those things. The girl inside only had to sa
y a certain word and whoever was in there with her would get shocked so hard he’d be convulsing for an hour.

  I didn’t really know what I thought about this place and the kind of work the girls did. But I did know that in this industry, Van was probably the best person in the city for them to be working for. He was fair, kind and protective. That didn’t quite gel with my theory of how Webster got most of his girls. But maybe I was wrong. Or maybe Van didn’t know. Or maybe I just didn’t know Van as well as I thought.

  Didn’t matter right now.

  As I started towards the steps, one of the waitresses came up them. She wore what could only be described as a strap around her chest. From the centre, another ran down between her legs and up her back. Like a big T. I couldn’t honestly say it looked attractive. Though the body it pretended to cover certainly was. Between her breasts, wads of notes were stuffed under the belt. Probably more money than I made in a month.

  ‘Hey there. You look like you’ve had a rough day.’ I decided she didn’t mean that as an insult. ‘Can I get you a drink? Or maybe something else will relax you…’ She ran her fingers lightly down where my tie should have been if I knew where it was.

  My skin shivered and tightened under her electric touch. I couldn’t help wondering just how much more pleasant that touch would be without clothes in the way.

  ‘No thanks,’ I said.

  I took her hand gently. Lowered it until our arms just hung, like lovers holding hands. In my other hand, I still held the notes. I glanced at the wad already under the belt. Not enough space. Getting too close to intimacy could be dangerous with so many shock emitters dotted around the club, but I decided to risk it. Slid the notes under the belt a good couple of inches below her navel. I liked the way her pupils widened just a little as she anticipated where this might go. With the notes in place, I returned my hand to my side. Her green eyes returned to normal. I wasn’t dangerous.