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Authors: Marianne de Pierres
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on a listening face while I kept an eye on Merv’s movements.
The club was his, Lavish said. Used to be in the lower fifty levels of The Cone. The move above a hundred floors meant he’d made it in the flesh-parlour business. Especially in a building attached to the glass bridge right near the Old Mall and Casino Central.
I had to agree with him there.
Apart from the Globe, Lavish’s club was the most luxurious place I’d ever set foot in. A mix of sensuous furnishings and pica-cleanliness. The air-con filtered fresh eucalyptus scents and the jade syn-marble bar where we sat flickered with sequenced inbuilt lights. Inside the circle of the glittery bar, mirrors ran perfectly concentrically, ceiling to floor.
‘I hate the smell of that shit,’ Lavish complained. ‘It’s giving me hay fever. Change the fucking thing.’
Merv turned and opened a door camouflaged by rows of glasses. Beyond the door I glimpsed a jumble of hardware.
Lavish saw me looking.
‘That’s his room. He lives in there when the club’s open. Merv doesn’t like people. He just likes to watch them.’
A sip or two later, Merv returned and I could smell wafts of sandalwood instead. It reminded me of Pat and Ibis’s shop.
I took in the large dimensions of the bar and the various doors exiting into the spiral of corridors that led to the ’doirs.
The ’doirs were so different from the tawdry back rooms of Torley’s that it was hard to believe they performed essentially the same services. Essentially. I’d have bet some things happened in this place that the babes on the strip had never even REM-ed about.
I’d seen inside them after I’d washed up, salved my burns and dressed in some borrowed clothes. An Amorato with an amber tan and a stunning spill of unnaturally white-gold hair that fell to her hips showed me around. She told me that her name was Glorious.
‘Our clients are top-end,’ Glorious said.
‘There must be a lot of your type of services around?’
‘Ours isn’t a service. It’s a way of life. Delly only employs people who enjoy what they do.’ She tilted her head and scraped the tip of her fingernail over one of the bruises on my bare forearm. ‘What do you like?’
I tried not to flinch: she was more than a little beautiful and she was coming on to me. It had been a relief to get away from her when Lavish called me into the bar for a drink and a confab.
And Lavish was still talking in his sharp voice. I turned my attention back to him, cutting across his monologue with a direct question.
‘Do you know who blew up the ’copter at the Globe?’ I asked.
He clinked ice in his drink and sidestepped my question. ‘I thought they were friends of yours.’
I pulled an innocent face. My ident said I was from the other side of the continent: I reminded myself that I could afford to be politically stupid - to a point.
‘James Monk made contact with you. Anyone he wants, everyone wants. The IO’s are like squabbling gods.’ He fingered the rim of his glass, giving me the feeling that there was a whole lot more he wasn’t telling me.
‘So why did you agree to help me?’ It seemed like the logical question to ask, even though I’d gone there looking for him. Everything had gotten kinda crazy and mixed up. I had no idea why Monk had responded to my call but I couldn’t tell Lavish that.
Maybe, for once, I’d had a little luck? It had certainly forced Lavish’s hand.
Luck? Me? Nah.
Lavish leaned towards me, his sharp features softened by the gloom. Desire still lingered in me, even after my fourth drink. The guided tour with the amber goddess had been arousing in its way and the general vibe of the place was altogether sexy. I could feel my heightened state like new clothes and for some reason even this skinny, arrogant flesh-seller was turning me on.
‘I want Monk’s patronage,’ he said.
‘And?’ I asked, knowing that there was more.
He slid forward on his stool so that his legs hugged either
The club was his, Lavish said. Used to be in the lower fifty levels of The Cone. The move above a hundred floors meant he’d made it in the flesh-parlour business. Especially in a building attached to the glass bridge right near the Old Mall and Casino Central.
I had to agree with him there.
Apart from the Globe, Lavish’s club was the most luxurious place I’d ever set foot in. A mix of sensuous furnishings and pica-cleanliness. The air-con filtered fresh eucalyptus scents and the jade syn-marble bar where we sat flickered with sequenced inbuilt lights. Inside the circle of the glittery bar, mirrors ran perfectly concentrically, ceiling to floor.
‘I hate the smell of that shit,’ Lavish complained. ‘It’s giving me hay fever. Change the fucking thing.’
Merv turned and opened a door camouflaged by rows of glasses. Beyond the door I glimpsed a jumble of hardware.
Lavish saw me looking.
‘That’s his room. He lives in there when the club’s open. Merv doesn’t like people. He just likes to watch them.’
A sip or two later, Merv returned and I could smell wafts of sandalwood instead. It reminded me of Pat and Ibis’s shop.
I took in the large dimensions of the bar and the various doors exiting into the spiral of corridors that led to the ’doirs.
The ’doirs were so different from the tawdry back rooms of Torley’s that it was hard to believe they performed essentially the same services. Essentially. I’d have bet some things happened in this place that the babes on the strip had never even REM-ed about.
I’d seen inside them after I’d washed up, salved my burns and dressed in some borrowed clothes. An Amorato with an amber tan and a stunning spill of unnaturally white-gold hair that fell to her hips showed me around. She told me that her name was Glorious.
‘Our clients are top-end,’ Glorious said.
‘There must be a lot of your type of services around?’
‘Ours isn’t a service. It’s a way of life. Delly only employs people who enjoy what they do.’ She tilted her head and scraped the tip of her fingernail over one of the bruises on my bare forearm. ‘What do you like?’
I tried not to flinch: she was more than a little beautiful and she was coming on to me. It had been a relief to get away from her when Lavish called me into the bar for a drink and a confab.
And Lavish was still talking in his sharp voice. I turned my attention back to him, cutting across his monologue with a direct question.
‘Do you know who blew up the ’copter at the Globe?’ I asked.
He clinked ice in his drink and sidestepped my question. ‘I thought they were friends of yours.’
I pulled an innocent face. My ident said I was from the other side of the continent: I reminded myself that I could afford to be politically stupid - to a point.
‘James Monk made contact with you. Anyone he wants, everyone wants. The IO’s are like squabbling gods.’ He fingered the rim of his glass, giving me the feeling that there was a whole lot more he wasn’t telling me.
‘So why did you agree to help me?’ It seemed like the logical question to ask, even though I’d gone there looking for him. Everything had gotten kinda crazy and mixed up. I had no idea why Monk had responded to my call but I couldn’t tell Lavish that.
Maybe, for once, I’d had a little luck? It had certainly forced Lavish’s hand.
Luck? Me? Nah.
Lavish leaned towards me, his sharp features softened by the gloom. Desire still lingered in me, even after my fourth drink. The guided tour with the amber goddess had been arousing in its way and the general vibe of the place was altogether sexy. I could feel my heightened state like new clothes and for some reason even this skinny, arrogant flesh-seller was turning me on.
‘I want Monk’s patronage,’ he said.
‘And?’ I asked, knowing that there was more.
He slid forward on his stool so that his legs hugged either
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