Lover

by Valerie J. Long

  “I’ll simply check a few places.”

  “Good luck with it. Will you come along again?”

  “Perhaps.” No, probably not. On the other hand, I didn’t have to burn my bridges.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Everywhere in the world, it was dangerous to walk the streets alone at night. Not so in Las Vegas, at least not on the main roads. Crime was bad for business, and the business here was gambling and sex. Why should you steal from the customers, when they voluntarily spent their money?

  The casino owners—that is, the Cartel—took care of everything remaining peaceful. Their security installations were best-in-class, with computer-supported face recognition and countless cameras inside and outside of the casinos. Josephine Meyer’s face shouldn’t show up here, and even less Johanna Meier’s. I went for the same trick I had applied in Tokyo, and gave my features a slight Asian touch.

  Yoshi shouldn’t appear here, either, although it might be interesting to watch the confrontation of Dragon cult and Cartel—interesting, but no fun for the doubtlessly expectable collateral damages. Apropos collateral damage—if the killer would find me here, would he be allowed to strike in Vegas with no holds barred? Actually, I didn’t want to have that question answered.

  “What’s your name?” the Inferno’s personnel guy asked me. After eleven harsh refusals from the respective staff entrance doormen, he was the first to welcome me at all. I had to be grateful for that.

  “Yori Sato.” The trustworthy, that little joke just had to be. With Sato, the most common Japanese family name, I was on the safe side.

  “What made you come to us, Yori?”

  “It was simply the next entry on my list.”

  “So. Do you know the Inferno? Have you been here before?”

  “No.” A lie, but indeed I hadn’t been here as Yori before.

  “What kind of job are you looking for?”

  “Waitress, service, or like that. I can do a lot of things.”

  “We always need girls, if they’re not bitchy. What about you?”

  “I’m surely not bitchy.”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  That came abruptly. Surely he had caught some applicants by surprise with this. Of course, I knew why he asked—you didn’t wear much in the Inferno, and, depending on the level, less and less. Yori didn’t know that, so I made an unsettled face while diligently dropping all my clothes. It wasn’t much anyway—a halter top, shorts and Flip-Flops, then I stood in front of him stark naked and placed my hands to my hips. Unprompted, I slowly turned around once, and then I watched his face. “Okay this way?”

  “We’ll see.” He rose and came around his desk. A firm erection rose from his open fly. “Now?”

  Now I was left with three choices only. I could take my clothes and leave, I could give him a blowjob, or I could turn around, bend over and pull my labia open with my fingers. I opted for the latter—if I didn’t get a job in one of the large casinos, I’d have to look for some little rat-shop, where the boss might not demand sex, but where I’d have to pay a protection fee to a protection association—in cash, plus in kind.

  “Nice.”

  Without much finesse, he penetrated me and began to pump. I didn’t show any indication of my own skills, but instead I allowed myself to feel excited, as if this doggie was an entirely new experience. This way, it wasn’t all that bad.

  I didn’t have to worry about humiliation. As little street rat, burglar, ex-whore, crashed gambler and, most of all, target for a Cartel killer, there was no lower. In the end, it was just sex.

  His wheezing gave me a warning, a last push, and then he came.

  He stayed inside me for a few breaths, and then he pulled his penis out and went back to his desk. I rose and turned toward him. From a drawer, he fetched a tissue box, took one to clean his cock, and tossed me the box.

  With a “Thank you” I caught it, took a tissue and wiped my nose. The semen running down my thigh remained ignored. I waited patiently while he stared at my tits and into my dripping crotch.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “You’re not bitchy. You can work with us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Since my last visit, not much had changed in the Inferno on first sight. On the uppermost level, customers and staff wore bikinis—the staff as daring as possible—on the second level, topless, on the third, you walked naked, and from the fourth level on, you could openly hump each other.

  “Sssh,” Angie said. “Yori.”

  “Yes?”

  “The man over there.”

  I looked around. Yes, an older man with big belly and a swelling member in his tight swimmers waved at me.

  “I’ve only just brought him his drink.”

  “He wants you.”

  “And if I don’t want him?”

  “You can go home right away. Bitchy girls won’t make it long here.”

  “What does that mean? I thought such things only happen from the third level on?”

  “That’s the past. Just go downstairs with him. Be fucked or fired, that’s the name of the game today. Go now.”

  Well then, Jo, so it’s a brothel again, only with classy interior and, most of all, warm like hell. It’s just sex, I told myself, and I’m good at that.

  So I walked over with swaying hips. I wore fifteen square centimeters of bikini, for all three triangles together, and fifteen-centimeters-high-heeled sandals, all in fiery red. Even before I reached my client, I pushed the top outward and plucked the narrow piece of cloth between my legs to the side—in a way that he noticed.

  Such a bloke wouldn’t even have been granted access to Eva’s venues. He smelled unwashed, was poorly shaved, and had already drunk too much.

  “Would you come downstairs with me?” I asked with mocked friendliness.

  “So what? Just come and suck me right here.”

  The client is always right. So I sighed inwardly, smiled on the outside, went on my knees in front of him, and leaned over his crotch. He pushed his pants down and let his smelly cock jump up toward me.

  I told myself that it would be worse in a real brothel. Here in the public, the options were limited. In exchange, the pay was relatively okay, in any case more than a waitress could keep after deducting the protection fee.

  While I sucked, I thought about my plans. How could I find access to the Cartel’s leader boards? Where would I find the masterminds I owed my killer to? After all, I hadn’t come to Vegas for fun.

  The guests’ talks were quite interesting, but didn’t get me any further toward my goal. Perhaps I should listen around outside after the end of my shift.

  Chapter Sixteen

  For me, the assumption was obvious that a young, attractive woman shouldn’t roam beyond the well-guarded tourist paths alone at night. What else did you need this tight observation for? What else did you need a dozen security people at each hotel or casino entrance and a handful more at the staff entrances for?

  Accordingly, I did my first tours camouflaged. Why should I take an unnecessary risk? Within a few nights, I gathered a good overview. I had to search for a while, however, to find a bar frequented by sufficiently nasty types.

  Black leather with silver rivets, chains, and skulls seemed to be the standard for guests of both sexes. The guests that I spotted in front of the Black Hole’s door were sporting appropriately menacing faces.

  Nobody took notice of me ambling across the street and jumping on the building’s flat roof. Above the entrance, I settled down to eavesdrop. The night would probably be long before something interesting occurred.

  What should I bother whether Mick had a problem with his claw? Or that Babs complained about Ted’s too short cock?

  “Ey, Gomez! Around again?”

  “Cool, Gomez! Got anything for us?”

  “Man, Gomez, good to see you.”

  “Not out here, folks. Who’s here tonight?”

  I memorized Gomez. The same leather outfit as the others, but a
remarkable scar on the left cheek of the weathered thug face. With it, he wore metal boot caps and brass knuckles on his left hand. The leather jacket seemed to have a bulge under the left arm. There, he might carry a gun.

  What a lovely fellow!

  “Grater’s inside, and Recco. Looking for someone special, Gomez?”

  “Did you see Silkhand?”

  “Not for a long time. Rumors had it, she’s got herself caught.”

  “Crap. Well, let’s see.”

  Gomez headed for the entrance. Crap. The exciting part would then take place inside.

  I simply wanted to get in. After all, no one had been stabbed down inside yet, so my stakes for survival weren’t bad. Okay. Spontaneously, I came up with an idea for a new role.

  I let my nanos form a black, velvety catsuit, skintight, with long sleeves and long legs. In addition I formed soft black boots and a black belt with a black skull buckle. The design was finished with a black collar with night-black lace tips.

  So equipped, I jumped down from the bar’s roof and ambled around the corner toward the small group of people in front of the entrance.

  “Ay, who are you?” The square-built speaker stepped into my way, and two others flanked him.

  This isn’t the time to start a brawl, I advised myself.

  “Just call me Velvet, okay, Cutie?”

  “Okay, Velvet. What’s your business here?”

  “A drink, what else? May I enter?”

  “Mmm.” He pretended having to examine me. Of course, his glance stuck longer than necessary on my tits, and then again on my prominently shaped crotch. “You don’t really fit here.”

  “For the silver stuff, what? Do you think I’d carry a Christmas tree shining for miles just for the nicer looks?”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Man! If you don’t want to be seen, that’s a no-go! I could as well call the cops and report my job.”

  “What job?”

  I grabbed his chin and leaned very close to him. “I’d tell you first, Cutie. And now get out of my way.” Having said that, I simply pushed him away. Surprised by my power, he no longer resisted.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gomez stood at the counter, facing the door. Upon my entrance, he interrupted his talk with a tall and a short guy. I admit, I made a little show of it. A cat would appear clumsy compared to me, a bear would look weak. Other guests were simply pushed aside on my way to the counter. Having reached it, I squeezed through between two other guests and ordered a beer. I didn’t honor Gomez and his friends with even a side glance.

  “Ey, Shortie,” the guy to my left complained. “What are you doing? Looking for trouble?”

  I gave him a cheeky grin. “Not at all, Biggy. Not worth it.”

  “What—” His protest fell mute when I took his right hand and squeezed it gently.

  At the same time, my other hand grabbed his balls. “Go on. I’m all ears.”

  Only for a brief moment, he tried to get his left hand into strike position. I simply squeezed his balls a bit, and he rolled his eyes.

  I felt the type behind me stir, but deliberately ignored him, until I felt a light pressure—the tip of his knife at my kidney area couldn’t penetrate the nano armor.

  Biggy was effectively out of business. I pivoted around, took the other guy’s knife hand and broke his wrist with a quick jerk. He cried out, let the knife drop into my other hand and slid from his stool with a pain-struck face. Before anyone else could intervene, I had lifted the knife over my head and tossed it with a flick of my wrist.

  When I instructed my Analogy of a specific target, I hit it. Quivering, the knife stuck into the bull’s eye of the dartboard at the room’s far end. The chatter all around fell mute.

  “Does anybody else here not know how to behave in the presence of a lady?” I asked aloud.

  Gomez stepped in front of me. “I don’t see no lady around.”

  “Would you recognize one if you saw her, Boss?”

  “You’ve got quite a big mouth up, girl.”

  “I’ve got a versatile tongue, too. Both are useful when a guy unpacks his big club.” The insinuation conjured a smile onto his face. “So, what’s it now, Boss? Can a lady drink a beer here without a knife stabbed between her ribs or not?”

  His features showed a fail to understand. I pointed at the guy with the broken hand. “I was still sorting out a little misunderstanding with Biggy, when this rat tried to poke his knife into my side. I won’t take that from anyone, clear?”

  Gomez leaned to the side. “I don’t see anything.”

  “These rags are robust. Cost me a lot.”

  For a while, he gave me a grim stare. I smiled back and didn’t flinch.

  “Who’re you?”

  “Call me Velvet, Boss.”

  “What are you doing here, Velvet?”

  “Drink beer. Relax.”

  “What else are you doing in Vegas?”

  “What I’m doing everywhere. I’m finding things.”

  “What things?”

  “All kinds of things. Rare things. Valuable things. Lost things. Or things that aren’t even lost yet.” I kept my friendly smile up. Gomez hadn’t thawed yet. “Are you looking for something?”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “Neither do I know you, Boss. I’m not sure whether I want to know you. I don’t even know your name, and perhaps it’s good this way.”

  “Do you think Vegas is healthy for you? This city is well controlled. Here’s nothing to find.”

  “Here’s a lot to find, and the controls aren’t good enough. There are no healthy places.” I looked to the counter. “What about the beer now? Is this a bar or a reformatory?”

  The barkeeper placed a glass on the counter for me. I took it, emptied it in one draft and replaced it. “Okay. Another one.”

  Then I turned back to Gomez. “Okay, Boss. Nice to not have met you. Excuse the interruption.”

  “Wait.”

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps I might be looking for something someday.”

  “Indeed? Well, once it happens, you can call.” I turned my back on him.

  The big one with the squeezed balls had decided that it would be healthier for him to disappear quickly. The knife-handler fumbled in an inside pocket of his jacket with his unhurt left hand.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  He paused.

  Then he nodded, slowly pulled his hand out, showed me his empty palm. With this hand, he pulled himself up at the counter, and then he stumbled toward the exit. I feigned to no longer watch him.

  But when he tossed his second knife, I dashed around and simply plucked it out of the air. He wasn’t the only one gaping at me.

  The barkeeper frowned, while I weighed the knife in my hand. He surely wasn’t interested in a deadly incident at his venue. Well, I just had prevented such an incident for the second time. My tolerance had reached its limit.

  “Get this rat out of my sight.”

  Several guests near the knife-thrower hurried to grant my wish. Once they had left the venue, I held the weapon out to the barkeeper, hilt first.

  “Don’t want to keep it?” he asked.

  “I don’t need those.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  After the fifth beer, Gomez came to me again.

  “Hello, Boss,” I greeted him. “One for you, too?”

  He nodded.

  “Okay. Two more, please.”

  “You can take some.”

  “Alcohol doesn’t work on me.”

  “Really?” He raised both eyebrows. “You react quite fast.”

  “That can save lives.”

  “Indeed. Ah, yes.” He reached out a hand. “Gomez.”

  “Good evening, Gomez.” In fact, we were approaching dawn.

  “Respect, Velvet.”

  We both remained silent, until the beer was served. Then it was his turn again.

  “I’v
e made up my mind, Velvet.”

  “Yes? Did you lose something in the meantime?”

  “I’ve waited for an old friend to show up, in vain. She might be unavailable for a longer time. I’ve got an empty slot in my team.”

  “Aha.”

  “I’m wondering that I’ve never heard of you before.”

  “That’s okay. There’s nothing to report about me. I take care of that.”

  “Ah so.”

  “What kind of slot is that?”

  “I’m leading a team of specialists. I have a very good scout, a driver, a problem solver—that’s me—and I’m lacking the door opener.”

  I smirked. “You can buy picklocks at any hardware store.”

  “I need someone who can operate the picklock with the necessary easy hand.”

  “Okay. When and where?”

  “This is a delicate job.”

  I kept my mouth shut.

  “It has to happen here. We don’t want to challenge anyone, but it’s about a very important item. I’ve assured that I can reclaim it.”

  “Without having your team complete? That’s careless.”

  “Admittedly. But I couldn’t have denied, once I knew the details.”

  His statement had a warning undertone.

  “I see.”

  “You’ve just accepted my job without knowing any details, too.”

  “I don’t need details. I only need the item.”

  In fact, I already had an idea. If someone came to Vegas for feeling more secure under the Cartel’s protection, this couldn’t be kept a secret for long. Such people brought bodyguards and other baggage, and other guests would notice that, too. The respective person felt safe enough with his treasure on the Flying Gardens’ third level, at three-hundred meters above ground, to now and then descend to the sins of the Inferno or treat his team to something. If my suspicion was right, I already had given head to the current owner—and blokes with their cocks in my mouth often talked rather freely about their worries.