by Tom Andry
A shadow fell across the two of us. I turned to see a man the size of a small house looming over us.
"For him, I'm guessing." I muttered
He turned without a word and walked away. Nissa and I shared a glance and then followed.
The large man walked into and through a solid wall. I looked around. No one seemed to notice. To my right, I saw a twin of the large man leading twins of Nissa and me into an office door off to the right. I glanced behind me. Any eyes that were in our direction were now focused on the door where our "twins" had just entered. I swear, a good illusionist is worth their weight in gold. There weren't many supers who were powerful enough to hide something so obvious from a group of people, and only a small fraction of those could pull off a switch so seamlessly. Even taking into account the inebriation factor, surely someone watching us was sober. Whatever super was doing this was special. If Gale and any of the others still out there fighting knew that there was a super this powerful down here, they'd be furious. I wondered how much that information would be worth.
Beyond the illusionary wall was nothing but a small landing with a smaller raised desk in front of a staircase leading downward. Behind the desk was a woman who dressed like she belonged in a high-end hotel lobby rather than as the face of an S&M club. The only clues that she wasn't a concierge were the leather choker she wore with a number of chrome rings hanging off it and hair dyed so black it looked like it would absorb light. It was pulled back into a painful looking braided ponytail. She was leaning against a stool that was so high she was practically still standing.
She looked up as we approached, taking us in at a glance. Her taut skin barely registered any emotion, but I got the distinct impression that very little surprised or impressed her. "Good evening. Can I help you?" Her voice sounded as emotionless as her face appeared.
I turned to Nissa, who had donned her mask at some point during the walk across the bar, "We're here to see Tay."
The hostess took a slow breath, "And?"
Nissa faltered slightly, but recovered, "And...um...we were told that the uh...pineapple is ripe?"
I slowly turned to Nissa who tried to look serious as she said the ridiculous pass-phrase. I stole a glance at the hostess who went back to studying the clipboard in front of her. This wasn't going well.
"Sorry, college nights are once a month and that pass-phrase is six months old."
"So, what does it take to get in?" I stepped forward.
The hostess didn't look up, "An invitation."
"Surely there are ways around..."
She looked up at me sharply, "Sir, if you think you'll bribe your way in here, it isn't going to happen. We run by strict rules," she shivered involuntarily, but it was unclear if it was out of fear or anticipation, "and there are repercussions for breaking those rules."
"Fine, no need to get all huffy about it. Are there rules about you giving us information?"
She raised an eyebrow slightly. I thought the corner of her eye might rip. "Depends."
"How does one get an invitation?"
"You know someone."
"Who?"
She shrugged.
"So, if I guess someone, would you confirm if they were the right person?"
She shifted her weight on her stool and looked away.
"Fine." I drummed my fingers on her desk. She looked down at them in disdain. I smiled and took my hand off her desk, "Listen, I'm in the business of keeping secrets. I know lots of people. Chances are, I know someone down there right now."
She shrugged.
"We're getting nowhere, Bob." Nissa grabbed my elbow, "Let's just go. This was a bad idea."
I glared at the hostess who had gone back to staring at her clipboard. "Fine." I turned and grabbed Nissa by the arm, "Let's go back to the office and make some calls. I'm betting we get an invite in less than an hour."
"Bob?"
I turned back at the sound of the hostess's voice, "Yeah?"
"Last name?"
"Moore. Private Eye."
She gulped, "ID please?"
I produced my license from my wallet.
For the first time, her face betrayed her. Her mouth opened slightly, but her eyes were just as emotionless. She recovered quickly, "Stay here please." She shot a look at the huge man who had led us over. Without a word or even turning to the hostess, he floated down the stairs more quickly than I would have thought possible. She motioned us over with a laminated piece of paper. "Sorry, Mr. Moore. I didn't know it was you. You and your guest can enter." She handed me the paper, "Here are the rules. As you're new here," she paused and looked at Nissa, waiting for her to protest. When she didn't, she continued, "I'll walk you through them. First, what you see and what you do stays within the walls of Inhumanitas. If you talk about it within earshot of anyone who hasn't been a guest, we'll know. We strongly recommend you do not discuss anything outside of the walls of the club. In this case, ignorance is no excuse and there is a zero tolerance policy."
"What happens if we talk?" Nissa interrupted.
The hostess looked down her nose at the mohawked girl as a school teacher would a petulant student, "You don't want to know, girl." She again addressed me, "Anything is permitted within the walls of the club, but you must observe all safe words and predetermined rules. We recommend that you are very specific with your intended partner." She turned the paper over and pointed to a number of very graphic illustration and descriptions of sexual acts that made even me blush. "These are some of the more common requests. There are staff on hand to attend to your needs, but they do not wear any sort of identification or uniform. And just because you see a person more than once doesn't mean they're staff. Just...enthusiastic. Assume that everyone is an amateur like you and be specific.
"Most importantly," she added seriously, "there is no actual intercourse, of ANY type, to be engaged in on the premises."
I raised an eyebrow. "These aren't considered intercourse?"
"Not in the eyes of the law. This is not a brothel or a whorehouse. You want more than play or what you see on the sheet, take it home." She stood aside, "The first visit for you is free, but there is a note in my book for you to meet with Master Tay."
"Master Tay?" I blurted.
"Yes. I'd suggest doing that first."
"Fine, but if I can ask, how long has my name been in that book?"
She shook her head slowly, "For a very long time. It looks like Master Tay wrote it in himself. Apparently, he's expecting you."
I tried not to look shocked. Luckily, the hostess wasn't really paying attention to me. I handed the laminated paper over to Nissa who flipped it over and over, studying it and blushing wildly. I stepped ahead of her onto the stairway, which spiraled down counterclockwise. I took each stair slowly, trying not to let my hesitation show. Behind me, I could hear Nissa flipping the paper over and over, occasionally making sounds of confusion or revulsion. Revulsion or understanding? I didn't really want to know.
When my feet disappeared, I started to get concerned. I stopped, feeling the tingle at my ankles where my feet had apparently been severed. Of course, it was just part of the illusion.
Behind me, Nissa stopped short and looked over my shoulder, "Whoa, that's weird, huh?"
"Not really," I tried to sound confident, "they don't want anyone to see what's below. Just be careful."
She glanced back at the laminated paper, "Natch. Some of this stuff is a little freaky. Like this one," she pointed to one with her beer. I looked at it and turned away quickly, "do you think they honestly have midgets down there? And this one," she didn't bother showing me, but instead held it up over her head turning the paper slowly, "I'm not sure how you can do that without dislocating your hips."
I grabbed the paper from her, "Enough already. We're not here for this," I shook the paper. "We're here for information. Now get your game face on." She stared at me through her eye mask, doe-eyed in confusion. "And take that damn thing off. That outfit was a horrible idea."
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She looked down at herself, "What do you mean?"
"Well, it didn't exactly get us in, did it?"
"Oh, getting us in was a long shot. It was more for blending."
"Blending?"
She bounced past me through the illusionary floor, "Natch."
I sighed and shook my head, taking the stairs with decidedly less enthusiasm than she. I covered my privates as I passed through the illusionary floor, then my belt. I wasn't sure which was in more danger. The tingling was obviously not part of the illusion. It could be some sort of scanner. They could be taking samples of our bio-prints, blood, or scents for all I knew. That was the thing with supers: you couldn't be sure what they were up to. Of course, it could be nothing but a mild forcefield to keep out bugs, or it could be CancerMan's idea of a parting gift. With the type of clientele they were sure to have in the club, it was probably harmless - at least physically. Who knew what sort of information they might have been collecting though. I sipped a bit more of my drink and ducked through the false floor.
Wow, she was right. She blended right in.
Nissa was at the bottom of the stairs, frozen in place. I joined her. Inhumanitas was not unlike the bar upstairs. There were recesses in the walls, dancers on bars, tables scattered around, and patrons trying to forget their troubles. Except, instead of forgetting their troubles in drink and loud music, they were forgetting them with flesh and debauchery. The center of the room had a large, mirrored pillar with an attached thin shelf just large enough to set your drink on, but no stools. In each of the recesses, a different type of "pleasure" was being displayed. The lighting was minimal, but there were huge wooden X's with men and sometimes women strapped to them with others punishing them lightly with leather instruments. There were tons of people in vinyl like Nissa, rubber, leather, and other restrictive clothing. There were acts being portrayed that were so peculiar that I didn't really see how they could be considered sexual, but obviously someone thought they were.
I glanced around, watching the crowd. Most wore masks of some sort. Not eye masks, but masks that actually covered their whole faces and protected their identities. I guessed that more than one of my former clients were in the room. From what I could tell, patrons would gather around a particular act being displayed until someone came over and whispered into their ear. They'd converse for a moment and then either separate or head back into one of the three hallways that led off from this main room.
If there was a theme to the acts on display, it was supers being punished by tippys. I swallowed hard. All around, tippys just like Nissa and me, were acting out their frustrations in...healthy?...ways. Perspiration broke out on my brow. How did I not know about this place?
"Bob?" The music was much more subdued and mellow down here, so she didn't have to yell, "What the hell is that?"
I followed her gaze to what looked to be a man with scaly, orange skin and a long prehensile tail, dressed in nothing but a loincloth. All around him, patrons were taunting and cracking whips at him like they were taming a lion. In response he hissed through a mouth full of needle-like teeth, a long, forked tongue shooting in and out.
"Can it be?" I stammered.
"I thought supers were all..."
"Beautiful?" I finished.
"Yeah."
"I've heard stories. I mean, there have been rumors of mutations, but I thought they were just to scare kids. Like how they used to talk about alligators in the sewers or escaped mental patients in the woods."
"Should we do something?"
A muffled voice from behind me, "I wouldn't if I were you."
We turned toward the voice to find a man wearing a leather mask with zippers over the eyes and mouth standing behind us. He was holding a small, silver platter under his arm.
"You work here?" I blurted, trying to cover my shock.
"You must be new; no one answers that question." He reached behind him and pulled a pad of paper and a pencil out of his leather underwear, the only other significant piece of clothing he had on, "Can I get you something?"
"Wait," Nissa blurted, "you're saying you might not work here, but you're going to get us drinks?"
"Listen, lady," the man responded, "don't pretend that you know all the fetishes out there. You want a drink or not?"
"No, I'm fine, thanks."
"I'll take one," I quickly finished my scotch and handed him the glass. He looked at it oddly then tossed it at the lizardman who, quick as lightening, caught it with his tongue, sucked it into his mouth, and started to chew it noisily. I swallowed, "Scotch," my voice cracked, "neat," I finished with more authority. The man nodded his assent and I added to his retreating form, "Single malt." He waved over his shoulder without looking back.
"Well, I hope he doesn't work here," Nissa said as we turned back around. "His attitude sucks."
I pushed my hat down on my head. A man and woman, holding hands, walked by Nissa and me slowly, attempting to make eye contact. I turned my head, "We need to move around a bit. Get the lay of the land."
Nissa watched the couple pass, disappointment clear on their faces, "Yeah, this place is intense."
"Natch," I responded with a smirk.
Nissa rolled her eyes.
We circled the central, mirrored column, trying to act nonchalant in the face of such brazen fetishism and sexuality. There were a few more mutated supers that rotated in for the lizardman when a group of businessmen carted him off to one of the back rooms. There were other types of fetishes on display involving everything from corporate offices to adults dressed as babies, to full-fledged super-on-tippy "torture" complete with monologues and elaborate traps. What was clear, however, was that these "acts" were just like displays at a shopping center. The punishment was rarely anything but superficial, the torture was just for show, and those who were showing off a particular type of dress paraded around like fashion models. They were just giving patrons places to let their desires be known without having to wear an "I want to put a saddle on your back and ride you around for an hour" sign. The safest place seemed to be the center of the room near the mirrored column. Every time we got too close to a display, we started to get unwanted attention.
Well actually, Nissa got most of the more "normal" attention. The attention I got was decidedly less normal. Apparently, dressing in vinyl with a huge mohawk and an eye mask attracted fairly ordinary people who looked like they'd walked in off the street. Being dressed like a PI, complete with long overcoat, hat, and sipping scotch, tended to get people who thought wrapping themselves in cling wrap was a fashion statement.
Luckily, our waiter's attitude did not reflect his ability as he kept us well supplied with drinks. Nissa seemed to be quite the lightweight as she was only half way through her second beer when she started to gyrate slowly to the music which seemed to be a mix of classical and bass-heavy sounds generated by a computer. I'd never heard anything like it. With all the masks and costumes, it was hard to tell who might have powers and who was a tippy. Some of those who were obviously overweight were certainly tippys; supers only looked that way if their bulk was attached to a power and then they'd usually be huge. Super-sized, they liked to call it. Most of the others...I couldn't say for sure.
"So, what do you think?"
I turned to Nissa who was addressing me out of the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were fixed on a group that was suspending a bikini-clad woman from the ceiling with a single rope wrapped around her in a complex series of knots. "Looks like you'd have to go to school for that one. Or maybe sail the high seas."
She laughed, "No, in general. Pretty weird right?"
"That's an understatement." I glanced around, "Still..." I trailed off.
Off to the side, I caught a bit of movement. In one of the recesses, a new show was starting. It was in the same vein as others I'd seen, the theme being capture and torture by a super. This super, however, had on a long, white lab coat, green scrubs, and round glasses. His head was shaved and he sported a small goatee. W
hile the resemblance wasn't exact, the intent was obvious.
Doc Arts.
Even though I knew the man to be dead, I felt my pulse quicken.
"Still?" Nissa prompted.
I raised my glass to my lips forgetting that it was empty, trying to cover my shock, "Nothing."
Nissa followed my gaze. When I realized, I tried to turn away.
"That your poison? Saving the girl?"
"Huh?" I turned back to the scene where a pot-bellied tippy in a spandex outfit and cape methodically beat the Doc Arts stand-in down. He released the girl in the chair from her bonds and carried her off stage. I hadn't even noticed the girl before. "No. Not at all," I responded too strongly.
Nissa turned to look at me, but her eyes stopped over my shoulder. I turned.
The large man who had led us to the hostess was entering the room from the hallway behind me. People moved out of his way like water before the prow of an ocean liner. I again tried to sip my empty drink. Next to me, the waiter with the leather mask walked by and I placed my glass on his half full tray. I couldn't tell because of the mask, but it felt like he scowled at me.
The huge man stopped in front of us, making eye contact with Nissa then myself in turn. Without a word or so much as a grunt, he turned and walked back toward the hallway. I wiped my hands on my overcoat and nodded at Nissa. Together, we followed, neither of us breaking the silence.
# # #
Chapter 13
The inner sanctum of Master Tay was not at all what I expected. Well, I didn't know what to expect, but I certainly didn't expect a full-on Nights of Arabia-themed pillow-fest, complete with panels of a silky pastel fabric, so thin it was nearly transparent, hanging from the ceiling. The room was huge, probably half the size of the main room we had just left, and had a huge pyramid of pillows positioned in the center. Scattered around the pyramid were small gazebos consisting of four posts embossed with intricate designs topped with bulbous spires. More panels of gossamer fabric hung between the posts, barely hiding the writhing bodies inside.
"Holy shit." Nissa whispered, sipping her beer.
