Crash Deluxe

by Marianne de Pierres

  While the smoke continued to plume I rolled like crazy towards the gutter covering along the edge of the building and forced myself underneath it.

  I heard excited shouts as the Hi-Tel’s own security burst from the lift spraying semi-auto fire. I peered out from underneath the corrugated plas to see the Troop Float peel off.

  Much as I appreciated the rescue, I didn’t want to be caught up in the post-mortem, and Delly was about to leave the building, so I squirmed on along under the gutter shield, dragging myself through a cushion of rat dung.

  As I crawled past the control room and behind a set of tall barricades I squeezed out from under the cover and scrambled unsteadily to my knees. Not only was the chic top in tatters but my pants looked like shit-crumbed shredded paper.

  I was bleeding all over the place, especially from the leg. The fleck of burns on my back throbbed.

  ‘You are popular.’ Lavish Deluxe was leaning against a flimsy UL, waiting for me.

  ‘What will it cost for you to get me out of here?’ I couldn’t see any point in wasting time.

  He didn’t even have to consider. ‘An introduction to James Monk.’

  Yes.

  ‘Sure thing. Wrapped in a bow if you like.’

  The smile that spread across Delly’s face was almost indecent. He hopped in and powered up the tiny engine, manoeuvring it for a short, tight take-off across the tarmac. Right off the edge of the building.

  ‘You can’t take off there. There’s not enough room.’ My words were lost in more explosions, and my heart leaped across the abyss to the next building then back into my chest.

  Gaol and failure had to be better than flying in an ultralight off the edge of this building. Didn’t it?

  Delly hopped out again and nudged the lightweight craft backwards until the tail touched the back of the lift housing.

  I glanced over my shoulder. The control room was empty - deserted. The only audience we had was the Hi-Tel security, and they were fighting the blaze engulfing Monk’s crashed ’copter.

  I ran to the tail and climbed into the wire basket built into it. Not exactly how I’d planned to leave one of Viva’s classiest Hi-Tels. I really had to do something about my lifestyle.

  We came off the building and fell - a nauseating, ear-popping drop. I kept my eyes shut and gripped the sides of the basket, wondering how long before we smacked a hole in the ground.

  Fierce pain constricted my chest and breathing. It didn’t matter how long it took, I realised, I was going to have a heart attack long before we hit.

  I tried to remember what I wanted my last thoughts to be. There was something, I was sure. Something I’d made a pact with myself that I would think - something that would counteract all the bad karma and mistakes. Something that would gain me entrance to a bar where I could sit and get drunk without watching my back.

  Nope. Gone.

  The world spun. Literally. The UL, Deluxe and I were in a death twirl.

  I heard him scream in exultation as I vomited. The spin of the UL slapped the mess back into my own face.

  I felt all my muscles slacken towards unconsciousness. Not good. My grip slipped. I pitched out of the basket, tethered by one hand only.

  Another Deluxe scream. And words that I couldn’t savvy.

  The fingers on my grip hand began to uncurl. I couldn’t do anything to stop them.

  His scream went on, long and hard and exultant. I focused on the sound and used it as a reason to stay alive, forcing my fingers to close again around the steel.

  Try, you fool.

  The Angel shot me up with renewed adrenalin that tightened my muscles and penetrated enough into my consciousness to piss me off.

  I’m no fool, I’m—

  Woof.

  The UL came out of the spin and levelled off without warning. There was a sharp, bone-cracking encounter between me and the steel basket.

  Deluxe’s scream turned into laughter as we straightened and slowed.

  I craned a look through vomit-encrusted eyelashes. The maniac pilot had his head thrust back and tears streaming down his face.

  I was pleased that I was going to live a bit longer. It would give me enough time to wring his neck.

  Chapter Seven

  By evening the city’s advertibles and One World overflowed with headlines about the whole thing.

  Amorato missing in desperate kidnap attempt.

  Duel over femme is fatal.

  Globe’s air-traffic regulators abandon their post in crisis.

  Rooftop carnage.

  Who is the mysterious missing woman?

  Virgin Brides singer fined for trashing Interchange corridor during band frenzy. ‘It wasn’t me,’ pleads Garter Thin.

  I smothered a laugh at the last one.

  The rest, though . . . what was it that Teece and Ibis had said? ‘There’s attention. And then there’s ATTENTION.’

  I was watching it all from the bar of the Luxoria where Lavish was paying for the drinks. The violet downlights barely lit our corner of the bar, making it easy for me to observe the decor and the company without being obvious.

  The company was . . . stunning.

  Even though it was out of hours, Lavish’s club buzzed as Amoratos drifted in and out, some wearing portable N-S, others simply stoned or drunk - all in underwear or casual track-gear. But it was they, not their taste in entertainment or fashion, that staggered me. I’d never seen so much beauty in one place - all types and tastes.

  Actually, it was more than just beauty. It was as though a . . . residue of sex lingered on them. A syrup-thick come-and-do-it-with-me aura.

  I felt the lust rising again. Not surprising - I had the most desirable pieces of flesh in the city strutting about in their knickers right under my nose.

  I told myself it was a reaction to the adrenalin rush of the UL ride and that this was not the sort of place to be feeling those sorts of urges. I forced myself to check out the security instead.

  Mr Muscle Massive, squashed onto a seat barely big enough to contain his bulk, made Plastique’s boys look soft and small.

  Flesh parlours were the same anywhere. You had to have some visible bulk, but I suspected that Mr Massive was mainly for show. Strong, sure, but slow and awkward. And from the way the Amoratos were teasing him, I figured he was probably altogether too nice.

  Over by one of the doors, though, were two Koreans dressed like hired help and playing holocards in a restless kinda way.

  I figured them for the real deal.

  Them, and the anti-beserker screens, and the restraint gear not quite out of sight behind the bar.

  I shivered. Paralysis tek scared the Jeez out of me.

  Behind the section of the bar where Lavish and I sat, a withered guy who could have climbed straight out of one of Ike del Morte’s petri dishes mixed more drinks. I didn’t think they allowed punters that ugly to live in Viva - let alone in a place like this.

  Around his collar I saw the tell-tale orange stains of a wethead.

  ‘Hurry up with those drinks, Merv,’ ordered Lavish.

  Merv frowned and slopped tequila over my hand.

  I could’ve gotten pissed off - but this was the guy I’d come to find.

  I gave him a friendly wink. If he was half as smart as Honey had said, I didn’t care if he tipped the whole damn bottle over me. At the very least I could get him to fix Merry 3#.

  Muted tribal music pulsed around us. Some of the Amoratos danced to it. One perched on Mr Massive’s knee and massaged his temples.

  His grin spoke bliss.

  Lavish swallowed his drink and demanded another. He seemed to be getting in a mood to talk as he came down from his own high, so I put 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 Casi
no 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 side of mine.

  I wasn’t sure if I was feeling that mellow, but I gave him the benefit. I needed to know what was going on.

  ‘I’m also curious why he would allow a Series 7 Intimate to be destroyed for you,’ he said.

  Does he mean Derek? Obviously a Series 7 was worth more than a human being to Lavish Deluxe. I sat back to consider the question and to get the scent of him out of my nostrils. Casual sex wasn’t on my list of things to do while I was here, yet it was pretty much all that was on my mind.

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t in his plan. What else?’ I stalled.

  He slid his hand along my thigh and cupped my crotch.

  The brash move got me pushing off the bar, dumping us both on the floor. I rolled quickly so that I was astride him, one hand gripping his throat and the other in a fist above his face.

  He smiled up at me with the keen lasciviousness of someone who would welcome the right sort of pain.

  ‘And why would an Amorato, even a raw one, react like a street fighter to a mild flirtation? Unless, of course, she wasn’t who she said she was . . .’

  I smacked him in the mouth anyway. It probably proved his point but I couldn’t help myself. I had a head of steam to let off - and he was so . . . so . . .

  Blood trickled from where I had split his lip. I wanted to lean down and taste it.

  Yes . . .

  The Eskaalim was in my head again. The building strength of its presence got me up and putting some distance between Delly and me.

  I knew my self-control was slipping. Since I’d used it to help me with the guards at the Interchange it had found a new way around to get at me. If I stayed in this place too long . . .

  I paced a little, keeping an eye on the Koreans who had closed in.

  ‘OK. Let’s just say I’m new to your business. My . . . er . . . speciality . . . is violence. You saved my life back there. Let’s work on an deal that’s acceptable to both of us,’ I said.

  Lavish got to his feet and waved the Koreans away. He climbed back up on to his stool and sucked his bleeding lip. ‘I’m sure we can work something out.’

  I joined him at the bar and swallowed my drink in one gulp. A tremor seemed to have been with me since we’d climbed alive from the UL. It wasn’t getting any better. Lust? Shock? Anger? Whatever, I couldn’t find a way to release it.

  ‘What do you know about James Monk?’ I asked.

  Lavish’s expression got cagey. ‘Media are our main clientele. I’ve tried to secure Monk’s business before but he’s got a consort and doesn’t usually hire out for himself. When you contacted him I thought you were just another opportunist. When he contacted you . . . well, that was a different matter.’

  I pretended to be astounded. ‘How could you have known who I was contacting?’

  ‘There isn’t anywhere less private than a Hi-Tel lobby, Belliere. In every sense of the word.’

  ‘You hacked the comm line?’

  ‘Let’s just say I have a very good technician.’

  So I hear.

  ‘So how can we both get to Monk now?’ It seemed the logical question I would ask under the circumstances. ‘Or should I say, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘You must contact him and insist on servicing him here.’

  ‘What do you get for that - the kudos?’

  He smiled, his lips compressing in a narrow line. ‘If you like. Once he’s patronised my club, my profile will grow exponentially and I’ll call things square between us.’

  ‘He may not want to come here,’ I said.

  ‘Well, that depends on how persuasive you can be.’

  I immediately thought of my guns, and my pins and my knives - none of which I had with me. ‘How do you mean - persuasive?’

  He laughed - until he saw that I was serious.

  Putting his glass down, he slid off the stool and came around to my side, locking his arms around my waist. Tilting his head back, he stood on his toes and ran his tongue along my jawline, up to my ear lobe.

  Despite the sensations trickling into my crotch, I found myself reaching for an absent knife with one hand and wiping his saliva away with the other.

  Instead of persisting, he withdrew, levering himself on to the bar.

  He tapped his cheek with a forefinger. ‘I don’t know who you are, but
James Monk wanted you. If I set this up, you must learn enough to pass as what you pretend to be. My reputation is at stake.’

  ‘How long will that take?’ I complained, faking impatience.

  ‘Glorious will coach you. A few days should be enough.’ He nodded towards the amber goddess.

  Shite, no.

  Before I could protest aloud he’d beckoned her over.

  ‘Glorious, Jales is from the other side of the world.’

  ‘Country,’ I corrected.

  ‘Whatever.’ He sniffed at my interruption. ‘Her skills are . . . raw. If you were to teach her some basic sophistications, enough to pass as a local artisan, how long would it take?’

  Glorious looked me over critically. ‘Depends on how quickly she learns - a few days, a week at the most for the rudiments. Years if you want her to be good at it.’

  Lavish nodded. ‘Days will be enough. When Glorious thinks you’re ready I’ll set up another contact with James Monk. Not before. My reputation is everything.’

  I got a stubborn look on. ‘What if I don’t want to play your game?’

  He shot a glance at Glorious and she moved off out of earshot, eyeing me curiously.

  ‘I’ll throw you out on the street and blow your cover. You are no Amorato, Jales Belliere. People want to kill you,’ he whispered.

  ‘What about if I kill you first?’ I whispered, only half joking.

  He didn’t smile. ‘Now that would be stupid. You’re almost untouchable while you’re in the Luxoria. You have what we call . . . Corpus Immunity. As long as the sanitation and health laws are obeyed I can employ anybody I want, make them do anything I want. No interference. Set foot on the street and I’ll see that you are snatched up by the nearest Militia patrol as an illegal alien at the very least. I’m sure that once they start digging they’ll find other things about you they want to know.’

  Oh, yes.

  ‘If you’re after James Monk then it’s my way or . . .’ He trailed off.

  I didn’t like blackmail but it was buying me the time I needed with Merv. I let myself look annoyed.

  A small guy dressed only in a disposable nappy burst into the bar. His low-pitched wail cut across the background tribal beat.