by Robert Sims
The bar was partitioned from the restaurant by cedarwood lattice screens. There was also a lounge area with low leather sofas, delicate bamboo plants and dim lanterns. Above the babble of voices, a DJ
was spinning an exotic mix of Edith Piaf and urban rap on his chrome-plated designer decks.
‘Meditation.’ Barbie beckoned to the cocktail waitress. ‘I took a course in that once.’
Jojima folded his hands. ‘You studied Zen?’
‘Yes. I needed a relaxation technique. Unlike you, I’m not a Buddhist.’
Jojima leant forward a little, his face sharp and earnest. ‘It’s true I had Buddhist training, but I have no religion. I have faith only in my own judgement.’
Barbie gestured to the hovering waitress for another champagne cocktail and another large shochu. ‘No wonder you drive such a hard bargain,’ he said. ‘No self-doubt. No moral hesitation.’
Jojima gazed back at his host studiously, letting him know he could recognise a backhanded compliment when he heard one. Barbie smiled, feeling at liberty to speak his mind now that the multi-million-dollar deal had been completed.
‘In whatever one does there are always ethical considerations,’
said Jojima.
‘What about war?’
‘Even in war one needs a personal code of honour. Without it, a man’s no better than a beast.’
Barbie’s eyes met his. ‘So you have a strong sense of honour?’
The question was loaded, and Jojima knew it. He’d been waiting for something of the sort. It was because of the unspoken pact between them - an unholy transaction involving Barbie’s wife. The way both men had used her was anything but honourable. Barbie had made her services available in return for a business contract, and Jojima had been unable to resist the bribe.
‘I try to be worthy of my ancestors,’ he said hesitantly, then gave a polite shrug and glanced down.
Barbie smiled to himself. This was something else to savour. He’d not only clinched the deal, he’d also subverted the toughest negotiator he’d ever dealt with in the process. Never mind he’d used the tactics of a pimp. Moral corruption didn’t bother him much at all. If anything, it amused him. All the better if it served his purpose. As for Giselle, he couldn’t help admiring her dedication to material success. In practical terms, she’d actually strengthened their marriage.
And what was that, ultimately, but just another contract?
Jojima again downed his drink in one gulp and placed the empty glass in front of him. ‘And what about you, Barbie-san?’ he asked.
‘What do you believe in?’
His host thought about it for a moment, then answered, ‘I believe in original sin.’
Jojima frowned. ‘That’s a Judaeo-Christian concept I find difficult to grasp.’
‘It’s quite straightforward really,’ said Barbie, gesturing at the people around him as if indicating a riot of hedonism. ‘Think of it as genetics. Original programming - the animal drives embedded in our brains by millions of years of evolution. Peel away our layers of social convention, and there it is - primal instinct. Freud called it the id.’
Jojima nodded. ‘And that’s the idea behind the game you’ve sold us.’
‘Exactly. No VR game on the market is as vivid. None comes near it for sensory experience. There’s nothing like it for stimulating the pleasure centres of the brain. Hardcore horror meets erotic violence. It’s like plugging into the devil’s playground. Audiovisual cocaine. The whole world will get hooked.’
Barbie laughed. The laugh wasn’t quite manic, but it wasn’t restrained either. It was the triumphant laugh of someone making a mockery of virtue. That too was a strong theme in Judaeo-Christian culture.
After the first bottle of sake, Rita could feel it loosening the grip of her self-control, dislodging the frustrations that had built up during her two days of paperwork and formal interrogations.
‘You’re so in the mood to party,’ said Lola.
‘How can you tell?’
‘Your outfit,’ said Lola, waving her chopsticks at her friend’s low-cut top, slit skirt and stilettos. ‘Complete giveaway.’
‘Then we’ve come to the right place,’ said Erin as she slid a rice ball into her mouth. ‘Tarts’ corner.’
‘Talking of tarts,’ Lola huffed, ‘my lesbian admirer’s more persistent than any male who’s pursued me.’
‘Serves you right,’ said Rita.
‘Sometimes she calls me every half hour and we end up having screaming rows over the phone.’
‘One woman in a relationship and you’ve got a high level of emotion,’ Rita pointed out. ‘Two and you’re talking volatile, explosive.’
‘But I’m usually so fucking cool!’ shouted Lola. ‘I never have to explain myself !’
‘So what exactly does she see in you?’ asked Rita.
‘She loves my tits.’
‘Don’t we all?’ put in Erin. ‘I once got called a “diesel dyke” by a sergeant in the Fraud Squad but I made him eat his words.’
‘You look like sex on a stick,’ came a male voice from behind Rita.
She looked up to find Martin Barbie standing over her, his eyes moving lazily from her exposed thigh to the open sway of her breasts.
Next to him was a stern-looking Japanese man.
‘Kenshi Jojima, let me introduce Detective Sergeant Marita Van Hassel, who thinks I’m something of a villain.’
Jojima looked alarmed, but gave a curt bow.
Barbie beamed around the table at her companions. ‘And your friends are … ?’
With a sigh, Rita introduced them, amazement on their faces as he shook Erin’s hand and kissed Lola’s, his celebrity image glowing like an aura. They were both instantly charmed.
He turned back to Rita. ‘I’d love to stay and chat, but we’re heading off to the casino. Champagne celebration.’ He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘This has my mobile number on it. Come and join me later. We can party together.’
Just like before, in the television studio, she felt that flush of excitement in her stomach. She couldn’t tell if it was despite his smooth, sexual arrogance or because of it.
‘What about your wife?’ she asked.
‘Ah, my wife.’ Barbie couldn’t help glancing at Jojima, who dropped his gaze - an exchange that left Rita wondering. ‘My wife is otherwise engaged. So come along. Undercover, if you like. Though with what you’re wearing, I hesitate to say it.’ He smiled at one and all, oozing sincerity, and with a regal wave escorted Jojima from the restaurant.
Rita threw back a shot of sake, then dumped the wet glass on top of his business card. ‘Arsehole.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ gasped Lola. ‘You’ve just been asked out by the hottest guy in town. You can’t turn down an invitation like that!’
‘I don’t trust him. And he’s already half pissed.’
‘So what?’ said Erin. ‘So are you! And how on earth do you know Martin Barbie?’
‘Like he said, because he’s bent - though in what way I don’t know. I questioned him over a line of inquiry to do with the Hacker, but it got nowhere. It’s not on file.’
‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Lola shook her head in exasperation. ‘I swear, if you don’t take the card and call him, I will. I mean it!’
Alarm bells were ringing in Rita’s mind, warning her not to go to Barbie’s party. Wealthy businessmen indulging themselves were dangerous territory with their monstrous egos and powerful connections. Not only would she be out of her depth, but it was the sort of social event where a woman’s reputation - not to mention her career - could be compromised. No. Bad idea. But somewhere inside her head a seductive whisper was urging her on.
For one thing she had unfinished business with Barbie. Police business. Tonight would be a golden opportunity to catch him off guard. He might let slip something about the disappearance of Kelly Grattan, and the truth about that could have crucial implications. On the other h
and, there was Huxley’s open invitation for champagne at the Windsor. She sat in the glow of paper lanterns trying to make up her mind while the DJ did an experimental mix of Japanese dreamscape music and Kylie Minogue.
‘The DJ’s definitely gay,’ said Lola. ‘And you, Rita, need to let yourself go.’
Erin interrupted Rita’s thoughts with a sisterly hand on her arm.
‘You have a choice between a champagne party with a millionaire media star or a predictable evening of gossip with us.’ She shook her head. ‘No contest.’
She knew they were right. In the same way that the wheel of fate is right. Somehow it felt like she was meant to encounter Barbie tonight. For good or ill, she was also meant to follow through.
Rita took a taxi to the casino complex. As she walked into the hotel lobby she was in the mood for battle, the heels of her stilettos tapping emphatically across the expanse of black marble floor. If Barbie wanted to be cute, she was ready to match him.
Stopping, she punched up the number of his mobile.
‘Hello?’ he answered, nearly drowned out by a rowdy background.
‘It’s Marita Van Hassel. I’m in the lobby.’
‘Fantastic.’ He sounded genuinely pleased. ‘I’ll send someone down to get you.’
As she waited she looked around at the opulent glitz, a cross between a marble palace and Las Vegas. A grand staircase swept up through the galleried lobby. Immense chandeliers dripped from the ceiling and lights played on indoor fountains.
A hard-faced man in a dinner jacket came up to her. He had a buzz-saw haircut, thick neck muscles, and a radio earpiece. Security.
Ex-army probably.
‘Miss Van Hassel?’ he asked.
She nodded.
‘If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you up to Mr Barbie’s suite.’
As Rita and the hired muscle rode the lift high up into the hotel tower she was already having second thoughts. What exactly was she walking into?
She found out as she passed another heavy-jawed security guard and entered Barbie’s suite. The broad curve of the windows was filled with a spectacular night view over the city. Skyscrapers gleamed in the darkness, their reflections shimmering on the surface of the river far below. In the suite, the lights had been dimmed to heighten the dramatic effect. Champagne buckets were everywhere. Corporate executives, bow ties undone, created a loud din of conversation, high-class callgirls waiting to attend to their needs. So it was that sort of party. Decadent chic. In front of the centre window, Barbie was holding forth to men she recognised as state politicians. Much nodding, laughing and mutual toasts. Maybe it was true. Maybe the city was his for the taking.
He saw her and gestured her over. Hesitating, she was just wondering if she could make a quick retreat when someone touched her arm. She turned and found herself facing Josh Barrett, looking uncomfortable in a dinner jacket, champagne glass in hand. Behind him were his computer colleagues, equally out of place.
‘What kind of weird party is this?’ said Maynard with an adolescent grin. His hired suit didn’t fit properly and served only to make him look more gangly. ‘We’ve got hookers, karaoke and Japanese juice freaks. Now we’ve got a woman cop dressed to kill.’
‘Shut up, you dork,’ said Flynn. He too looked awkward in formal wear, trying to loosen his bow tie as he turned to Rita. ‘But he’s got a point. What are you doing here?’
‘A last-minute invitation from your boss,’ she answered. ‘We bumped into each other at a Japanese restaurant.’
‘That figures,’ Flynn grumbled. ‘Looks like everyone’s been invited by the Great Barbie to help him celebrate us making him millions.’
‘So when is the game being unveiled?’ asked Rita.
‘Like I told you before,’ snapped Flynn, ‘we’ve got strict confidentiality clauses. If we breathe a word then it’s no job and no bonus.’
‘He’s right,’ put in Josh. ‘We’re under contract to keep our mouths shut - commercial secrets and all that - but the timetable’s now down to the Japanese. All the official announcements will come from Tokyo.’
‘I’ll look forward to them,’ she said. ‘Should I buy a new PlayStation?’
‘And the rest of the kit,’ said Maynard.
‘Shut the fuck up,’ said Flynn, cutting him short. ‘Come on, time to drink up. We don’t belong here.’
‘We were just about to split,’ said Josh, clearly wanting to add something but feeling constrained by the others. ‘I guess you’re staying for a while.’
‘I’d better say hello to the host and thank him for inviting me.’
‘Hello’s about the only word you’ll get in,’ said Flynn. ‘He’s more full of himself than ever.’
Having greeted Barbie in a scrum of businessmen, Rita was standing by the window, sipping champagne and admiring the view when she was approached by a distinguished-looking man with a shock of steel grey hair, a florid face and a plum-coloured bow tie. She recognised him straightaway as another politician - though federal this time. From the expression on his face, he had only sexual politics in mind.
‘Wonderful sight,’ he said with a suggestive smile. ‘This city’s got so much to offer.’
‘Yes,’ she replied, glancing Barbie’s way. He was circulating now.
Lots of backslapping. ‘Especially with the right contacts.’
The politician thought he’d caught her drift. ‘It’s always who you know,’ he said, glancing around furtively and leaning towards her.
‘So are you available tonight?’ he whispered, nodding slyly towards the drunken Japanese. ‘Or are you spoken for?’
Rita averted her eyes and took a swig of champagne as she suppressed the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. Then she saw the irony. The way she was dressed. The type of party it was. Maybe that’s why Barbie had invited her, the manipulative bastard. Put her in her place. Include her in the company of upmarket prostitutes.
And of course that’s why there were no wives or girlfriends present.
All the women here had the raw glamour of professional hostesses.
In a crude way it was a compliment as well as an insult that this jerk thought she was one of them.
The politician edged closer. ‘So, my dear. Have our friends from Nippon claimed you?’
She remembered the brothel madam’s insight about the male brain. This one was shedding points from his IQ like rats from a sinking ship.
‘I’m on my own,’ was all she said.
He beamed at her. ‘Excellent. That means you’re free for the night.’
She nursed her drink, feeling a mixture of revulsion, righteous indignation and malice, then she looked him squarely in the eyes and said, ‘A girl is never free.’
‘Ah.’ That set him back. ‘What sort of figure do you have in mind?’
It was part of her job to know market rates, but how high up the price index would she pitch herself ?
‘Three grand,’ she said, off the top of her head.
‘Three … ?’ His expression stiffened. ‘That’s a bit steep. Especially as the hospitality’s been paid for by the host.’
‘Has it now?’ Maybe she should put it on file. Barbie the procurer, Barbie the pimp. ‘Well he hasn’t paid for me.’
He wasn’t beaming now. ‘I can have you thrown out,’ he said, his tone threatening. ‘There’s no end of trouble I can cause.’
Trying to intimidate her. Wrong move. ‘You’re not the only one, Senator …’ she replied.
But before she could say any more, Barbie was at her side, his hand on her elbow, smiling into the politician’s face. ‘So you’ve met the detective sergeant? Not what you expect, is she?’
The senator blanched. ‘You’re with the police?’ His voice sounded hoarse. ‘A detective? Which squad?’
‘Sex crimes,’ she said sharply. ‘Vice.’
He began to back away. ‘You realise this party’s strictly private.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Barbie’s smile was like a sa
lesman’s guarantee. ‘She’s off-duty.’
But it was the politician’s turn to be affronted. ‘She’s also off the leash.’
As they watched him retreat, Barbie asked her casually, ‘Did you spook the honourable Senator?’
Rita drank the rest of her champagne. ‘Not nearly enough.’
‘I thought you’d make an interesting addition to the party,’ he said, amused.
‘In addition to what? The balloons and party poppers?’ she replied, her voice hot with annoyance. ‘The frigging karaoke?’
Barbie laughed as if nothing could faze him tonight. The battle was won. He’d conquered the world. But she was right about one thing - the noise level from the karaoke. Voices caterwauling. The screech of feedback from the amplifiers. He had to raise his voice to speak above it.
‘You’re far more decorous.’
She had a powerful urge to slap the conceit off his face. ‘I don’t know why you invited me. But if it’s for a bit of sport -‘
But he cut her short. ‘No way. No way.’ Waving off the suggestion.
‘I thought it might be to our mutual benefit. A mixture of business and pleasure.’
What was he after now, she wondered. Inside information? The prospect of a bribe?
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Good. But let’s go where we can hear ourselves talk.’
She was sinking into the overstuffed cushions of an embroidered sofa, relieved to be off her feet and away from the noise of the party.
Barbie had escorted her here, into the adjoining suite, which he used as his private accommodation. His ‘haven’, he’d called it, his ‘urban retreat’. She could think of other names that were less edifying.
It was peaceful here after the raucous atmosphere of the celebration
- seductively peaceful. The sofa was blissfully soft. She could feel her anger draining away. Her muscles relaxing. A strange sort of music was playing quietly in the background. Voices singing in Latin.
Slow and moody. And in the air, a touch of incense. She was sitting in candlelight amid a sea of thick rugs, a champagne bottle in a silver ice bucket on a table in front of her, her gaze drifting across the cinematic spectacle of city lights filling the windows as she waited for Barbie to return with a pair of chilled champagne glasses.
