Wings of Equity

by Sean Kennedy

  “Are you going to be alright?”

  “I will.”

  She nodded at him. “Sure. But don’t go to Whiskeytown.”

  Ezra didn’t reply; he didn’t want to lie to her.

  Jazz stared him down. “Sometimes I don’t know why I bother.”

  “Say hello to Lady Bart for me,” Ezra called after her.

  He could see her shake her head through the glass of the door as she disappeared into the crowds on the street.

  Chapter 3

  WHISKEYTOWN was only a small zone in the city of Shrevesport, but it was notorious and its reputation was at least three times its size. Ezra knew he should stay away, but he had a burning need and it wasn’t going to be satisfied by his hand alone. Whiskeytown was made for people who had no significant others in their life to take care of such things. It was also made for those whose basest desires did not conform to those of the social majority.

  Ezra crossed into the small buffer that divided Whiskeytown from the better parts of town. A few stalls were manned within it, usually offering clean-up services or drinks for the customers before or after their pleasures were sated.

  “Latest edition!” called out a printboy. “Icarus sighted in Waulkham Hills!”

  This immediately captured Ezra’s attention. “Here!”

  The boy ran over, carrying a small wooden newslink. It projected a static-filled image of what looked like a strange bird taken from a long-distance lens. Ezra could immediately tell by the quality of the projection that the boy worked a cheap newslink, and he found himself feeling strangely sorry for him. It was probably why he was forced to work so close to Whiskeytown. The printboys within the Whiskeytown zone probably didn’t even have the projector, just the news-stick that would feed the download into the customer’s lek-book.

  “You have your lek-book, sir?” the boy asked.

  Ezra nodded, pulling it out from within his coat. It had seen better days. The wooden back was losing its varnish, and the brass buttons on the front needed a clean, for they were dulled by years of use.

  The printboy pulled the newslink out of the projector and connected it to the lek-book, which began whirring in protest. “It’s a large edition, sir,” he explained. “But they’re all getting like that. Maybe you should invest in a Lek-book ’97.”

  “And I suppose you know where I could get one for a fair price?” Ezra asked with a grin.

  “Just so happens, sir,” the boy laughed.

  “If you have access, why don’t you have a spiffier version of the newslink?”

  The boy’s face fell slightly. “Got to make do with what one has.”

  Ezra felt sorry for showing him up, and paid double the price for the edition. This brought a smile back to the plucky printboy.

  “Enjoy your time in Whiskeytown!”

  Enjoy was a strange word to use. Even though Ezra wanted that human contact, even if he had to pay for it, there wasn’t an enjoyment to it. It was perfunctory, not like doing the deed with someone you actually….

  He shook his head. It was exhausting to be sentimental.

  The lek-book chirruped as he searched for the newscast he had just bought. The rest of the news could go to the Dickens for the moment; all he cared about was the latest story on Icarus. He passed through the tube that served as some illusory filter for the rest of the world that didn’t want to believe Whiskeytown existed, all the while reading.

  Icarus was still on the lam. Womenfolk claimed to be in love with him, and who could blame them? Even though a close-up pictogram had never been taken of him, reports from those who had crossed his path described him as a Greek legend breathed into life. He apparently wore naught but brown, low-riding leather pants and the mechanical wings on his back, hence the not-that-original name coined for him by the press. Ezra reckoned that with such a costume, he must get pretty cold out in the desert at night. Unless he really was a god.

  And Ezra knew there was no such thing. He hit the button on the lek-book that would cause it to go directly to that story the next time he fired it up and then put it away in his coat again. His nostrils flared at the sour smell that indicated he was truly in Whiskeytown again.

  Another original name coined by the press, and this one had stuck. Whiskeytown was home to a number of distilleries, and where there was drink, there were lowlifes and the whores to service them. He could already see some, both male and female, lolling around in doorways along the main road. They perked up at his entrance, trying to get his attention.

  He knew better than to go for the prettier ones. They were often flirting dangerously close to the age of consent, and in cahoots with older pimps who then stepped in to let the blackmailing process begin. Not that the workers that put their bodies out there ever saw much of it. Whores never became rich, no matter what dreams they first had when they went into the business.

  One in particular caught his eye. He had dark tousled hair and equally dark eyes. His lips were full, as if they were used to doing the job Ezra had in mind for him. The young man nodded at him, Ezra nodded back, and their opening conversation was completed.

  Ezra followed him into the house, and the whore led him upstairs. In a small room that was surprisingly clean, the transaction began.

  “One or two?” he asked.

  “One,” Ezra replied.

  “Anything else?”

  “Are kisses extra?” Ezra asked, knowing they were.

  “They’re an extra two coins. Did you want to cuddle after?”

  Ezra did, but it wasn’t worth the extra cost. He would just feel emptier going home. “No.”

  The whore nodded. “Eight coins, all up.”

  “You better be good,” Ezra muttered, digging for his wallet. He handed half the money over, and the boy accepted it. Both knew it was foolish to either give or receive the full amount before the act took place.

  The whore shoved the coins in his back pocket, walked over to Ezra, and gave a perfectly adequate performance at desiring his kiss. Ezra allowed his arms to slip around the other man, holding him closely as their mouths worked together. He suppressed a moan as their tongues met, clashing with a hint of teeth. Maybe the lad was worth his price.

  The whore pulled away. “What do you look like under that jacket?”

  Ezra didn’t want the bother of undressing. “Just concentrate on the important stuff.”

  The lad nodded and fell to his knees. His fingers deftly unbuttoned Ezra’s pants and pulled his member out, already hard.

  “That’s a right pretty cock you have there, sir.”

  “I didn’t pay for sweet talk,” Ezra grunted.

  The whore looked up at him with scornful, heavy-lidded eyes. “And I may be a whore, but it doesn’t mean I have to be treated like one.”

  Ezra liked him. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine getting the young man off his knees, taking him back to the office and giving him a job aboard the Lilliput. And if it developed into something more between them, what of it? There were worse ways to find a partner, that was for sure.

  It was a nice imagining, but a foolhardy one. The lad, even if he was getting screwed over by his pimp, could still make more than Ezra could ever offer.

  He steeled himself, pulled a cigar out of his pocket, and lit it. “What’s your name?”

  The lad hesitated, his mouth open.

  Ezra puffed impatiently on the cheroot. “Your real name.”

  It could be a lie, but he nodded. “Lee.”

  “Well, Lee, nice to meet you. But I want my cock sucked. You have nothing to fear from me, I ain’t gonna backhand you or make you do something that goes beyond the realm of a normal bit of work for you. Maybe some more kissing afterwards. Is that okay?”

  Lee, his lips plump and very kissable, nodded.

  “Okay,” Ezra said, satisfied. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes again as he felt Lee’s warm mouth envelop his pecker.

  Lee was good at his job. He played Ezra like
a harmonica, and it wasn’t that long before Ezra was flooding his mouth. Lee continued to pump him, sucking him dry. Ezra felt weak at the knees, but didn’t want to show any frailty. It could just mean trouble later on if he required Lee’s services at another time.

  He was softening when he was finally released, and a slight popping sound issued as he fell out of Lee’s lips. Lee deftly wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand to remove any evidence that might have spilled, and began tucking Ezra back into his pants.

  Ezra grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up. A momentary look of fear crossed Lee’s face, but Ezra made it fade away by claiming his mouth in a kiss. Tasting himself on Lee’s tongue, Ezra felt as if he had regained his own power. He released the other man and reached for his wallet again.

  It was only four coins he owed him, but he gave him a five-piece. “Keep the change.”

  Lee nodded. “You look me up the next time you’re here. I can do even more.”

  Ezra didn’t doubt it, but he nodded. “Good day, Lee.”

  “Sir? Will you tell me your name?”

  Ezra hesitated, but shook his head and turned to find the door. Once it was closed behind him, he checked his pockets to make sure his wallet, keys and lek-book were all accounted for. When he was satisfied that they were, he made his way back to the buffer zone.

  And what he had anticipated was self-fulfilling. He felt miserable.

  Chapter 4

  JAZILLE opened her eyes to find the full glare of sunlight filling the room. “Dammit, how is a girl meant to get any sleep?”

  There was a low chuckle from the other side of the room. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I cannot get dressed in the dark.”

  Jazz sat up against the headboard and gathered the blankets around herself. “Why get dressed at all? I haven’t had enough of you yet, and it’s not like you to be satisfied so early.” She squinted to see Bart moving around her dresser, still deliciously naked. Her body was luminous within the sunlight, as if she were Venus emerging from the shell.

  “You may have the day free to yourself, but unfortunately I do not.”

  Jazz sighed. “It is cruelness indeed that our days never seem to coincide.”

  “Perhaps you would be bored with me if they did,” Bart said teasingly as she sat before her mirror.

  “Bored with you? Never!” Jazz suddenly frowned. “Why? Would you be bored with me if it were so?”

  “Of course not,” Bart said, turning to look at her. The dark shadow between her legs was a marked contrast to her pale skin. Jazz longed to be within range of it once more. “Nothing would please me more.”

  “Then come back to bed.”

  Bart began rummaging among the dresser drawers. “Do not harangue me so, foul temptress!” she declared in her most faux Imperial accent.

  “Foul?” Jazz asked. As Bart turned to face her once more, she pushed the blankets away and exposed herself to her lover. Bart stood, open-mouthed, deliciously shocked and pleased as she watched Jazz tease her.

  Bart swallowed heavily. “My love, I have to go.”

  Mock pouting, Jazille threw the blankets back over herself. “Fine. Go, then.”

  “You don’t know how much it pains me to leave you in such a state.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Bart pulled her underbust corset down from where it was hanging upon the Oriental screen that was meant to provide a modesty barrier. In front of Jazz, Lady Bart had no need for such modesty.

  Jazz watched her pull the corset over her torso until it settled at the cusp of her breasts, and grimaced. “I don’t know why you cage your beauties like that. They should be unfettered and wild.”

  Bart giggled. “My beauties? I suppose they are.” She walked over to Jazille. “Unfortunately, they are too wild to be free.”

  “You mean, unlike mine.” Jazz pulled the blankets tighter around herself.

  “Yours are perfect,” Lady Bart said honestly. “They bring me much pleasure. But you must admit, if you had such as mine, they would make your job a lot harder. Mine are needed for decoration; for distracting and teasing the buffoons I have to mix with in society. Anyway, you need to help me lace these up.”

  “I will do no such thing. It’s barbarous. And anyway, all wild things should be free.”

  “Then I will have to call in Jessie, and you will have to go.”

  “Fine,” Jazz huffed, not wanting to have the maid disturb their last moments of privacy. She scooted over on her knees to where Bart stood at the foot of the bed, provocatively dressed in nothing more than the unlaced corset. “I hate this thing you’re putting on, but the rest of your clothes are nothing but the best fashion.”

  Bart braced herself against the post of the canopy bed, hanging on as Jazz showed no mercy pulling on the laces that dragged the metal and whalebone closer together. “You do know that you cage yours as well,” she wheezed. “You just cage them in the clothes of a man.”

  “They don’t gasp for breath as yours do. It’s dangerous, the fashion of a woman.”

  Lady Bart laughed becomingly, then winced as Jazz savagely tugged at the stays, giving herself traction by digging one heel into the mattress. “Oh my dear Jazz, you are a card. Do you never want to dress like a lady?”

  Jazz snorted and began tying the knots.

  “Never to put on an elegant dress, rouge your cheeks, and paint your lips a wild color?”

  Jazz released her, and gave her a swat on her lily-white bottom. “On board the Lilliput, an elegant dress would soon become a rag. Do you not like me for what I am?”

  Bart rubbed at the affected area, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. “Of course I do, darling. You are unfettered and wild, and that’s why I love you.” She cupped Jazz’s cheeks and kissed her tenderly. “But it doesn’t mean I would not like to see you dressed properly once in a blue moon.”

  “Well, maybe one day I’ll see you in pants and a vest.”

  “I think your day will come before mine,” Lady Bart sighed, and walked back to her dresser.

  Jazz began reaching for her own clothes from where she had tossed them on the floor. “I may surprise you one day.”

  “One can dream.” Bart slid into her knickers, and Jazz regretted seeing even more flesh disappear beneath cloth. “Has Ezra gone to Whiskeytown again, do you think?”

  “It is where he can always be found when there’s money in his pocket.” Jazz pulled on her pants, making sure her holster was secure, and reached for her shirt.

  “Poor man. I think he is lonely.”

  “Kneebone?” Jazille snorted, most unladylike.

  Bart looked up as she fastened her skirt over the bottom of the corset. “Yes, Jazz, men can get lonely. Even a man like Ezra Kneebone. Why do you think he goes to Whiskeytown so often? It isn’t just to satisfy his carnal urges.”

  “No?” Jazille slammed her gun into her holster.

  Bart buttoned a fitted jacket over the corset and began liberally powdering the gentle overfill of breast that swelled above the bust. “He craves the touch of another man, and he wants the company of a man. I think he would love you if either of you were inclined that way. But alas, you have no manly pipe between your legs.”

  Jazille reached behind herself and threw a pillow at her lover. “Stop!”

  Bart watched the pillow fly past her. “You’re not normally that bad a shot! My dear, Ezra is just a typical man. He wants to let someone into his heart, but he will not let them. It is harder for a man who loves other men to find a true mate. Any unmarried man is immediately suspect, whereas women just become pitied spinsters.”

  “Or widows,” Jazz said without thinking.

  A wave of darkness crossed over Lady Bart’s face, but it was gone just as quick as it came. “Do not diminish my memories of Marcus. I loved him. Perhaps not in the full manner of a wife. Not in the way I love you. Even though in moments like this, I think you do not deserve it.”

  “Bart, darling….”

  Lady
Bart turned back to her mirror and began applying rouge to her cheeks. “Did you ask Ezra about the loan?”

  “I already know the answer.”

  “So, what you mean is no, you didn’t,” Bart admonished her, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

  “Why ask when I know I’ll get my fool head bitten off for doing so?” Jazz pulled her hair back and tied it.

  “Because you’ll get your fool head bitten off by me for not doing so!” Freshly made-up and ready to face the rest of the day, Bart crossed the room to sit by Jazz. “You should wear your hair down. It becomes you.”

  “And I’ll get my head torn from my body if I’m crawling around on the Lilliput in mid-flight and my hair gets caught in the engine or propellers, won’t I?”

  Bart stroked her hair gently. “I would hate to see that. Although it would make you quiet for a while.”

  Jazz harrumphed. “More like forever.”

  Bart reached for a black hat with a small white band, practically her only concession to color at the moment. “You don’t really climb about on that blasted airship in flight, do you?”

  “I’m the mechanic. Sometimes I have to.”

  “I thought you were the pilot?”

  Jazz rolled her eyes. “I’m both.”

  “So, pray tell, what exactly does Ezra do?”

  “Everything else,” Jazille informed her, then pursed her lips. “Well, I mean to say, whatever is left over from everything else I do.”

  Lady Bart drew out her fan from a side pocket and smiled at Jazz coquettishly before hiding behind it. “Ask him about the loan, I implore you.”

  Jazz conceded grumpily, and was rewarded with a kiss before she was sent on her way.

  Chapter 5

  “SO, WHAT exactly does the Lady Bart do all day?”

  Jazz stared glumly at Ezra. “She does lady things, how should I know?”

  “Well, she is your lady, shouldn’t you know these things?” Ezra teased.

  They were sitting in the office; Ezra was firing up the mini-console to start going through the books and feed in the new information supplied by Jazz’s latest repairs and checks.