Silk City Vixens

by Noah Rain

  I could have turned around and walked back toward my crummy, hole in the wall apartment then and there, but curiosity got the better of me. Jaxton was already a hole. Who the hell would be deprived and deranged enough to feel the need to get their kicks underneath a damn bridge on this side of the bay?

  The first surprise—and something that had me shifting from curious to intrigued—came a few steps later, when I noticed a car parked on the opposite side of the road. A nice car. Black with silver trim. It wasn’t anything a Synner would be driving, even though the plates were covered. I squinted, trying to see if anyone was inside. The windows were slightly tinted, but there was nobody in the driver’s seat. Whoever had parked it there had chosen a pool of shadows where the streetlamps couldn’t see.

  It was a Suit’s car. Probably his discreet car. An unregistered vehicle that was nicer than anything in Jaxton. Sell it, and you could probably buy up the whole block, and the entirety of the Wasteland suburbs for miles all around.

  Not that you’d want to.

  I smiled as I covered the distance between the car and the overpass, crouching down like a damn snooping kid as I approached the sea wall. The sounds of sultry passion grew louder and more pronounced as I neared. It seemed the sigh I had heard was only the culmination of round one, and round two sounded more intense.

  Instead of sighing and giggling, this particular round was punctuated by slapping, sounds of surprise, and inhalations. Of course, whoever the Suit had found under the Jaxton bridge had probably seen better days, but she certainly sounded sexy.

  When I reached the wall, I squatted down, put my hands on the cement, and peered into the shadows under the bridge. I saw a pristine white mattress that stood out starkly. I wrinkled my nose and stuck my tongue out in disgust, wondering who would get down and dirty on a filthy old mattress. But … it looked new.

  The culprits were pounding away there. I couldn’t see them clearly at first, but I did see the Suit … wearing a literal suit jacket. His wedding ring glinted in the dark, golden judgement. I shook my head and tried to blur out the image of his loose-fitting tie and his pasty thighs, but the object of his red-faced, straining affections was another story entirely. She caught my attention and held it, until I was gawking.

  She was light-skinned. Moon white, and glowing in the dim light that managed to penetrate the shadows. She wore nothing but a necklace that dangled from a pale throat and swung in time with the breasts behind it. She had short hair that might have been dyed blue-black, and her smile was white. She had her eyes closed, and pushed back against the Suit, taking him in completely. There was no doubt in my mind that she was paid, but she certainly looked to be acting the part, and while I’d seen my share of workers in Jaxton, I had never seen one that gorgeous.

  She was fine. Damn fine. Like naked cream, and probably as soft. But I couldn’t for the life of me understand why a Silk City Suit would risk his credit. Sure, scandals happened on the bright side of the bay, but they were usually between the upper class themselves, Suits sleeping with Pearls, which is what we call the high society wives. It was all kept hush-hush, within reason. But a Suit cheating on said Pearl with a Jaxton whore? Big no-no. Of course, plenty of Jaxton girls tried their luck, but, as I was saying earlier, Suits were raised to despise Jaxton, to fear it and all its inhabitants, and most of all, to distrust them.

  The little, voluptuous blue-haired nymph was a looker, and an actor, but she had to have one hell of a persuasive manner, and some Silk City connections to have got close enough to get this Suit to risk so much.

  I was so taken with the sight, watching her thighs absorb every impact, listening to the way she half-sighed, half-groaned, and admiring how she arched her back, exposing a formerly hidden array of athletic, sweat-streaked lines, that I didn’t hear the approach of my own observer.

  “You a Synner?”

  It was a woman’s voice, and I don’t know if it was because it was just a little lower than your average girl or a little playful, but it didn’t so much send a shiver up my spine as a tingle. Then again, I had been preoccupied watching little Miss Blue put on the most lively show the underside of Jaxton Bridge had ever seen.

  “Aren’t we all?” I said as nonchalantly as possible as I rotated on the balls of my shoes and draped my arms over the sea wall like it was a couch. I tried to keep my voice low, too, so as not to disturb the love birds.

  She didn’t look impressed with me or my shoddy, lame attempt at humor. But damn was I impressed with her.

  She wasn’t overly tall. Maybe about my height, though she carried herself confidently. She had deep red hair that was so dark it only just absorbed some of the yellow light from the faraway streetlamps. She had dark eyes against neutral skin. And the outfit. The outfit.

  She wore leather. Black leather or resin that honestly looked like latex. It hugged her basically everywhere, and she had quite a few curves to hug. She was shaped like an hourglass, with sturdy, tall legs and a more than generous chest. She even put Miss Blue to shame. Her suit looked like one piece, folding down into her black boots like a biker outfit. She hadn’t bothered zipping it up all the way, and I must admit, my eyes wandered down from her mild, bored frown, past her pink lips, and onto the tops of her fleshy … well … tits.

  She crossed her arms as she took me in taking her in, and it only made them swell more, inching the zipper down ever so slightly.

  “Well?” She asked.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head like they do in the cartoons. “I’m not Syndicate.” I looked over my shoulder, astounded to see that the pair was still pounding away under the bridge, and slid on my butt toward the redhead. I stood up when I was out of sight of the water, and found myself comfortably close to the stranger.

  She leaned backward, tilting her hips. She didn’t look overly concerned about me, but I saw her examining my face. I had forgotten that I probably looked a mess, with dried blood and numerous welts adorning features that were probably striking for all the wrong reasons now.

  “Funny outfit for someone who’s not running in a Syndicate. Or a Guild,” she said, letting the unspoken question—and perhaps a threat—hang on the end.

  Now that I was closer to her, and now that I had calmed down a bit, I could see a few more details of her outfit. I hadn’t noticed the compartments on her belt, or the hilt of something—a knife or taser—sticking out of one of her boots, which explained her apparent ease. The material also looked thicker up close, and probably made her appear a little bigger than she really was.

  “That Kevlar?” I asked. “Resin?”

  I twitched a finger, almost reaching out and her eyes flashed dangerously.

  “We’re talking about your outfit right now,” she said, her tone serious.

  That explained it. Her demeanor. Her look. Her presence in one of the grubbiest sections of a grubby town. She was Syndicate. I should have kept up on the local clubs, but I had never considered joining one, and they had never bothered me. Still, a lot of them wore patches, or similar masks. Synners usually hid their identities more often than Guilders for obvious reasons, but this girl—this young, startling woman—kept her face uncovered.

  Bold. I guess she wasn’t all that concerned with her credit. But then, not many Synners were. They’d rather see the system burn than work their way up it.

  “Well?” she asked, tapping her boot. I saw a motorcycle parked behind her, and tried to make out what kind it was.

  “It’s a Gi,” I said, annoyed at having to explain it to the second person that month. “Doesn’t anyone train in the classics anymo—“

  “I know it’s a Gi,” she said quickly. “I’m wondering why you’re wearing it down by the canal, and I’m wondering why you’re all bloody and beaten to a pulp. And actually, if we’re both being honest,” she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, and I caught a whiff of lavender, “I’m not wondering. I’m
asking, and you’re telling.”

  I smirked, but as the redhead leaned back, she seemed confused that I wasn’t immediately spilling my guts. She looked concerned, actually, and she looked down at her chest, and ran two fingers between the alluring pair that was even more hypnotizing up close. She held her fingers up and smelled them, which was a bit weird for me, but not enough to undue the effect entirely.

  “Tell me your name,” she said, crossing her arms again.

  “Tell me yours,” I replied evenly.

  She frowned. I heard Miss Blue give an exaggerated, climactic sound in the background, but the old Company man had clearly taken his medicine. I could hear him negotiating for another round. The redhead rolled her eyes.

  “So,” she said. “You’re not a Synner, and if you’re a Guilder, you’ve got to be working for the cheapest Company in Silk City, given your lack of weaponry or tech. You don’t smell like booze, otherwise I’d chalk you up as being a drunk. You’re in shape,” she said, her eyes roving a bit, taking in my bare stomach and chest in the open V of my Gi. I was still in shape. “I don’t get it.”

  “I’m a guy,” I said, “taking a walk, who stumbled on a … well, that,” I said, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder.

  “A guy fresh from a fight.”

  “In my defense,” I said, “he did have glowsticks. Really strong, shocky glowsticks.”

  Her look changed and she let her arms drop from her side. I resisted the urge to let my eyes fall down again.

  “Vash,” she said, mouth agape. “You’re the one who beat Vash’s ass earlier? We saw him on the north side. Thought a Guild had come over to Jaxton.”

  “If I had beaten his ass as fully as Mr. Salt and Pepper back there is beating Miss Blue’s, then I’d have my Capture Card, and you would be looking at Silk City’s newest Guilder. So no,” I sighed, “I didn’t beat his ass. But I think he’ll remember me.”

  The sounds of merriment had ceased behind me, and the negotiations had turned from flirtatious to pleading, and then aggressive. It sounded like an argument, and Miss Blue appeared to be holding her own. I had just been passing through, but if the Suit tried to get round three without paying, or without her consent, he was going to have to deal with me after all.

  “Where did you train?” Red asked. “Who’s backing you?”

  “Nowhere you’d know,” I said. “And nobody, hence my disheveled appearance and general lack of purpose and direction. What’s your club, by the way? I don’t recall seeing a biker chick Syndicate.”

  “We operate mostly on the other side of the Bay,” she said, then pursed her lips. I had tricked her into replying a few times, and giving me more information than she was likely permitted or comfortable giving. She was clearly used to asking the questions, and something about my answers—or lack thereof—had her unsteady.

  I laughed, thinking she was joking, but she didn’t smile.

  Syndicates only went to Silk City for specific jobs. Hanging out there was a recipe for disaster. The local cops were one thing, but Companies had prisons of their own. Debtors prisons, and Synners with little or no credit could spend a lifetime pounding away at keyboards in the deep, cold, neon basements of those pristine towers if they got too bold and allowed Guilders to bring them in. Come to think of it, I had just been prepared to do that very thing, exchanging poor Vash for a Capture Card, which functioned as a sort of job application for a Guild of my choosing.

  She looked behind me, and nodded. I turned and was shocked to see Miss Blue standing on the inside of the sea wall. She was still naked from the waist up, and yes, they were magnificent up close. She was working at pulling her own black Kevlar suit on, taking her time of it. A car started, and the black and silver beast that had been parked down the lane screamed past, heading toward the entrance to Jaxton Bridge. He drove like a man awash in fresh guilt, or afraid.

  Miss Blue gave me a flirtatious wink as she pulled one shoulder over, and seemed to delight in frozen stare as she zipped them up.

  “You get everything?” the redhead asked, ignoring me completely.

  “You know it,” Blue replied. She turned her wrist over and tapped a digital watch. “Confirmed the amount and everything. Dummy account for sure, but it should keep us going for a while. More importantly, I got the name and details.”

  “Blackmail,” I said, nodding appreciatively. “Though, I don’t know how you make a living at it, unless all the Suits are that fucking stupid.”

  “Aw,” Miss Blue said, “I can be pretty persuasive, can’t I, Scarlett?”

  I turned around, smiling a smile of victory as Scarlett rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Miss Blue said. “Just give him a dose. He won’t remember anything but some pretty hair and hopefully my tits, although the lighting here does me no favors.”

  “I tried,” Scarlett said, much to my confusion.

  “What?”

  “Up close,” she said. “Not skin-to-skin, but tonguing distance. No effect. He hasn’t given me anything. Not even his name.”

  I felt Miss Blue grab my shoulder and turn me around. Before I could react, she had pressed her lips against mine and shoved her tongue into my mouth. I smelled lavender again, and tasted something sharper.

  When she pulled away, she watched my eyes as I stared slack jawed.

  “What’s your name?” she asked. “Where do you live? What’s your ID number? What’s your standing?”

  “Those are all personal questions,” I said. “Besides … you don’t want my ID number or standing. And I’ve barely got enough credit to keep the lights on for another week—“

  “The fuck?” she said, ignoring me and looking at Scarlett.

  “Something wrong with you?” Scarlett asked me.

  “Like … mentally?” It was an extremely confusing night. Maybe I had been hit harder than I thought.

  “He’s immune,” Miss Blue said.

  “I worked that out, Darla,” Scarlett replied.

  “What’s wrong with you then?” Darla asked.

  “I’m … lost,” I said. Darla was a flirt, but when I looked back at her, her expression had changed slightly. It was subtle, but she made me nervous.

  “What should we do with him?” Darla asked. “Is he a spy?”

  “He’s not a Guilder,” Scarlett said. “Even if he is a fighter. He’s got no Company and no money.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Just so you know, honey,” Darla said, “if you were a Guilder, and if our secret sauce doesn’t work on you, we’d dump you in this river here.”

  “That would be murder.”

  Darla looked at me as if I were an idiot.

  “You one of the peons who thinks this is a bloodless war?” Darla asked. She looked angry, now.

  “Your cheeks look about as red as your ass now,” I said.

  I deserved the slap. It didn’t sting because, like everything else, I barely felt it, but I tried to give an extra wince for her benefit.

  “This isn’t a game,” Darla said. “Those fuckers have taken everything from us, and if you’re not a Guilder, and you’re not a Synner, then as far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing.”

  “Darla,” Scarlett said. “Get back home. Sascha is waiting for your report. You know she likes to be thorough.”

  Darla rubbed at her hand, glaring at me.

  “She just likes watching the videos,” Darla said.

  “As I said, she’s thorough.”

  With that, Darla left us, rubbing at her hand as she walked toward the same alley where the Suit’s car had been parked. A few moments later, she zipped passed on a cycle and we watched her make her way across Jaxton Bridge, back toward Silk City.

  “Why is someone like you looking to Guild up?” Scarlett asked once we were alone. It was the first question she had asked me t
hat sounded genuine, and not like a command.

  It wasn’t my fault it was a stupid one.

  “Because,” I said, turning back around. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Jaxton sucks, and in case you hadn’t guessed, the only thing I’m good at is fighting, and if I’m going to join the street war, I’d rather do it on the winning side. Earn a condo of my own. Keep busy. Maybe even collect a pension.”

  Scarlett looked disappointed, and even though I had known her for the span of ten minutes, I felt guilty for disappointing her.

  “So you don’t believe in anything,” she said.

  “My parents did,” I admitted, feeling that old, buried bitterness creep in. “They fought the system right after the crash. They didn’t get to rot away in debtors prison. The Enforcers killed them in the streets.”

  Scarlett didn’t look surprised or dissuaded. She actually took a step toward me. I don’t know if she was trying to hit me with some of that poison again. Didn’t seem to be working, if so.

  “Private troopers,” Scarlett said. “Company troopers. Not government.”

  “What’s it matter?” I asked.

  She shook her head, and that made me angry.

  “What are you about, then?” I asked, not caring if I raised my voice. I had had a shit night, all told. I had kicked a Synner’s ass only to lose the fight in the end, lose my Capture Card, and apparently put myself on the radar of every Syndicate in town as a wannabe Guilder. “And now I’m getting lectured by a Synner whose idea of staging a revolution is to fuck every Suit in Silk City.”

  Scarlett punched me. That one hurt, just a bit. And it shut me up.

  “You’re trained,” I said, wiping the trickle of blood from my nose.

  She looked surprised the blow hadn’t knocked me down.

  “The fuck is with you?” she asked.

  “Nerve thing,” I said. “I take the damage. I just don’t feel … what was it … 90% of pain , or something like that.”

  She nodded. “I think it’s more than just pain. And for the record, Darla fucks the Suits. Sascha collects the tapes. Carmen runs the numbers. Nina keeps the records and checks in on our Suits. And we’re starting to amass quite the collection. You’re not wrong thinking it’s futile to fight them, as least with a fucking karate Gi or some batons. But there are other ways to win. To take the system back.”