This car was a marked upgrade from the one that had brought them to see the Doctor; leather upholstery, practically silent, and a ride so smooth it seemed frictionless. The windows were tinted so dark that if Kira hadn’t just stepped out of the sunlight, she might have assumed it was evening. Spencer was staring at the back of the driver’s head.
“Where are we going?” Kira asked.
“Pearl.” The Pearl District was the fashion-pleasure quarter. High-end retail, entertainment and dining.
“Why there?”
“Because that’s where the job is. If I’d known you were going to ask so many fucking questions, I would have disabled your fucking mouth when I had you in the chair,” he hissed.
“If I’d known you were going to be such a prick, I’d have told you to shove the job back in that bar,” she retorted, glaring at him. “It’s my fucking neck on the line, so I’d at least like to know where you’re taking me.”
“We are going to Pearl because that fits your story. Your husband is middle-management. You are his beloved wife. You are going to go shopping, have lunch and stop off for a little pachinko. It will prove to be a good decision,” he said in measured but menacing tones.
“Why the charade?”
“The KP control pretty much all the business on the street. If you suddenly appear, make a beeline for the machines and start winning straight away they’ll cotton on that something isn’t right. They’ll lock down the system and then it’s all over.” She was silent for a moment while she considered this.
“Okay. So I’m Mrs Middle-Management out for an afternoon of retail therapy. That it?”
“No, actually. One more stop,” he said, tapping the driver on the shoulder.
✽✽✽
Kira eyed her reflection curiously in the dark tint of the town car’s window. Even with her augmented vision, she found it hard to recognise herself. Spencer had made the driver stop at a salon where the hostess greeted him like a long-lost lover. After a brief conversation, of which Kira was an observer, not a participant, she had been made to change into a robe before being ushered back to a styling suite that smelt antiseptically of lavender.
Her straight hair was now styled in an A-line bob like a trendy kokeshi doll, ending half an inch below her earlobes, her fringe cut laser straight above precisely manicured eyebrows. The technician had used fine nylon filament to trap and remove errant hairs to shape her brows to the contours of her supraorbital arch, and then deftly trimmed them to uniform length with a straight razor.
Whilst superfine blades fluttered around her hair, a team had gone to work on her nails with the precise synchronisation of a Formula One pit crew. She sported a tasteful yet expensive French manicure, her finger and toe nails each perfectly shaped and enamelled.
“Spencer always brings us the best material to work with,” the hair stylist had gushed as she butterflied her scissors behind Kira’s ears. “Your features, your proportions are perfect. He has impeccable taste in women. How long have you been together?”
“We aren’t together,” Kira had replied, perhaps too quickly.
“Ah, of course,” said the stylist, putting her finger to her lips with a wink. “My mistake. I hope someone,” she emphasised the word, “appreciates what he has in front of him.” Kira had grunted noncommittally. Mercifully, the make-up artist had arrived to accent her newly defined eyes with a sweep of pink eye shadow ‘to complement your lovely green eyes, Sissie,’ and saved her from further awkward chatter.
When she’d emerged from under the assorted brushes and blades, she’d found a sleeveless black knit dress along with a pair of flat women’s shoes and a packet of hose in the change room. The dress and shoes were expensive-looking but nondescript. Ignoring the disapproving pursed lips of the styling co-ordinator, she’d insisted on keeping her old overcoat.
The hostess had flirted shamelessly with Spencer as he paid, pouting and fluttering her eyes dramatically when he curtly told her they were in a rush. He had bundled Kira back into the town car and they were headed towards the Pearl District again.
“At least you look the part now,” Spencer said as they wound along an expressway. “Can’t have you shopping in Pearl looking like you just crawled out of the gutter. Draws entirely the wrong kind of attention.”
Kira thought there was no way she was going to blend in. She felt like a hooker, ready to begin the night’s work. Spencer drew a platinum credit chip from his jacket pocket.
“This is your capital. A hundred thou; enough for a few cover purchases and the buy-in. You need at least thirty for the buy-in. Flash it to the guys on the door and they’ll let you jump whatever line there is as a high roller. Don’t lose it. Here,” he reached into a pocket in the door and handed her discreet black clutch. “You can’t wear that shitty coat in public. Put your things in this.” Kira rubbed the worn edge of the sleeves between her fingers and palm. It was the last proper thing she owned. Spencer had disposed of all her other things back at salon.
“Quickly,” he said. “We’re almost there.” She slipped out of the coat and transferred the meagre contents of its pockets to the clutch. She felt naked without the comforting weight of the coat on her shoulders. She looked out the window again. They were off the expressway and moving slowly in local traffic. She could see the street widening now, expensive mirrored high-rises giving way to three-storey glass frontages festooned with brand names and populated sparsely with displays of boutique goods. Interspersed were more garish facades, tiled with massive video displays that shone bright, even through the muted daylight filtering in through the dark window tint; entertainment halls, pachinko parlours. She noticed a thick crush of people outside one of the parlours, neon bright screen flashing the words ‘JOY LUCK HALL’ in seizure-inducing colours. Spencer saw her looking and pointed with his chin.
“That’s the place. You’ll go in there, buy in, trip it and cash out. We’ll drop you further up. You can make your way back there along the street. Be sure to stop in at a boutique or two, make it look like you’re a kept woman out for the afternoon. It has to look good for the cameras. When you finish, walk out and head back down towards the corner. We’ll be waiting.” Kira nodded slowly.
“Okay. One question though.”
“Again with the questions? Fine. Shoot.”
“What if something does go wrong? What if I have to make a run for it? What’s the back-up plan?”
He stared at her incredulously, then spoke slowly:
“There is no back-up plan. This is it. There’s no more time to—” Spencer ran his hands roughly through his short hair as he looked away. Suddenly she could smell his fear; sharp perspiration underscored by sour breath. He looked back at her with wild intensity. “Do you think it’s been easy to set this up? To get the plans, the machine, rewrite your software? It’s taken months of… fucking hell! If this doesn’t work, I am fucked. Correction,” he said, staring directly into her eyes. “WE are fucked!”
Kira stared back at him from where she had retreated into the corner of the town car’s back seat. All trace of any slick veneer had fallen away. Then something he’d said clicked.
“Wait,” she said, sitting up and leaning forward. “Months? I’ve only been on the job for three days.” Her eyes widened. “I’m your last chance. The Doctor told me there’d been others who… who hadn’t taken to the software like I had. You NEED me.” The thought filled her with a sudden surge of confidence. “I think there’ll be a bit of renegotiation of our terms once we’re out of there.” He looked at her with a murderous expression. She laughed with fake bravado that rang hollow to her ears. “What? I can still just walk away. I mean, it’s not like it’s been a complete waste of my time. I got this fancy dress and make over so at least I won’t go home empty handed. You need me more than I need you.”
His face darkened. Suddenly he lunged forward and grabbed her by the neck, pinning her to the seat so she couldn’t avoid his eyes. He leant in so close she could see the
perspiration trickling down his forehead and pooling on his eyebrows and smell the bile on his breath.
“I will fucking end you, bitch,” he said coldly and deliberately. His eyes were lethal ice. Kira felt the fragile bones in her neck compress and press against the shielded bio-mechanical conduits that ran under her skin. He continued in a measured low voice. “You will finish the job or after I’m through with you, not even the Doctor will be able to put you back together again.” The skin on the back of her neck prickled with electric fear. He loomed over her, filling her vision.
“Okay,” she croaked. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He released her and sat back. “But so help me, if you lay one fucking finger on me again…” she rubbed her neck where his fingers had pressed into her skin.
“Whatever.” Spencer looked at his watch and cursed. “Change of plan. I’m going in too. Ahead of you. To keep an eye on things.” He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Here.” The driver nodded and pulled the car over. Spencer turned to Kira. “Get out. Remember: housewife, shopping. You should be inside Joy Luck within thirty minutes.” He indicated the driver with a nod of his head. “We’ll be watching.”
6
Joy Luck Hall
Kira wandered along the street. It was noisy with passing traffic, stores blasting music and the cacophony of competing super screens. She couldn’t see Spencer or the driver of the town car but she felt their eyes on her. She looked around discreetly, trying to mimic the attitude of the other shoppers. She couldn’t imagine this as a form of entertainment. Growing up, shopping had been an ordeal of haggling in markets and trying to get the best deal with what little money came in from her grandmother’s ironing service. Her grandmother had always been good with numbers, and even better at spinning a deal but she’d had no time for ‘frivolities’ as she called them. Kira looked in the window of a shoe store at a display featuring ten-inch pumps with holographic projections encased in clear heels. Who would even consider wasting the time and energy to develop such a thing let alone wear them? she wondered.
She surreptitiously checked the watch of a passer-by as she continued towards Joy Luck Hall. She still had twenty-five minutes left before Spencer’s deadline. The knowledge that she had at least some leverage over him had buoyed her feelings momentarily, but the desperate look in his eyes and the crushing feeling of his hand on her throat had brought her crashing back down. She could feel bruises beginning to form. Thinking about it now, what was to stop him from disposing of her after she’d completed her task? Wracking her brain for a solution, she didn’t realise that she’d stopped walking until someone bumped into her. She looked up and found that she was standing in front of an optical boutique.
A display superimposed the words ‘Recolour Your Life’ over the top of a promotional looping extolling the latest in optical implants, allowing you to correct your vision and change your iris colour to suit your mood or outfit of the moment. Kira’s eyes had been brown before the accident, but when they had asked her in the hospital she had lied and told them they had been green. She had wanted blue but the insurance payout wouldn’t cover cosmetic optics, they said. She didn’t see the difference as to whether she got blue or green or brown or black. Just more arbitrary bullshit. She remembered Spencer’s instructions about buying something to sell her cover; here was as good as anywhere, she decided.
As she entered the store, the noise of the street fell away. A saleswoman, regally tall and thin, dressed expensively in an impeccable dark pants suit and cream blouse approached her.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to Clarity. How can we be of service to Madame today?” the lady asked with practiced warmth.
“Oh, er. I was just looking for some—” Kira spied a display against the wall, “—glasses.”
“Spectacles?” frowned the woman. She stepped closer, peering at Kira’s eyes with professional scrutiny. “But Madame is fitted with Zeiss optics, correct? The L-Series?”
“Ah, no. I mean. Yes. I’m after some sunglasses. For fashion, you know.” The woman smiled apologetically.
“Of course. Forgive me. I was concerned for a moment that Madame was experiencing some hardware concern. We do not provide fitting or servicing here, you see.” She led Kira over to a display of dark glasses. “What did Madame have in mind?” A little more at ease, Kira began to get into character.
“Perhaps you could recommend something suitable for me. I’m on my way to a luncheon, and I was in such a hurry when I left the penthouse that I foolishly forgot my sunglasses.” She affected an air of irritation.
“Oh dear, that sounds terribly annoying,” commiserated the saleswoman. “I would suggest these perhaps. Italian styling, but Japanese craftsmanship.” She continued her sales pitch as Kira nodded, making appropriate sounds. Kira had no idea what any of it meant. Suddenly she caught a flash in her peripheral vision. Discreetly, she glanced again at the street through the window over the saleswoman’s shoulder. She thought she had seen Spencer for a moment, peering in at her. “Madame? Madame?”
“I’m sorry?” Kira blinked, looking back to the saleswoman.
“Is everything alright?” the saleswoman asked.
“Oh yes. I just thought I saw someone—no, quite alright thank you.” Kira saw the saleswoman’s eyes momentarily flicker down to the faint bruising that had begun to bloom on her throat.
“I understand. As I was saying, Madame, do these meet with your approval?”
“Oh yes. Perfect.”
“Wonderful,” the saleswoman beamed. “Is there anything else I can interest Madame in?”
✽✽✽
The crush of people outside Joy Luck seethed and surged, as staff wearing neon orange happi coats tried in vain to herd them into some semblance of an organised line. Kira attracted the attention of one of the staff and discreetly showed him the platinum credit chip. He bowed slightly and muttered something into the radio microphone clipped to his lapel. A moment later another staff member appeared and gestured to her to follow. He led her to the corner of the building and said something into a radio of his own. A door concealed behind the façade of the building opened and she was ushered inside. She removed the sunglasses she had purchased at Clarity.
“Welcome to Joy Luck. Please present for security evaluation,” bowed a smiling hostess. A security check. Spencer hadn’t said anything about this. Kira felt a warm flush creep up the back of her neck. Fighting the urge to run, she forced an understanding smile and allowed herself to be ushered onto a glowing ring on the floor between two thick plastic panels. “Please remain still for evaluation.” After a few seconds of a rising electrical hum, a double-tone sounded and an indicator light on top of one of the panels pulsed red. The hostess looked at the tablet in her hand, puzzled. “One moment please.”
“Is there a problem?” asked Kira.
“One moment please,” repeated the hostess as her fingers flew across the tablet. Kira tried surreptitiously to see what was being displayed, but the angle made it impossible. After another moment, the hostess looked up at her and smiled brightly.
“Thank you for your compliance. Best of luck in your play.” Kira caught a glance of the tablet as the woman bowed, the words ‘Augmentation Detected: quadriplegia correction’ in red and below it ‘AUTHORISED’ highlighted in green. An automatic door slid open, letting a cloud of tobacco smoke and noise out. Kira walked through into the main play hall.
Rows of identical pachinko machines sat crammed together side by side, facing each other across an aisle just narrow enough for customers to squeeze through. The noise was cacophonous, the roaring constellations of tiny steel balls like a stormy ocean seething angrily under clouds of fluttering electronic sound. The music blasting out of the machines consisted of thirds, fifths and octaves, harmonising into an oppressive blanket of auditory optimism. The ceiling was alive, pulsating pixels of a hyperreal galactic sky across which occasional bursts of virtual neon fireworks scattered, originating from above whichever player
was currently hitting mini-jackpots. There were no windows and no clocks. Kira could see how people could become lost in the sensory overload. She was craning her neck, searching for an available machine when another attendant appeared, summoned by the ubiquitous radio earpiece, and gestured her over to where some machines sat unused, guarded by ‘Reserved - VIP’ signs. The power of the platinum card again.
Kira sat down, examining the machine in front of her. It was identical to the one from The Doctor’s workshop, except that it now had an illuminated display affixed to the top, running an animated loop of the game’s name, ‘Castle Run’. She didn’t see what anything in the game had to do with castles or running.
“What the fuck took you so long? Hurry up!” She jumped at Spencer’s furious whisper. He slid into the seat in front of the machine next to her, separated by a flimsy tinted plastic privacy screen. He pretended to inspect the machine, reading the laminated play guide underneath the game board.
“Shopping takes time. If I’m going to sell this cover idea of yours, I can’t just walk into the first store I see, point at something random, throw my chip on the counter and say ‘I’ll take it!’. Women don’t shop like that. Women like THIS,” she gestured at her dress and hair, “don’t shop like that. I bought some sunglasses, and then of course they had a matching chip sleeve.” She withdrew a sleek black oblong from her clutch.
“Fine. No, don’t look at me! Fuck! Just get started. I’m moving before anybody can place us together.” He stood. Passing behind her he said quickly, “Remember: once it seizes, get out and to the corner. We’ll be waiting. Don’t fuck up.” He left her sitting in front of the machine. Kira pushed the sunglasses up onto the top of her head and touched the chip sleeve to the reader on the machine. The machine began to spit balls into the hopper. Kira took a deep breath and put her hand to the launch wheel.
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