Authors: Ross Harrison
I heard a squeak as
the girl slid out of the booth. There were a few ticks interspersed with some
tocks as she walked past. I glanced at her feet. She wore mismatched shoes. One
had a slight heel, the other was flat. Both were dirty. She wore a trench coat
not unlike mine. It was too big. She held it tight around her and kept turning
her head this way and that as though she had a million credits in the lining. Her
dark red hair looked like it hadn’t been washed for a month and running down
from it, just behind her ear, a thin scar disappeared behind the coat’s collar.
Looked fresh. Maybe a week old.
The girl was
clearly homeless. About twenty and homeless. Someone who couldn’t afford to
live in Harem wasn’t just down on their luck. They were buried under it.
Outside, she turned
and walked back past the window. As she drew level, she looked in at me. Held
her pretty, hazel-eyed gaze until she was past. Maybe I should have bought her
a coffee and some food.
I drained my mug and
left enough credit chips to cover it all. As I pulled the door open, I heard
the waitress sigh. Poor woman had to walk all the way around the counter to get
my money. How thoughtless of me.
I crossed the
street to a backdrop of thunder. I had no plan, but I couldn’t sit in a diner
all evening. I pushed the door of The Web. It opened. Another infrared thing
above the door dried me again. It was warm inside. Much warmer than the diner.
In fact with my nerves, and my blood pumping extra hard, it was too warm. The
carpet under my shoes was pleasant to walk on.
A youngish man
worked behind the bar. No one else was in sight. The club was pretty dark, with
only the bar brightly lit. The high ceiling couldn’t be seen for all the spotlights
and holo-emitters. When they were switched on, the effect was hypnotic and drug-like.
There were a few
tables up here on the raised platform that ran around three of the walls. But
the focus of the place was the big circular dance floor in the middle. Here and
there, small podiums jutted up from the floor to make mini stages for the more
confident patrons. Or tripping hazards for the fools like me who should be at
home with a mug of cocoa.
Hanging over the
bar was Webster’s office. I hadn’t seen it last night, thanks to the lights. It
only stretched about as far along the wall as the bar itself and jutted out
about twenty feet. All three outside walls were glass. I could see a desk, also
glass, and a chair. There didn’t seem to be anyone inside. The problem was
getting in there myself. I couldn’t use my badge to get in because the barman
would alert Webster and he’d catch on in a second.
I went down the few
steps to the dance floor and crossed to the bar. I couldn’t see any bouncers
around, but the barman looked like he could double as one if necessary.
‘Whiskey,’ I said
when I arrived.
‘We’re out,’ he
told me. ‘Got a delivery coming in later. For now we got Ordassi wine. Pretty
much the same.’
I nodded. Ordassi.
That was some breed of alien. I didn’t know humans could drink alien booze. I
also didn’t know how wine could be ‘pretty much the same’ as whiskey. He came
back with a tall, thin glass full of bright blue liquid. I looked at him.
‘Enjoy.’ He smirked
and returned to organising glasses.
I considered the
possibility that he knew who I was and had poured me a glass of poison. I
sniffed the stuff. It had a sharp smell. Nothing I could identify. I took a
sip. Winced. It was a good wince. The kind of wince I did when I tasted a good
whiskey or brandy or similar. A real one, not a synthed one. He was right: it
was pretty similar to whiskey. Had a slight fruity tang. Didn’t know what
fruit. Presumably an alien one I’d never seen or tasted before.
A cough from the end
of the bar startled me. I nearly dropped my glass. I was more jumpy than I’d
realised. An old man sat right in the corner, leaning against the wall. He was
staring at me. There was no reason to think he knew who I was, but I found
myself more paranoid today than usual.
His grey beard was
stained brown down the middle. He probably spent most of his days caressing
pint glasses just like the one he now held with both hands.
‘Another, Frank?’ The
barman knew what the cough meant without looking. Frank grunted.
I rummaged in my
pocket for the cigarette. Tried my luck again. There was no smoking in the club
during proper business hours, but at this time, the barman didn’t have a
problem with it. He even lit it for me with a shiny silver W. It looked pretty
tacky to me. Didn’t know why they even had a lighter in a no smoking bar. But
it lit my cigarette, so I didn’t care.
I took my time with
the drink and the smoke. Tried to think of a plan. I had to get up to that
office. The barman wouldn’t just smile and wave as I wandered through the staff
only door.
I blew grey clouds
at the blistering spotlight pointing down at me from the underside of the
office. They probably used hot burning lights so people would buy more drinks. It
worked on me. I ordered another alien whiskey. Wine seemed a stupid name for it
even if it was made from fruit.
As far as I could
tell, I had only a handful of options. I could knock out the barman, assuming
he didn’t know kung fu or some shit. I could try to get him talking and, being
the friendly gentleman that I was, buy him drink after drink until he needed
the bathroom. Then sneak upstairs. Or I could offer to buy the drunk in the
corner all the booze he could carry if he helped me out.
Option one was just
plain stupid. Option two was even more stupid, especially considering I wasn’t
the most likeable of people. I couldn’t think of anything to say to him anyway.
Of course, I could
always wait around until the place filled up and then try to get through the
door while the barman had a lot of scantily dressed girls demanding drinks from
him. But there was no telling what would change then. Webster himself might
drop by. Judging by how fast the bouncer got to me last night, I’d guess there
was security on the door, or just behind it, when the club got busy. Besides, I
didn’t have the time to hang around.
The door to the
men’s room was just behind the drunk. I drained my glass and then headed in to
drain my bladder. As I washed my hands, I looked around for anything here that
might help me. An easily accessible air duct leading from here to the staircase
behind the staff door would have been nice. Unsurprisingly, I was disappointed.
When I came back
out, the barman had his back to me and the drunk.
‘Hey, Frank,’ I
whispered. It made him jump, but I ignored that. ‘What would it take for you to
take this guy’s eyes off me for a few minutes?’
Frank turned slowly
to look up at me. His eyes were narrowed. He was suspicious. I thought for a
moment I’d made a mistake. Then he turned again and pointed to the top shelf
behind the bar. There sat a fat brown bottle with a fancy gold-edged label. I
didn’t know what it was, but I could nearly guarantee it was the most expensive
bottle on display.
I tried not to
sigh. Nodded instead. So much for the shouting, smashing and threatening.
I went back to my
stool. ‘Give me another glass of the blue stuff, and that bottle,’ I told the
barman. He followed my finger and reached down the bottle. It was rum.
‘That’s a hundred.’
I felt like
throwing it at Frank. ‘Better spare me the other drink then.’
I handed him all
but one of my remaining credit chips. The last one was a ten. Wouldn’t get me
far.
‘I was sorry to
hear about that barmaid,’ I said.
The barman froze
for just a second. Looked me up and down. What he could see of my anyway. ‘How
do you know about that? Only happened last night.’
‘My friend’s a
cop.’ That seemed to satisfy him. ‘Said it was pretty bad. Were you friends?’
‘She was a stuck
up, slave driving bitch. No one could do anything right. Not sure she deserved
to be chopped up like that though.’
‘Chopped up?’ I
feigned shock. Probably best I didn’t let on to knowing too many details. ‘He
said it was bad, but…’ I
was
shocked at the real revelation
though. ‘Was she, like, the boss then?’
‘Some kind of
manager. Never really knew. Just knew she could fire me if she wanted. I’m the
third barman to work here since she was taken on.’
I’d assumed she
slapped Little Dick because she didn’t know who he was. But if she was
management here then I knew for sure I’d assumed wrong. The hell was going on?
I looked at Frank.
He was staring at the bottle. Looked like he was hovering above the stool. I
turned the label towards him to let him know it was his. If he remembered the
deal.
‘This tastes like
piss,’ he announced. Held his glass up to his eye as though to confirm his
suspicions. ‘Give me something good, will ya?’
‘Do you have the
credits for something good?’ It was a rhetorical question. The barman hadn’t
even looked at him. He’d have to do better than that to earn his rum.
‘How long have I
been coming in here? Giving you my money…’
‘Don’t know.’
‘…and all you give
me is synthed, watered down cat piss.’
The drunk reached
the glass over the bar and poured out the piss-flavoured beer.
‘Hey!’ the barman
shouted. Threw down his cloth. Stepped over to the drunk. ‘You want me to come
round there and drag you outta here?’
I slipped off my
stool and headed quickly for the staff door.
‘I want you to come
round here and kiss my ass.’
‘Okay, you’re leaving.’
As the barman
turned and saw me, the empty glass smashed over the top of his head. He dropped
to the floor.
‘Jesus, Frank!’
‘What?’ The drunk
seemed genuinely unsure what he’d done wrong. He hurried to the bottle and
reached over the bar for a clean glass.
I glanced down at
the barman. ‘…Good job.’
Through the door
was no less fancy. The thick black carpet was rimmed with chrome. A glass
staircase with chrome handrail led up to a small landing outside the office. All
four walls of the office were glass. Even the floor was glass. But that was
opaque. As I thought, there was no one inside. The door was locked.
Scanning the
corners of the room, I found a second problem. In the corner to the right of
the door was a tiny box. A security camera. It may have already seen me, but I
wasn’t concerned with anyone knowing I had been there. I was concerned with
someone knowing I was there while I was still there. If I went into the office,
it would almost certainly send out an alert. The question was, to whom? If it
alerted the cops, they’d know I wasn’t in my apartment and they’d come looking
for me. I could lose my chance to find the information I needed to save myself
from Anshan.
I guessed, though,
that Cole Webster wouldn’t have it connected to the cops. He’d have it
connected straight to him. It would be his men who came for me. Right now I was
more okay with that than DeMartino’s flyer landing in front of me again.
I took out my
pistol. Held it by the barrel and hit the glass door right in the middle. It
wasn’t reinforced. A spider web of cracks appeared across most of the door. A
few good kicks pulled the crackled sheet out of the frame on one side. One more
gave me enough of a gap to reach inside and flip the lock.
As the door swung
open, I knew I didn’t have long. I doubted I’d need more than a few minutes
though. The only things in the room were the desk and chair I saw from
downstairs, and a leather couch. Probably real leather. Illegal.
I crossed to the
desk. One drawer hung suspended on the right hand side. It was locked. I’d try
that in a minute. Tapping the corner of the desktop brought up a display across
the surface. Reminded me of the interrogation room. Unsurprisingly, it demanded
a password. I tried a few, but I didn’t think Webster was sentimental enough to
use his son’s name. Or anything I’d be able to think of, really.
DeMartino probably
had the tech to get past the security. But I wasn’t about to give him a call. Not
without knowing for sure that what he wanted was on there. I doubted it. I’d
just hoped there was a lead for me.
I had nothing to
get the drawer open with. I was running out of time. Webster’s men could be
just around the corner. I glanced at the big window behind me. I needed to get
into that drawer.
The chair wasn’t heavy,
but its feet were chrome. I swung it hard at the glass. The impact had the same
effect as my pistol on the door, but it jarred my wrists and the chair dropped
from my grip. I tried a few more times, all across the window. It took about a
minute, but the whole thing glittered with an erratic pattern of cracks. Sweat
ran into my eyes. I gave it a push and it bowed outwards pretty easily.
Next, I went along
the span of the glass and gave it some hard kicks. I was sure Webster would be
watching me and, despite everything, I found myself thinking how embarrassing
it would be if my plan failed. I’d look like an idiot. Then a few minutes later
I’d look like a corpse.
I pulled the desk around
lengthways to the window. Then dragged it back nearly as far as the door. It
had something soft on the feet so it slid nicely across the glass floor. I
stopped to wipe my brow again. Couldn’t help giving the camera a little smile
and a thumbs up.
I doubted I got up
much speed in that small space, but the desk hit the glass pretty hard. Hard
enough. The whole window popped right out. What should have been a moment of peaceful
silence was filled by ‘Holy mother shit!’ from below. The crash was followed by
another as the desk slammed into the crackled glass.
With another glance
up at the camera, I hurried back down the stairs and out into the main club. Frank
was now behind the bar gathering as many high priced bottles as he could carry.
The rum sat on the bar with its cork and a half-full tumbler beside it.