Dirty Work: Volume 2

Story Five - Nostalgia - 2

Chorus' place was heaving when I arrived seven hours later. Having just been woken up after falling asleep on the train, I wasn't ready for the heavy bass line, which seemed sentient and determined to physically drive bodies into my way to fight through. I made it to the bar and flagged down a familiar face pulling the pumps. 'Give me something strong.'

'Coming right up, boss.' He got me a drink, passed it across, and gave me a hard look. 'You'll actually come in here to let go and have a good time, one of these days.'

I paid for the drink and forced a sly smile. 'You looking for one?'

'If it means you stop making the place look like a home for insomniacs. You look like the pits.'

'Don't worry; I feel worse.' I slammed the drink down. 'Where's Chorus? Need to go upstairs.'

Jerro pointed out into the dance floor. 'Rocking the stage. She won't come off for another ten minutes.'

'Any way I can sneak up with your permission?'

Jerro shook his head. 'Not a chance.'

I shrugged. 'I'm sure when we're better acquainted things will be different.'

I forced myself back into the sea of creaking leather and silver studs. As tired as I was, seeing Chorus taking the place by storm was something which had to be experienced bodily.

It was every bit the spectacle I imagined. Her hair changed colours with the pulse of the song. Holding her place with a mike in her hand she bellowed and rocked, hollered and rolled, driving the crowd towards greater and greater ecstasy. The stage was an but an extension of herself, legs planted firm, eyes piercing and filled with the adoration of her patrons.

I watched and saw a true leader. She was made of the same stuff as the boss. There was nothing a single one of those dancers, lost in a world of sweat and sex, wouldn't have done to please her.

The music drew to a close and she waved to the crowd. She caught my eye and I pointed up. She nodded quickly, flashed a smile, and turned to the crowd again. 'You want another one?!'

I shuffled out of the room as the next track started up. At the top of the stairs the door to Spyder's lair was already open. He sat before banks of monitors which covered several walls. On a small table was a glass of water. 'I thought you might need something to actually hydrate you.'

'Turns out that everyone wants to be my mother.' I sat and drank. 'Thanks.'

'Don't mention it. Seems like you've stumbled across something very interesting.'

I wondered how much the boss had told him, but knew that even if he'd told him everything I had, Spyder would have found his own information from additional sources. He wasn't just one step ahead of the game; he was playing something else entirely.

I took the dishcloth from my pocket and passed it over to him. 'I hope my sweaty fingers won't have ruined the sample.'

He inspected the bloody corner, and then held it closer to his face as if that would dramatically change his verdict. 'I doubt it. I should be able to get good information from this. Blood's not a particular speciality of mine but I've had some experience of it.'

'Lots of reading on the subject?'

'No, actually. I had a girlfriend in the Order of the Bat Worship. Poor girl.'

I went to ask what happened to her, and then decided that I was probably better off not knowing.

And that mention of a girlfriend got me thinking back to Region 76. Back to my few months there with Kellevieve, whose voice I'd thought I heard earlier that day. Even there in Spyder's room I could remember the smell of her hair conditioner. It smelled like apples, or what passes for a replica of an apple's smell in those chemical creation labs. You'd smell it across the flat, and even now whenever the rare occasion comes that I smell something apple scented, all I can think of is her. I remember lying in a squalid little apartment on an untidy bed, the covers kicked off with music in the background. We wouldn't actually listen to the music, but I can still hear it nonetheless, my face buried in her hair, apples burning my nostrils.