The Langley Case: A Nathan Roeder Mystery

Learning About Felicia, Taking a Risk

Max may be a scumbag, but he’s got good taste in women. Of all the places to wait while he arranged things with The Albino, there were certainly worse options. And it wasn’t like I was paying for the lap dances.

Still, something wasn’t right. Maybe it was the fact that no one had pointed a gun at me in a while. Maybe it was the fact that I was in the Sprawl. Maybe it was that symbol on the diary.

I never checked to find out if that symbol was on any of the bodies Oliver left. I never checked to see if it was on the bodies of anyone who died in Town. I should have done more research.

They. Who were They? I knew They had a symbol, but I didn’t know what that symbol meant, or who made up They. It could be anyone. Maybe just a bunch of bored CEOs. Maybe a secret society that was trying to actually control people, and killed those they couldn’t control. They could be based out here, and recruited Oliver after they saw how many people he’d killed.

It could be a lot of things.

One step at a time.

I looked at the girl around the pole, never having wished to be a pole so badly in my life. She had boots that put her at a different altitude, told her body to pose itself in a way that burned the image into my mind. And I was almost willing to let her set me on fire just to see it again.

Staring at a girl like that is a hell of a way to pass time, even if it is a tease. It occurred to me then that Jessica was never really interested in sleeping with me. She wasn’t one of Them, but she sure did work for them.

I checked the gun in my pocket, no mean feat while in a strip club. It wouldn’t do to just whip the thing out and check that it was loaded. If anything loaded got whipped out in this club, people were asked to leave. They just might not be as nice if it was a gun.

“He’ll see you tonight,” Max said, sitting down for the third time. “Which gives us time for another lap dance. Pony up.”

I rolled a cigarette. I’d had enough stimulation without release for one day. The dancer looked at me, but didn’t say anything. I figured maybe she had a chance of getting sick, so I walked outside after paying for Max.

Standing out on the cold pavement, I felt more in my element. Things aren’t as clean down here in the Sprawl. They’re not as orderly. The streets are laid out in a grid, more or less, but you can’t walk everywhere. Cars slide along the streets, kicking up grime and old rainwater. The whole place has this faint smell, the smell of decay. The smell of a city populated by people who live short, and hard, lives among hundreds of millions of other souls just like them.

I love it down here. But I wouldn’t want to live here.

I light up, feeling more at home in my role. There are people all around me, walking down this street or that, going wherever they’re going. A bus pulls up a block away from me, and I watch people climb on and off, moving like their lives are a waste of time. Like they’re just working for the weekend.

There’s a light misting rain picking up, the kind that makes you feel like the city above is pissing on you. The fedora deflects it from my face, and I’m left just a little damp. The wind picks up, leaving me nice and chilled, able to huddle into my coat, the way I’m supposed to.

I’m almost finished smoking when Max comes swaggering out of the bar. The lap dance clearly did well for him. I looked at him sideways. “We good to go?” I asked.

He smiled. “Yeah, we’re good. Let’s go to the club.”

I know what the club is. Everyone who knows anything about the Sprawl and The Albino knows what the club is. His club. Enticement.

I’ve never been there. Never really dealt with The Albino at all. That’s why I’m still allowed in his territory. I haven’t done anything to piss him off; not yet. All that would change, but for the moment, I was ready to go into the club.

I was not going unarmed. That was for damned sure. The gun was in one pocket, a pair of knuckles with a good solid electrical charge in the other. I might not be able to knock people out with one punch bare fisted like Bogart, but with those things on, I’ll take down an elephant with one solid hit.

Max scratched his chest. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s stop and get some noodles before we go.”

“Later,” I said. “We’ll eat later.” Truth is, I’m not sure I could keep food down. Meeting someone like The Albino is going to be a stressful situation no matter how you look at it. Meeting him for the first time, and in private, and to ask him for a favor, all that just adds up to it. But I can’t admit that I’m scared, not to Max. So I don’t tell him anything at all.

Enticement has a line around the corner. A nearly permanent fixture, from what I’m told. They open at full dark, close at dawn. As soon as dusk hits, the line forms. Being first doesn’t guarantee you’ll get in, either. The Albino’s plenty selective about who goes in and who doesn’t. I wonder for a second if I’ll make it. I’m not exactly dressed for it.

The girls in line wear as little as possible, or at least things you can see through. It’s still raining a bit, so I see a lot of raincoats that I can see right through. It’s like they’re dressed in shower curtains. Some of them in nothing else. I see one girl with a pair of boots that go all the way up under a skirt that won’t even hide her opinions. Above that, she has a pair of gloves that are attached to each other via a strap over her breasts. That’s it. Nothing else.

It would be better if she had a nicer body, but as it is, she leaves so little to the imagination that I doubt she’ll have any trouble walking in the front door.

The men aren’t much better. Some of them are covering up with things that look expensive, clothes that never used to be any form of animal, or that used to all be the same one, depending on the guy. But the few of them who feel confident in their bodies have a tiny little cup covering up the things requiring covering by the laws of decency, then have a bunch of chains over the rest of their bodies; chains that suggest, but do not provide, coverage of any kind.

There I was, in my three piece suit, feeling more overdressed on the street than I would in most brothels. And I expected to get inside.

Max walked past the line like he belonged there, like his name was on some kind of VIP list. And maybe it was. I didn’t know Max that well. Still, to look at him, he didn’t seem the type.

The bouncer, a big burly guy whose name I’d never know, but who’s number I would eventually have, looked down at us. If I had known the future, I could have unloaded my gun and looked at his name on one of the bullets. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have known which name was his. This was not a light case for me, easy as it seemed at the time.

He looked down at his list, knowing that we weren’t on it, but waiting for us to try it anyway.

“This is Nathan Roeder,” Max said. He lowered his voice to a nice, conspiratorial whisper. “He’s a Townie.”

“So?”

“I called about him earlier,” Max said. “He’s got a meeting with the man.”

“Oh,” the man said. He waved me in. “Go ahead.”

As I walked past, I heard Max trying to convince the bouncer that he should be able to go in too. “I’m plus one,” Max said. “I’m on your list dozens of times.”

I left him at the door and walked into the club. There was no real security. No one searched me for weapons. That made me more nervous than if they had. What was worse, I saw other people being searched as they went into the club. Searched pretty damned thoroughly. Especially the girls, who had nowhere to hide anything, except maybe internally.

The strip club had been a sight to see. But the dancers at Enticement were something to write home about. They gyrated to the music in perfect harmony, slithering around the dance floor and sliding their way into my future fantasies. None of these girls were natborns. They’d all be altered, made the very best they could be.

One thing I know about the genalts living in the Sprawl: they’re only engineered for one thing. And if you can tell they’re altered by looking at them, then you know what that one thing is. Some of the girls, I’m told, are altered to be less intelligent. I don’t know if that’s true, but I’m not sure it matters.

They’re not my type. But they’re nice to look at. Eye candy never hurt anything.

I walked up the bar first. Maybe the best thing to do before talking to The Albino was to get a good, stiff drink. Maybe I was just killing time until someone took me to see him. I don’t know. What matters is, there was a drink with my name on it.

“I’ll have two double whiskies,” I said. “Let’m share a glass.”

The bartender, a cute girl with a lot of tattoos, nodded and started pouring my drink. Over her shoulder, I saw a girl with clothes so tight it looked like her skin was made of rubber grinding against a patron during a song. She was one of the girls who worked there. That much I could tell. She was too skinny to be a natural born.

Sometimes, they take out the genetic coding for the floating ribs, the appendix, gall bladder, and tonsils. Sometimes they even code in smaller stomachs, intestines, livers, and kidneys. The girls don’t live as long, but they’re skinnier than anyone else could ever hope to be. It’s for that hourglass figure. Or the twig look, depending on what people want.

I never thought about it at the time. Never really considered how close to slavery all that was. How much worse than slavery it was.

I was half way through my drink when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a weird tap, like a fingernail and something else. I figured out what it was when I turned around an saw her.

The girl seemed plucked from the kind of sexual nightmare you don’t mind having. All dominatrix, all the time. It started with wicked boots that could kick ass and take names, laced with little chains that had the look of leashes to them, like she could, and would, attach some poor, ecstatic slave directly to her boot, so they would have no choice but to kiss them. The boots had leather pants tucked into them, pants that were cut just low enough to show the tattooed belt around her hips. Then there was a corset, purple and satin, with sleeves that didn’t go over her shoulders and were made of fishnets. Her nails were long, curved, but strong looking. Each one was pierced, with a little ring sticking through it.

She was attractive; you’d have to be dead or a liar to deny it. But she wasn’t my type. I like my girls to be a bit on the aggressive side, but I’m not interested in one that not only could kick my ass, but wants to.

“He’ll see you now,” she said. Her voice had that sexy throatiness that no real person actually has. Underneath it was a tone of command, like I’d better do whatever she tells me to, or I’ll regret it. Like I said, not my style.

She didn’t wait, just turned on a very sharp heel and started walking towards a booth in the back of the club. I followed her, because I didn’t want to be left behind. Besides, as much as I didn’t want to, I needed to talk to The Albino.

I took the drink with me. Always good to have friends.

The music ripped through me as I walked, trying to pull me to the dance floor. I don’t dance. I don’t think Sam would dance; besides, as much genetic altering as I had, I still have no real sense of rhythm. But there’s something about the music that is just magnetic. The beat slams into you like the heartbeat of some great beast, a beast that wants you to come be a part of it, to come do its bidding. It’s hard to resist. It’s pervasive, in everything around you. It’s part of the club, and becomes part of you.

A few feet away from the table, I passed through what feels like a blast of air. I thought for a second that I heard static, and then suddenly noticed the music, but only because it wasn’t there anymore.

The Albino doesn’t look in my direction. He’s wearing a pair of dark glasses, and has his back to me. The woman clears her throat. “Nathan Roeder is here,” she says.

The Albino waves a hand. “Come sit across from me,” he says.

I sat down. Those glasses had blue lenses. His eyes looked brown behind them. I figured that means they’re really red. Albino.

The eyes don’t follow me as I move. They say that The Albino’s blind. They also say that he’s just pretending. I don’t know, and I don’t really care.

It’s hard to tell what color his skin is in this light, but I can make out traces of makeup. He’s pretending that he’s not albino. Weird trait to have when that’s the only way people can identify you.

“It’s so that I can’t be recognized when I don’t want to be,” he says, reading my mind. “But never mind my grooming habits, Mr. Roeder. You’ve come a long way to see me. I’m told you have something you want me to do for you.”

I nodded, then realized he was supposed to be blind, and was at best a good enough actor to ignore such a motion, at worst unable to see it. “Yes,” I said.

He folds his hands on the table and leans back. Behind him, I see the dance floor, and the dancers. It’s hard to concentrate, which is probably the point. “What do you want from me, Mr. Roeder?”

“I’m investigating several murders,” I said.

The Albino laughs. “Are you here to ask me if I was involved?”

“No,” I said, quickly enough. “I think I know who did them. I’m just trying to make sure.”

“You think you know who did them? How did you discover this?”

“I was told when I took the case.”

He laughs again. “You were hired to investigate murders, but knew who did them? I fail to see where the challenge is.”

I took a deep breath. “My client hired me to prove that her father was not the man behind these murders, though all signs pointed to the fact that he was.”

“What signs?” The Albino scratches at his chin, as if there’s something on his skin that shouldn’t be there.

I gave him a long, hard look, trying to focus on every detail. Most particularly, I watched the eyes. It wasn’t easy, given the lighting and the glasses. “His confession.”

“He confessed?” His eyes shine a bit, as if there was something interesting him. Not blind.

“He wrote it in a diary.”

The Albino nods. “And you are trying to confirm that the diary is accurate.”

“No,” I said. “I’m trying to prove that it isn’t.”

The Albino gives me a smile that doesn’t show any teeth, but still makes me think of a hunting cat. “Mr. Roeder, you are truly an interesting man. This is a wonderful thing you have brought to me.”

“Thanks.”

“You come to me to check with my sources and find out if these murders even occurred. You further want me to tell you anything I can about the details of the crimes. Is this correct?”

The way he knew me made me wonder if he was a Reader. But he couldn’t have been. Readers don’t occur in nature. And no genalt is an Albino. Never going to happen.

“That’s it,” I said. “Can you do that?”

“I can, Mr. Roeder, I can.” He places his hands flat against the table. “And in exchange, you will do something for me.”

Here it comes, I thought. “What do I have to do?”

“There is a girl,” he says. “A girl who is supposed to be working for me, but has taken it upon herself to vacate the premises in a vain attempt to improve her lot in life.” This time, his smile is more like a viper. “This will not do. It simply will not. I know where she is, and I want you to go get her for me. Get her and bring her back here, where she belongs.”

“Why don’t you get her?” I asked. “You have the manpower.”

“I cannot afford a war.” There’s a long, protracted pause. “And she is not in the territory that I call my own.”

That wasn’t good. “Where is she?” I prayed she’d be in Raymond’s world. He doesn’t like me, but it’s not like I fucked his daughter or anything.

“The Bicycle Man claims her neighborhood.”

Terrific.

“Why me?”

He taps his fingers against the table. I down the rest of my drink. “I have heard many things about you, Mr. Roeder. Your presence here comes only because of what I have heard.”

“And that is?”

“You are a man of action, Mr. Roeder, and I respect that. Men of action are far easier to deal with, if less predictable.”

If either of us knew how appropriate what he just said was, we probably would have shot each other right then and there.

“Of your actions, I have heard a great deal. My two compatriots and I may be in competition with one another, but that does not mean we are incommunicado.”

“You’ve talked about me?” That’s not good. Maybe he was planning on sending me to his buddy as a peace offering.

“Of course. We talk of all the Townies who come into our little realms. There aren’t many of you. The fact that you have a bit of a history down here makes it all the more delicious, and all the more important to keep tabs on you.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. But what choice did I have? I had to go into The Bicycle Man’s territory to get the seventeen large that old Theresa was going to give me. I took a deep breath. It had been hours since anyone had pointed a gun at me, anyway.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it. Where is she?”

“The bouncer will give you her address,” he says. “He is good at such things. Just tell him to give you what I asked him to give you.” I move to stand, and he holds out a hand. I made noise, so he might be blind, but at that point, I’m pretty sure he’s not. “You will give me the diary before you go,” he says.

“I don’t know if I can.”

He smiles. “It will be perfectly safe, Mr. Roeder. I will return it to you, with the information you request, when you return with Felicia. But I cannot find what you are looking for without a basis, without a place to start.”

He was right, and he knew it. I handed over the book. “It’ll be safe with you?”

“Far safer with me than with you. I assure you.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I said nothing. Better not to say anything than to say something stupid.

“We will see each other again soon, Mr. Roeder.” He talks over his shoulder, just before I hit the jets of air again.

The music hit me all the harder for the silence I had just been in. It was at least disconcerting, at most frightening.

I figured another drink couldn’t hurt. My liver disagreed, but we hadn’t been on speaking terms for a while. I could get it fixed if I needed to.