The "Toon World" Club
Manhattan
June 1979
The strobing of pink and yellow lights painted the dancefloor in mad, intense shades to the overwhelming sound of clavinet and bass, snares and hi-hat. The light fractured against the silver mirrored ball suspended from the ceiling, cascading over the walls and floor. A mass of bodies churned under the frantic glare, silhouettes caught for half a moment at a time, hair fanning out and laughing faces framed by gelled light. Shouts surfaced over the music, revellers calling to one another or singing along about superstitions. To the side of the room, along a long, silver bar stood a collection of other souls. Slower moving, but still swaying to the music as they waited their turn or collected their drinks, some with hands around another's waist or shoved deep into pockets, heads nodding with each strum. One man among them stood completely still.
In a severe black suit and sunglasses, set out from the bright colours of the rest of the club, Mr. Crocketts surveyed the area. More specifically, he surveyed the entrance, watching every smiling couple and every confident, strutting loner. His face stayed utterly frozen, mouth unmoving beneath a thick greying moustache. Arms folded. Waiting. The implacable stance and look of a man who would wait all night if he had to.
As it turned out, he didn't have to.
She was dressed as an embodiment of elegance and simplicity, a cream dress and a few gold fastenings setting her apart from the often gaudy appearance of the usual customers. No flowing sleeves, no medallions, only a golden necklace of intricate, strange design resting between her collarbones. Crocketts recognised the eye-like structure at the centre of the jewellery and unfolded his arms. The woman caught his eye almost immediately, smiling and bowing her head gently. Crocketts gave a single nod back before gesturing to the back of the room, to the VIP booth set apart from the rest of the club interior. A few people sat up there, elevated in a semi-circle of over-plush couch in a vibrant shade of crimson.
She made her way past the dancefloor, seeming to melt through the assembled dancers and hangers-on, a ghost in the club that closed in on the stairs to the VIP booth. Silver and brightly lit, she saw each step was fronted in clear plastic, containing a miniature aquarium, a collection of tiny pink and silver fish darting back and forth from view between the bright lamps and streaming bubbles.
She hadn't even reached the top of the stairs before she heard a rich, flowing voice calling out to her, somehow perfectly clear over the music.
"Ms. Ishtar! I'm so pleased you managed to join me!"
At the centre of the vinyl-wrapped couch, surrounded on all sides by a collection of bizarrely dressed individuals all locked in conversation with one another, the club's owner beckoned her over. Long, razor-straight silver hair framed a young and elegant face, covering one eye while the other observed her approach. He wore a red and white suit, the lapels stretching out wide enough for them to be edging towards "dangerous", white platform shoes sparkled under the light, one leg crossed over his knee and twitching to the music. Pegasus J. Crawford, music mogul and millionaire, grinning with a mouth of shark teeth and waving her over.
As she reached the elevated level of the booth, Pegasus snapped his fingers, the assembled guests all stopping their conversations and getting up from the couch as one, filing past her and down into the main body of the club. Pegasus patted the couch space next to him, winking. "Coming straight to see me? I'm flattered, but you should be dancing."
"I am only here to pick up the items. As we discussed." She told him.
"Please, take a seat Ishizu, may I call you Ishizu? You've come such a long way for this, I would be just a dreadful host if I didn't offer you a little comfort."
Ishizu walked around the centre of the booth, itself a hollowed out section filled with bottles of wine. She took up a space on the couch, a little further from her host than he had offered. If he was offended, he didn't show it. He settled back against the vinyl, casually flicking a stray strand of hair from his face.
"Perhaps a little less familiarity would be a better approach," he sighed. "Ms. Ishtar, how was your journey?"
"It was pleasant enough," she said, wondering how long she would have to make pleasantries before she could finally go get some rest. The flight and the journey here had left her exhausted.
"Just a little long. I know how it can be." Pegasus nodded, "I have travelled between Egypt and the 'States many times over the last few years, it can be an absolute nightmare when it wants to be. Makes you really feel like you're putting in the effort for work, and that's the way I like it."
He reached down into the pit in the centre of the booth, retrieving a bottle of red wine and giving it a cursory examination. Faster than Ishizu could register, he had produced two small glasses and began filling them, taking his time and savouring the sensation of pouring.
"I don't drink wine," she told him, but was met with a smug chuckle.
"Oh don't worry, I'm aware of that." Pegasus dropped the mostly-full bottle into a compartment behind the couch, beginning to sip from one of the glasses while the music switched over to a more fast-paced disco track. "Now, where were we?"
"You were giving me the items that we had discussed on the phone. For safekeeping."
"Ah yes, business business." He sounded dejected, like a child who was told it was time for bed. With a gentle kick of his elevated heel to the base of the couch, a secret container opened to his right, a tin black briefcase sliding out between the pair. "I was hoping we would get a chance to make more pleasantries. It's so rare that I get to chat with people from out of town. Business acquaintances can be so terribly dull, even the ones too medicated to speak anything but nonsense. Ah well, such is life I suppose." He slid the briefcase across the couch to her, finishing off one of the glasses as he did so, dropping it into the same pit of excess that the wine bottle had disappeared into earlier.
"Are they all in there?" She asked.
"Believe you me Ms. Ishtar, I don't want any of them left out in the open. All three of them are in there, sealed away, ready for you to take them away and find a… Good home for them."
Ishizu wrapped her fingers around the briefcase handle, hefting it up as she stood.
"Leaving so soon?" Pegasus arched his visible eyebrow.
"I am catching an early flight home tomorrow." She said, "These need to be properly contained. For everyone's sakes."
Pegasus nodded, pouting a little. "A shame. But ultimately for the best I suppose. Mr. Crocketts will show you out."
"Thank you Mr. Crawford," Ishizu said bowing her head slightly. "I can assure you that I will guard them with my life." She turned to leave, hesitating for a moment, looking back over her shoulder. "You are aware, just as I am that this can't last forever, correct?"
"Whatever could you mean?" Pegasus was grinning again, sipping wine through buffed teeth.
"This," Ishizu motioned to the club, "This will be gone inside of a few years, possibly even less if I am correct."
"You most likely are," Pegasus bent himself forward, finishing off the other glass of wine and tossing it unceremoniously over his shoulder and into the darkness. "But I have a way of making provisions and plans to keep myself going. You always have to stay one step ahead of everyone else in this game, the music industry is a dangerous realm. It's a good thing I have an edge." He lifted a hand and flicked the hair covering his left eye, fingernail striking and eliciting a quiet metallic sound from under the concealing strands. "Don't you worry Ms. Ishtar. I will survive."