VENOM - The Club
Cullen watched the next couple of girls with no interest at all, wanting to get the hell out of there. Foot tapping had been a nervous disorder of his since childhood - now his heel beat a tattoo completely out of sync with any of the music, not that anyone would know or care. He barely knew it himself. He just knew that he was restless, he was tense, there was an imperative that he find and confront Swan. Preferably she'd have clothes on, or he'd lose his train of thought.
Curtly nodding to the doorman before turning his collar up against the stark white light of the doorway, he ambled out, emulating the gait of many of the patrons once they'd imbibed their allotment of liquor. Alcohol was strictly regulated here - you could get drunk enough to think you were having a good time, but not so drunk that you'd be no good for work in the morning. Society needs its drones.
Waiting for Field Agent Swan several blocks away, Cullen resolved to reprimand her. Her stunt could have gotten them both killed. As it was, it had nearly given him heart failure. If they were to work together they'd have to plan together, and they'd have to be aware of what one another's moves were going to be. The more he thought about her temerity, the more it bothered him. He lit a cigarette for something to do until she turned up. Since carcinogen-free tobacco had become available a few years ago, the uptake of smoking had been widespread. An expensive habit, it wasn't a deadly one, and Cullen figured he could afford the credits it cost to keep his otherwise ever-fluttering hands occupied. One was occupied now with the cigarette, the other with making a mess of his already unruly hair. Where the hell was his partner?
She appeared at last, hurrying through the dark street, shoulders hunched against the shadows.
Cullen eyed her lazily and without undue interest as she hailed a passing road-train and got into it, then he ground the stub of his smoke under his heel and caught a hover cab, following a few blocks behind.
By the time he reached the rendezvous site he was seething, having spent the intervening twenty minutes re-living the scenario in the club.
"What. The. Fuck? Are you insane?" were the first words he spat out, letting himself into the apartment.
She turned, all pale face and dark coat tightly belted at the waist, hands to the elastic band that held her long hair. She yanked it free, hair tumbling.
"What the fuck yourself?" she answered coolly. "Did you find anything out?"
"Plenty. I found out my partner is a foolhardy danger-seeker who wants to put this operation in jeopardy to indulge her secret dream of becoming some kind of sex-aerialist."
"I was following orders."
"You were following some goddamned inexplicable desire to be assaulted by twenty apes all at the same time."
Swan glared at him. "Let's get this straight, Cullen. You were meant to go in there, look sleazy, hang around and listen to guys talking and see if anyone mentioned drugs or scoring or dealing or hitting, or anything related. I was meant to speak to the management, give them my portfolio and ask for a public audition, while keeping my ears open for what the other girls might be saying. I didn't get any leads, but then I didn't expect to on the first night, and I'm guessing the same will be true for you. Am I right?"
"Guys don't speak much to one another in that sort of a place. Everyone in there is a wanker, literally. Knowing that and chatting in a friendly way to the man standing next to you are a little mutually exclusive. It's going to take me a few visits to build up anyone's trust enough to talk to them. You and I knew that going in. We knew this assignment could take weeks, and even then not yield much. You went way, way too far with that routine you performed, and you risked exposing yourself to danger."
"Look, you just said it yourself - this could take weeks. Months, even. Well, I don't want it to take that long. This Aro character - every day he's not locked up is another day he's a criminal, and he's hurting people. I decided to take a short cut and attract attention - you think that's a bad thing? I want results sooner, not later."
"Yes, it's a bad thing. You were acting unilaterally. Your spontaneity could undo months of surveillance work that other agents have sweated blood over."
"Bullshit. I'm accelerating this plan. If you don't agree, apply for a transfer and get me someone else."
Cullen regarded Swan with narrow-eyed calculation. They were employed by a special branch of CivAd, a top-level security department called the Civic Criminal Apprehension Agency, or Double See Double Ay. CCAA had a strict no-buddy policy. For a caper like this, out-of-towners were called in, agents who'd never met. They were sent immediately into the field without being given any opportunity to bond. The reasoning behind this system was that if an officer was endangered or hurt in the line of duty, their partner would be emotionally unaffected and would be able to maintain cover, rather than attempting defence or help. If Swan had been been in any serious trouble from the feral men at the club, Cullen's expected response would have been either inaction, or to join in with the aggressors. Despite having a common goal, CCAA officers deployed on a mission were not encouraged to be team players, and their training drilled into them that individuals didn't matter in the big picture. It wasn't until that common goal was in clear sight that co-operation was expected.
Accepting of the doctrine as he was, Cullen was pissed to have been put in the position where he might have had to watch his stranger-partner being hurt.
"Well, don't pull this trick again tomorrow. Tone it down," he glowered at her. "You didn't look like you were on drugs - you looked like you were trying out for the porn olympics."
"And your problem is?" she demanded. "I'm going to nail this guy. Word is that he likes novelties - well, did you see anyone else in there like me tonight? I'll put on such a show tomorrow night and every damn night that the whole Precinct is going to be talking about it - and he'll get to hear. I'm going to draw him out of wherever the fuck he's hiding, and we're going to get him."
"You're ignoring the protocol we were given."
"You bet I am."
Cullen narrowed his eyes.
"Swan, have you got some sort of personal vendetta against this guy? Yeah - he's scum. Yeah - we want to clean up this town, one crook at a time. But you seem very invested. You need to distance yourself. Getting emotionally involved will cause you to make mistakes."
"You're quoting straight from the manual, Cullen. I read it, I passed the test, and I'll keep your thoughts in mind. See you tomorrow night."
Still angry, and feeling bleak, Cullen left the building ahead of Swan, walking a couple of blocks before hailing another hover cab. He was housed in the Precinct for the purpose of this assignment, and was laboring nine hour shifts in a factory. People didn't ask too many questions around here, so his sudden appearance at the foreman's door asking for work had engendered no curiosity. None of the other workers asked him anything either.
He slept poorly, wondering if he had been assigned a dive-bomber for a partner. Dive-bombers were agents who weren't going to make it. Either they couldn't detach themselves from the work and got too involved, or they tried to go it alone and got over-confident and careless, or they cracked up. Swan was clearly on a crusade, but she had to know if she wanted to take Aro down her way, with Cullen following the rule book, she'd be doing it solo. Cullen didn't like it one little bit. He didn't like her chances, and he didn't like to think of what might happen to her if she failed. He prided himself on not having a lost a partner since he'd been with the CCAA. He wasn't ready to lose one yet.
The next night Cullen was late to the club and the show had started. There were more punters in there than the night before - possibly an indication that word had gotten around there was a new girl with a hell of an act. He bought two whiskeys and took a table near enough for a clear view.
It took longer for Swan to come out tonight - she must have been bumped to a higher position in the lineup. That might mean her plan was working. Eight or ten unmemorable girls paraded jerkily past while Cullen smoked and waited.
Then the stagelights went off completely and the music changed. Typically, the club played continuous thumping dirges with a speed of about 100 bpm, or the heart rate of a healthy person experiencing the early stages of sexual arousal. Now something unexpected came tripping from the concealed speakers - it was a single lilting melodic line with a sad edge to it - and a wandering spotlight began to circle in the dark, searching for something. It found its quarry soon enough.
On the black and dirty stage floor a girl lay dressed in white. As the sinuous melody weaved around her she slowly lifted first her head, then her arms, then raised herself slowly into a sitting position. The audience were silent, watching this display that was surely not a common occurrence in this place. Of course, it was Swan, her face and skin milk pale, her hair secured behind her head and seemingly covered with a white feather. Once standing, her full costume could be seen, and it was unusual, though Cullen recognized the style from old images he'd seen. She had some sort of tight-fitting bodice with thin straps over her shoulders, and then from her hips layers of frothy fabric sprang out, barely covering the tops of her thighs. She began to swirl and sway, and then to twirl around, her movements motivated by the melody.
"She's a dive-bomber all right," Cullen thought to himself, reluctantly impressed at her audacity in performing ballet in a strip club.
A slow chant began from the men nearer the front, as after two minutes of grace and prettiness they wanted some action. Swan ignored them, turning around and giving a flourish with one slender hand. She raised her leg at the same time, toe pointed, muscles smooth and firm. Then she spun slowly around, her outstretched leg so high that her foot was above the level of her shoulder. She wore no underwear. In these times women tended to get genetic re-programming done to prevent the growth of body-hair, but shockingly, Swan displayed dark gleaming curls for all to see, with the tantalizing pink between them looking like an exotic shell. She must have applied some sort of glitter gel, making her curls glisten under the lights. Either that, or she... no, Cullen couldn't think about the alternative. Swan was his partner. Not a woman, not a woman.
The men in the bar saw her as a woman and nothing more. Applause broke out, cheering started, and the whistles came loud and piercing, drowning out the delicate music. Cullen nearly choked on his cigarette, had to take a mouthful of whiskey, and nearly choked on that, too. Below him, Swan flashed the audience again, elegantly. There was one glimpse of her very shapely behind when she leaped into the air and the skirt flipped up, and then she'd disappeared, flown from sight behind the curtain.
The whiskey served here was diluted so heavily as to have almost no alcohol content, which was just as well, so a punter would have to drink a hell of a lot before he became intoxicated. Cullen bought two more, slamming them down in quick succession, then went outside to lean against a wall, hands in pockets, waiting to check that Swan got out safely.
"You know you're fucking crazy, right?" was the first thing he said to her at the rendezvous.
"The backstage manager said Aro's going to come down personally tomorrow night and check me out," she returned smoothly. "Crazy seems to be getting the desired result."
"And you're a trained dancer." He fired it like an accusation.
"No personal questions, Cullen. You've memorized chapter one of How To Be A Secret Operative - didn't you get to chapter two?"
"Yes, Swan, I made it to the second chapter. That's where it says "Stick to the plan, we're not interested in your initiative, and don't take unnecessary risks", remember?"
"No. My copy said, "Get the job done by any means necessary."
Cullen glowered. "So are you going to warn me what you've got in store for tomorrow night?"
"You're supposed to be a punter, just like all the other guys in there. You need to look just as surprised as everyone else."
"I'll say one thing for you, Swan. You've got balls."
"Actually, I don't. Weren't you watching?"
No personal questions, no attachments, no buddies. Those were the rules. Nursing a real whiskey back at his cell accommodation, not the dishwater served up by the club bartenders, Cullen revised the rules, and thought about his partner. Yes, she was foolhardy, but he admired her courage. Detached as he was supposed to be, he knew if she got into trouble he'd go flying over tables to tackle whoever was daring to bother her. Do not think, do not think, he told himself, about that frail slenderness of hers and the milky skin, the way she could could bend with such suppleness, the firm set of her expression contrasting with the curves of her limbs. Above all, do not picture that startling smoky triangle at the apex of her thighs, the delicacy below it and between them. It's one of your business, Cullen, this is a job.
And Swan took the job very seriously. It seemed that she was prepared to risk her safety for this mission, perhaps to risk everything. Cullen couldn't stand it. Suddenly he knew with certainty that this would be his last assignment for the CCAA. Never mind the no-buddy policy, he'd see Swan through, stick by her, watch her back. He'd even be the dive-bomber himself if it meant protecting her. And if he didn't take a bullet, or a lethal shock from a nerve-gun, once Aro was de-commissioned, Cullen would hand in his papers and get the CivAd I-D swiped from his wrist. Anonymity after termination of employment was written into every agent's contract. He'd be Joe Blow nobody, living a quiet life.
All that stood between him and his future was Aro. Cullen would do everything in his power to assist Swan, get Aro out of action and close down the operation.
And he'd put himself in the way of any threat to the brittle, fierce, ballet-dancing unstoppable force he'd been assigned as a colleague.
.
.
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Sod's Law reigns supreme. As soon as I want to post something, all hell breaks loose in my house and I can't read or concentrate. Sorry if this has mistakes. I'll check it when I get the chance, like next century.
Btw this new everything Ffn has introduced so gratuitously is playing havoc with my limited technical skills and brain power.
The only constant is change, right? Get used to it, jqk, and stop your whining.