Eleven: Tell Me To Stop

It's half past ten on a June evening in Beverly Hills, California, when a bright green Lamborghini bearing the license plate TRACY2 pulls into the circular drive of a building styled in adobe with a red tile roof. There is no sign on the building, but a young man in a black polo shirt and chinos runs forward from a discreet guard shack to meet the car. He waits until the driver has popped the gull-wing door, then pulls it open and stands back as an older man in a crisply tailored suit steps through a black wrought iron gate and into the drive.

The man in the suit is the maitre d' of this very exclusive establishment, and he proffers his hand to the passenger who is unfolding his muscular frame from the car. "Good evening, Mr. Tracy."

"Good evening, Bernard." The dark-haired young man shakes Bernard's hand briefly, then tosses the Lambo's keys to the valet. When the car is out of sight, Bernard and his guest walk toward the building along a lighted garden path. When they reach the gate, Bernard opens it with a wave of his hand against a sensor, and a few more steps brings them to the door of the building proper. Beside the door stands a large man with skin the color of dark chocolate, dressed in clothes that make him seem like a patch of darkness that happens to be breathing.

Out of habit, the maitre d' glances up at the hulking, tattooed bouncer. The door sentinel gives the young billionaire a once-over, and then dips his chin in a curt nod. Virgil Tracy is well-known at the establishment, though the maitre d' thinks it's been a while since he's visited. Generous tips are pressed into the hands of both Bernard and the column of muscle guarding the door; both are received with gracious nods. Bernard lays his hand on the palm-print lock and ushers his guest inside.

The hallway of the club is thumping with a heavy bassline, but the rich carpeting soaks up most of the other ambient noise. The lighting is low, except where it is interrupted by lights hanging over framed portraits of some of the club's more notable employees. The maitre d' leads his guest down the hallway without comment; he knows his job well, and the guests aren't here for conversation.

The young man following him is wearing a pair of expensive frames fitted with smoked lenses that obscure his features from a casual glance. The rest of the young man's attire reflects a similar desire to fly below the radar; dark jeans, motorcycle boots, black t-shirt under a black leather jacket. Between the darkness of the seating area and the strobing lights, he will all but disappear.

The door ahead is covered in tufted blood-red leather, outlined with brass nailheads. There is a small, ornately filigreed panel set at eye level in the door; Bernard opens it and steps aside. The young man tips his glasses down onto his nose, revealing mocha-colored irises.

"See something you like, Mr. Tracy?"

The young man looks through the one-way glass a moment more before shaking his head. "Not at the moment," he concedes. "Maybe in a little while."

"Of course." Bernard steps back up to the door and fastens the cover over the window. "Would you be so good as to show me your key?"

Virgil digs in his jeans pocket and produces a silver fob shaped like a hamsa, set with a tiny cabochon ruby as the eye that pierces the palm. Bernard aims a small penlight at the hamsa, and the ruby lights up in response. The door clicks, and Bernard grasps the knob. "I hope you enjoy your visit this evening."

Virgil nods and replaces the fob in his pocket, then pushes his glasses back up onto his nose. "Thank you, Bernard. I plan to."

The door swings open, allowing light and noise to spill into the corridor. As he passes, the young man sees Bernard tip his head to murmur into the microphone on his shoulder, announcing to the security staff that Virgil Tracy has arrived in the building.

As is hinted by the deep thrum of sound in the hallway, the club is vibrating with a beat that Virgil can feel in his sternum. Another staffer, this one in a white shirt that glows brilliant violet under the black lights, moves ahead of Virgil and directs him to a table tucked into a velvet-shrouded nook. Another generous tip is immediately given and graciously received, then the staffer melts into the flickering mishmash of light and dark. The moment Virgil sits down, the table before him lights up with a holographic display of the various libations on offer. Virgil swipes through them, selecting a bourbon on the rocks, and the display fades. Not more than two minutes later, the drink is delivered by a second staffer, this one a young woman in a crisp tuxedo shirt and a short black skirt over black stockings. She sets the drink at his elbow, and then pauses to receive his tip. She gives a nod of thanks and is about to leave when Virgil tugs at the hem of her skirt. She turns back, one eyebrow raised.

Conversation is impossible over the music, so Virgil taps another command into the table, and a sheet of soundproof glass slides over the entrance of the cubicle. "Is Shadow here tonight?"

The young woman folds her tray under her arm and raises her wrist display to scroll through the list of names. "Yes, Mr. Tracy. She's with a private party at the moment, but she doesn't have any other appointments for this evening. Shall I ask l Bernard to send her over when she's free?"

"If you would, please." He reaches into his jacket pocket and hands the waitress an envelope that bears his monogrammed seal on the reverse. "And ask him to give her this."

The waitress gives a nod, and Virgil retracts the glass. The girl disappears, leaving Virgil to sit back and sip his drink, scanning the room from behind his obscuring lenses.

Except, if anyone were able to see through those lenses, they would discover that they are not the sunglasses they appear to be. To Virgil, the room bears lighted displays that seem to hang in the air, but are in reality a heads-up display projected onto the inside surface of the smoked glass. He's already tucked the invisible transmitter into his left ear before the valet came to open the door of the Lamborghini, and now the earpiece gives a chirp, letting him know it is now linked up with the display.

"Virgil, come in."

It might be the bourbon, but Virgil relaxes just a fraction at hearing the familiar tones of his second-oldest brother. "I'm here," he mutters, knowing the transmitter in his ear picks up the vibrations of his voice.

"Any sign of Kayo?"

"Not yet. She's busy."

"Hmm." The HUD flickers; markers pointing out the exits change to informational targets encircling the heads of whoever Virgil is looking at. "If she's not with you in five minutes, you may have to go look for her," John continues. "Lady Penelope's instructions were to get the message to Kayo and leave the club as soon as possible."

"Is Kayo supposed to leave with me?"

"Negative. You're just the messenger. Lady P is handling extraction."

"FAB," Virgil murmurs, taking another drink from the sweating glass.

Luckily for Virgil, Kayo appears with a minute to spare, though he has to sneak a surreptitious second glance to confirm that it is indeed her. Her skin is still that perfect shade of tawny gold, though it's dusted with luminous powder that makes her shimmer in the light. Her hair is weaved, and drips down her back in waves of color that move from deep indigo through magenta and shocking pink to bright orange-gold. Her eyes are sky blue instead of their usual olive green, and her lips are tinted a deep raspberry hue. The man at her side, a slightly smaller and paler version of the door guard, is peeled-egg bald, and his arms are both corded with muscle and covered with tattoos. Virgil waits until they have entered the cubicle, and keys the door shut against the pounding surf of sound.

"Evenin'," says the man with a nod. "Good to see you again, Virgil. Been a while."

Virgil exchanges a handshake and a fistbump with the man. "Same here, Nico. How's life treating you?"

"Man, I am the luckiest man alive," Nico quips. He turns to take the hand of the woman at his side. She steps forward, maneuvering into a slow turn so Virgil can take in every inch of her, from her stiletto heels to the black dress clinging to her from thigh to wrist. The turn reveals that the back of her dress plunges nearly to the cleft of her beautifully toned rear end, giving Virgil the strong suspicion that the dress is her only garment.

He gives a mental sigh. Kayo's been in the room thirty seconds, and he's already getting a boner, despite the danger she's in. He's going to have to have a word with Penny about these favours she keeps asking of him.

Oblivious to Virgil's growing consternation, Nico releases Kayo's hand as she glides over to stand in front of Virgil. "May I present Shadow," says Nico, gesturing to their lovely third party. "She's a very popular girl around here."

"I can see why," Virgil says, his tone neutral. "Good evening, Shadow."

She inclines her head, letting the fiery locks tumble forward before flicking them back over her shoulder. "Good evening, Mr. Tracy."

"It's been a while since your last visit, but the rules haven't changed." Nico takes a step forward, placing himself between Virgil and Kayo. "Rule number one: She will do the touching. Rule two: Your hands will remain in view at all times. Rule three: You give nothing to her, she takes nothing from you. Do you agree to these rules?"

Knowing that somewhere, a camera is recording his response, Virgil nods. "Yes, I do."

"One more thing." Nico has not moved, and neither has Kayo. "Someone will be watching, and if you disregard the rules, you will be asked to leave."

Virgil nods. "I understand." He brings his wallet out of his jacket pocket, fishes out the black AMEX, and places the card on the spot indicated by the tabletop display. After a moment, the display erases, and Virgil collects his card. When he looks up, Nico is gone, and he and Kayo are alone together for the first time in three months.

Of course, he can't let on that he knows her, or that he's kissed those berry-stained lips, or that the night before she left on assignment, he gripped that butt in both hands, grinding her hips against his-

He coughs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "So," he ventures, as the soundproof door slides shut.

"They only record video, not audio," she murmurs. "We can talk a little." She leans forward to select a preset suite of music on the table, then taps a button and the table sinks until it's flush with the floor. The sensuous strains of No Ordinary Love by Sade fills the space, and Kayo stretches her arms above her, graceful as a cat.

"Uh huh," Virgil mumbles. His hands are locked on the arms of the chair, but he deliberately keeps the rest of him relaxed, as if this is just another mission and he needs to stay loose, ready to jump at a moment's notice if necessary.

"Focus, Tracy," Kayo snaps, though her movements are still slow and her face is composed. "What are you doing here? It can't just be for the scenery."

He barks out a laugh. "Is that what you call it?" He huffs a sigh, trying to concentrate. "Did you get Lady P's message?"

She turns, giving him a close up view of just how far the dress plunges in the back. "In the seal on your envelope? Yes." Kayo bends her knees, dipping to brush the hem of her ultra-short skirt over his thighs. "I just don't get why she sent you of all people to deliver it."

"She said I could get in here easily, and that made me, quote, 'the ideal candidate.'" He snorts. "I don't know if I'll be able to look Penny in the face again."

"Seems your misspent youth was good for something." Kayo smiles, spinning like a music box ballerina to straddle his lap. She tosses her head back, letting the sunset flame of her hair arc through the black-lit atmosphere. "You should see the look on your face."

Bourbon sears its way down his throat, despite the ice, but he doesn't recall picking up his glass. He sets it down on a side table within reach, and then latches his hands around the chair arms once more. "Oh, I'm sure it's priceless."

She untangles herself from him, moving over to a brass pole set into the corner of the space. "Absolutely. Almost worth going on this wild goose chase of a mission." Kayo grips the pole and swings herself around clockwise, kicking off her shoes in the process.

Virgil makes a mental note to find a corner of the island's gym where he can install a pole. "Oh? Can you talk about it?"

Instead of answering, Kayo grips the pole with her thighs and lets go with her hands, then walks herself over backwards only to fling herself at the brass again, pointing her toes and twirling in a way that makes the breath catch in his chest. At the bottom, she rests one foot on the floor and pushes off, sending her up the pole feet first, the brass lined up against her spine. She hangs there for a moment, then grips the pole with her legs, places her hands on the floor, and unfolds into an aerial version of the splits.

His jeans are suddenly getting very tight, and yes, he can confirm that all she's wearing is the dress and the luminous makeup. "I'm gonna take that as a no."

Kayo laughs; despite everything, she's enjoying this.

I keep crying, sings the smoky voice from the hidden speakers. I keep trying for you...there's nothing like you and I, baby…

A discreet cough sounds in Virgil's ear. "I, uh, hate to break up the party," John says, the edges of a smirk playing through his words. "Sounds like you two are having a good time, but you're gonna need to wrap this up."

"Why's that?" Virgil is surprised he has the breath to speak, much less to sound halfway coherent.

"I'm monitoring law enforcement in the area. You're about ten minutes away from being raided."

Instantly, Virgil is on alert. "We need to move," he tells Kayo, keeping his face composed. "The club is going to be raided."

"Hmm." Kayo rolls back up to a standing position and smoothes her skirt down over her hips. "Well, this was a waste of three months." She fetches her shoes and slips them on, then steps up in front of him. "What do you say, are you ready to turn in your membership?"

He shrugs and grins. "No big loss, considering what I've got at home-and by the way, you're going to finish what you started here as soon as you get back."

"Can't wait." With a wicked smile, Kayo tips forward and takes his face in her hands, bringing him in for a smouldering kiss, while he lets his hands wander up her skirt to caress her silken flanks.

In less than ten seconds, the lights are on full, the music stops, and Nico and the bouncer are at the door. The glass retracts, and Nico grabs Kayo to pull her away from Virgil. Bernard pushes his way into the space, his expression one of cool disappointment.

He turns first to Kayo. "Shadow, are you all right?"

As he looks at Kayo standing primly in her killer shoes, Virgil hears his grandmother's voice in his head. Butter wouldn't melt…

"Yes, I'm fine."

"I'm glad to hear that. However, from what we witnessed, you initiated an unauthorized form of contact with a guest. In keeping with our policy, Nico will escort you to your dressing room and off the property." He turns to Virgil. "Mr. Tracy, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." He holds out his hand, palm up. "Your key, please."

It's another two weeks before Kayo returns to the island, but the whole house is looking forward to her arrival. The fridge is stocked with her favorite goodies, and Virgil himself has gone out to the garden this morning to cut a huge bouquet of lilies for her room. As he returns to the kitchen from delivering the vase, Scott is pouring himself a cup of coffee, and Gordon is helping Alan with homework over bowls of Fruity O's and soymilk.

In the midst of this charming domestic scene, Grandma stalks into the kitchen, wearing a sweatband and carrying a towel slung over her shoulder. "All right," she demands. "Can someone please tell me who put up a stripper pole next to my treadmill?"

Scott chokes, decorating his shirt with his mouthful of coffee.

Gordon claps his hands over Alan's ears, only to jerk them away when Alan thwaps him in the head. "No way!" Gordon crows. "Virgil, you dog, is that for Kayo?"

Scott pours his coffee in the sink and wipes ineffectively at his ruined shirt. "This is way too much information for me this early in the morning," he says, exiting the kitchen with a wave.

The younger two are nearly rolling in the floor laughing, and Virgil is just a few steps behind them. He wipes his watering eyes on the hem of his flannel shirt. "Well Grandma," Virgil says with a shrug, "lots of ladies pole dance for fitness. I'm sure if you ask, Kayo can teach you a few moves."

This sends Gordon and Alan into another round of hysteria. Grandma sighs and turns away, shaking her head. "Boys," she mutters, and heads back downstairs.