~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Auron stopped at the bar and scored another blue ribbon from Wakka before heading for the stairs.  Descending down the narrow stairwell into the basement of 54, he pressed himself against the cold concrete wall to allow Lulu to pass.  The waitress smiled and, turning sideways, rubbed up against Auron as she ascended the stairs.

Jesus! That chick just doesn't give up! 

Moving down the dark hallway, he dropped the empty beer bottle in a bus tub that a club employee was carrying and waved at a couple near the metal door leading to the dungeon.  "Hey!  I love the new album."  John and Christine McVie smiled and waved back.  "Say hi to Lindsey for me..."

He passed through the door metal door and down a service corridor, nodding to the bouncers that guarded the stars that wanted a bit of privacy.   Finally, he reached the cage door that lead to the only place more exclusive than the DJ booth and Rubell's office – the dungeon.  Stopping just inside the darkened room he quickly found what he was looking for.  Seymour was lounging next to a cherub statue in the middle of the room.  Glaring, he made a straight line for the blue haired man.

Time to even the score…

Seymour looked up from his drink to see a very angry Auron striding toward him.  The round boyish face broke into a smile as he said,  "Oh, Auron!  Don't you look stunning!"  He practically leered at the raven-haired man as he approached.  "Red becomes you..."

Auron got in the pimp's face and said, "Surprised to seem me, Seymour?"

Reaching out a hand, Seymour flicked Auron's ponytail and then placed the appendage to the injured shoulder and dug in his manicured nails.  "And why would I be?" he asked smoothly.

Growling in anger and pain, Auron stared daggers at the man in front of him.  His voice was low and full of violent intent.  "I'm gonna put you six feet under you son-of-a-bitch."

"Temper temper, Auron," Seymour chided.  "Don't upset Rubell.  He likes me, you know."

Auron reached up and ripped Seymour's hand off his shoulder.  "I don't give a fuck what he likes," he growled.  "Your ass is mine."

"Oh, I think not."  His voice pleasant and controlled, Seymour's eyes narrowed slightly.  He leaned in toward Auron and licked his lips.  "But I could arrange something similar."  Pressing forward, the young man put his face next to Auron's and whispered in his ear.  "Tell me, do you like it rough, Auron?  Cause I enjoy pulling long hair while I bend a man over my desk and take his ass."

In a sudden movement, Auron's hand shot out and wrapped itself around the pretty man's throat.  The sweet, almost innocent look on Seymour's face disappeared and an expression of contempt replaced it.  Thumb pressed dangerously near Seymour's trachea, Auron glowered at the blue haired pimp but didn't execute the kill. 

Seymour had a knife pressed against Auron's stomach.

Entwined together in a strange embrace, the two enemies stared each other down.  Finally, Seymour said, "Now that's just not smart, Auron. And you never seemed like a stupid man."  The blue haired hustler brushed his lips against Auron's cheek as he drew back to look him in the eyes.  "Besides, you should never make a John choose between his drug dealers.  It's bad for business..."

Teeth clenched, Auron dug his nails into Seymour's neck and drew a little blood before roughly releasing him.  His eyes were black with rage.

Seymour smiled gaily and batted his long eyelashes.  Nose to nose with Auron he whispered, "Much better.  We'll finish this conversation another time..."  In the din of clacking bottles, conversation, and thudding base, the click of the knife blade settling into its handle was drowned out.  With great economy of movement, the indolent drug dealer put away the weapon.  "Hopefully, you'll be wearing less clothing..."  Seymour's eyes drifted down and he copped a feel as he brushed against Auron and walked away, grinning.

"Fuckin' Bastard," Auron growled at no one.  He was so pissed he could hardly see straight.

I should have packed a piece.  I coulda taken that prick out back and finished this.

Auron pondered how he could manage to kill Seymour and get away with it.  He'd snuffed a lot of guys in Nam and didn't have a problem with punking the asshole, but he was – in theory – a cop.  And it didn't look good when a cop shot a man in cold blood. 

Sometimes it just don't pay to be the good guy.

In seconds, he crossed the room and was at the bar ordering up a bottle of vodka.  The almost naked bartender had barely put the bottle on the counter when Auron heard a voice next to him say, "Have you got a matchbook, dear?  My lighter's out and I'm dying for a cig!"

Without thinking, Auron reached in his front jeans pocket and pulled out a silver plate zippo.  "Here.  Take this."

"Are you sure?  Quite a nice lighter to be giving away."

He twisted the cap off the Stoli and poured out half a glass before he put the bottle down.

"I keep a spare."  He turned to look at the source of the voice and almost did a double take.

"I'm Freddie," the man said, extending a hand.  A shy smile played on his face.

The slightly bucktoothed grin was instantly recognizable to any rock fan – and Auron was an avid album collector.  Shaking his head lightly, he started to chuckle.  "Auron," he responded.  He took Freddie's hand and said, "I know who you are.  Anyone who doesn't has been livin' under a rock.  What are you doing here?"

Freddie Mercury shrugged and laughed as he shook Auron's hand.  "Call it 'research,' dear.  They say 54 is the place to be, and I was bored.  I have a flat here in town and I'm with a few friends.  Care to join us?"

Are you fuckin' kiddin' me!  Like I'm gonna say NO!

Trying to look nonplussed Auron replied, "Sure."

The lead singer of Queen grabbed the vodka bottle and gestured at the bartender.  "Be a dear and put this on my bill."  Stoli in one hand, Freddie moved the other to Auron's arm and guided him toward a table next to the wall.  A plush velvet tufted booth curved in a semi circle and was occupied by two men and a woman.  Hanging on Auron's arm, the singer waved the bottle flamboyantly at his friends.  "Look at what I found!" he said in a chipper voice.  "He was attached to a lighter!  What luck!"

Laughing, the group shifted to make room for Freddie and his newfound friend.  Auron wasn't quite sure what to think.  He was suddenly feeling very much like a man that had been picked up.

"Auron meet Thor, Jim, and Jaqui."  The Stoli joined two empty brothers and several bottles of champagne on the table as Freddie slid into the booth seat.  He tapped the velvet next to him and smiled.  "Sit, sit.  Tell us all about yourself, dear!"  Freddie tapped on a box of cigarettes and, using Auron's lighter, lit one up.

What the hell have I just gotten myself into?

Shrugging, Auron took the indicated seat.  Some handshakes across the table ensued.  He took a long drink from the glass in his hand and said, "Not much to tell, Freddie.  I live in New York.  I hustle to get by.  I spend time here at 54 on occasion."

Thor looked at Auron and said, "hustle?"  It was clear the man was looking out for his buddy.

"Let's just say I am loosely attached to the recreational pharmaceutical industry," Auron responded.

Freddie's eyebrows went up a bit.  "Really?"  The voice clearly said he was intrigued.  "And is this all you do?"

"Keeps me busy."  Auron rubbed at his shoulder a bit.  The stitches were itching him and Seymour grinding his hand into the wound hadn't helped much.

Masau-san will eat me alive if these stitches are torn.

"So, that little – tiff – earlier, was that business or pleasure?"  Freddie slid a bit closer to Auron and filled a glass with some vodka.  "You did not look amused."

Grunting, he said, "That?  Strictly business."

"Good, I'd hate to think you were taken."

Oh shit! Now I've done it. I'm gonna have to get inventive to get out of this…