VII. You Can't Always Get What You Want
Annie looked up from her magazine at the jingle of bells and squinted into the afternoon sun. A tall, lanky figure filled the doorway, and she recognized the hair. "Spike!" she beamed at him and he waved as he let the door swing shut.
"How are you, Annie?" he asked, pulling a stool up to the counter.
"Can't complain. Gorgeous day. Seeing you makes it better." She set a mug down in front of him. "Have a cup of coffee with me?"
He grinned. "That's exactly what I came to do."
She looked at him sideways as she poured. "Rumors of your demise have been greatly exaggerated, I see."
"Yep," he replied with a grimace, "Been hearing that all day."
She nodded. "Mao called to tell me you were coming over. Why are you looking for a new place?"
He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "I had a little dispute with my landlady."
She leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "What kind of a dispute?"
"She let the ISSP in when I wasn't home. So I stopped paying her."
Annie allowed a small chuckle. "I assume they didn't find anything, since I never heard about it. When was this?"
"About six months ago."
Her eyes bugged. "You haven't paid her for six months? Hard to help you find a new place when you still owe six months' rent, Spike."
"Oh, I've paid her," he replied, "A couple of times, when she locked me in the place until I agreed to cough up."
"Sounds like she knows how to handle you." In spite of her consternation, Annie smirked.
"It was funny the first two times. Today, I just took my stuff out the window and left her yelling at the door in the hallway." Spike took a drink of coffee and looked up at her over the rim of the mug, eyes twinkling.
She shook her head at him, but found it impossible to maintain a serious expression. "You are terrible," she said, "and I have no idea how I could recommend you as a tenant."
"I can pay up front. It's not like I don't have the money," he replied, sulking.
"Spike, these things matter. You still have to live in the real world." She put a hand on his arm. "It wouldn't make any difference if I vouched for you. As soon as that six months of late payments came up in the computer, Nicholas would show you the door."
He sighed. "I could pay Rina, I suppose."
Annie raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "It's past that point, you know. You have to start taking these things seriously. I know what you think – that nothing's permanent, that you can just live in the moment and let it all pile up until you get locked inside your own apartment, or until you die and there's nothing anyone can get out of you when you're gone." Her expression was patient, but sad. "You could do anything, Spike, but you only do what you have to in order to get by."
He shrugged and hung his head. "There's not much I want, Annie. I just ... everything you're saying is true. And I woke up this morning thinking I wanted to make it better. I thought getting out of that dump might be a good start."
She raised an eyebrow, watching him, trying to figure out if he was just playing her – God knew he was good at it, had been all his life. There wasn't much she could deny him. Candy bars when he was a young boy, tailing his father like a shadow; letting Julia move in when he called her, breathless, to tell her a beautiful girl with no place to stay was beating him at a game of Nine-Ball. At that memory, she brightened. "What about here?"
He looked confused. "What about it?"
"Julia's old room is empty. It's better than Rina's building. Although you'd have to make yourself useful – and you'd have to pay your rent."
"Pay rent and make myself useful? Why not just one or the other?" Before she could retort, he winked and went on. "You'd really let me rent your room?"
She gave him a hard look. "I don't want trouble here, you know that. The ISSP will leave you alone, at least. But if you're serious about trying to improve your situation, you can run deliveries for me – the food kind – and live in the room. I'll give you a good deal."
He tried to keep the grin on his face from getting too wide, wondering if she knew he'd just gotten exactly what he came for.
***
Julia looked up as Vicious and Manfred emerged from the back room. By her accounting, humming an old melody to herself over and over, they hadn't even been gone five minutes. Manfred looked flushed, and she could smell whiskey on Vicious' breath when he took her hand and leaned in for a kiss. "Good," she thought to herself, "getting him drunk is good." The beginning of a plan had formed in her mind while the two talked, but she still didn't know enough to work out the details. "Where to next, darling?" she asked her husband-for-the-night, knowing he'd bristle at the term of affection, and that there was nothing he could say about it. She found herself almost enjoying the chance to needle him without consequence.
"We'll pick up our purchase, and then we'll spend the evening at Manfred's," he replied in a smooth voice, no hint of irritation. "He's arranged an introduction for me. And he'd like to get to know you better in the time we have before our meeting." She felt his grip on her shoulder tighten as he went on. "I trust you will show him appreciation for his hospitality."
Manfred let out a giggle that made her skin crawl, but she smiled back at Vicious - not trusting herself to look at the older man - and replied in similar tone, "It would be a pleasure." Manfred giggled again.
Vicious shot him a sharp look, conspiratorial but still a warning. "The basement?" he prompted.
"Oh, yeah. Yep, shtill down there, shame ash before." Manfred seemed to shake himself and rummaged in his pocket for a large key ring. Julia felt his eyes on her the entire time, and summoned her resolve to meet his gaze. He looked away immediately. "Follow me," he told them, and headed for the hallway.
They rode the elevator all the way down to the lowest basement level, which turned out to be a storage facility converted from parking. Crates marked with the importation stamps of almost every dwelling place in the system rose in towering stacks on all sides, organized, it seemed, by final destination. They wound through the makeshift aisles, and Julia noticed that they circled back several times. Knowing Manfred thought he was preventing them from remembering the location of the contraband, she feigned disinterest as she counted the rows, listening to the click of her heels, the swish of Vicious' overcoat, and the shuffling steps of their guide. They finally stopped in an aisle devoted to "unclaimed" goods, orange tags declaring original shipper, contents, values and date of storage.
Manfred gave a hard whack to the side of a crate addressed to "Arco Fuel Cell Recycling", and then pulled on the face of the crate, which gave way to reveal a jumble of metal canisters. Those, too, lifted away in a single piece - an artful bit of welding and solder - and behind the facade were racks of Red Eye vials, each engraved with a logo that featured the firing- pin end of a bullet with an eye's iris in the center. He took out four of the vial racks - she calculated them to be around twenty vials each - and set them on the floor.
"They'll fit in your cashe," he said to Vicious - the first words he had spoken since the elevator ride. "And I got room now for what you're carrying."
Vicious nodded and flicked at the combination keypad on the briefcase. The locks released with a soft click, and he opened it to show Manfred the contents.
"I like getting cash," Manfred said with a leer. "Eashy to get rid of, good for good thingsh." He unloaded the stacks of bills into the crate and sealed it again while Vicious refilled his case.
Vicious set the locks and rose, putting an arm around Julia's shoulder. It was a strange gesture, one he did not make any other time, and as they began to walk she was struck by how heavy it seemed, though she knew she carried none of his weight. It was claustrophobic, disorienting - he directed her steps with his own movement and she felt off-balance as they followed Manfred back through the maze. When their guide was a good ten feet in front of them, he leaned down and hissed in her ear, "Cooperate. Don't let him use his comm. Look like we're talking about something pleasant."
She leaned her head against his chest to better muffle her own whisper. "I thought this was pleasant for you," she replied. "What did you promise him?"
His fingers tightened, digging into her shoulder until she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. "This has been unpleasant from the beginning," he said, his voice raspy. "You'll do what he asks from the time we reach his house until we leave for the meeting."
"I assume he doesn't plan to have me wash his dishes?" She shrugged slightly and put on a half-smile as Manfred turned to wait for them.
Vicious let out what she instantly recognized as a false, forced laugh. "That would be wonderful, wouldn't it, peach?" he replied at full volume. "Manfred, we've done enough work for the day. Julia can ride with you and I'll follow. You can get acquainted." He finally relinquished his grip on her.
She nodded, putting on her best simple-and-obedient air, and winked at Manfred.
He blushed scarlet and looked away, staring at the moving LED on the elevator panel while they waited for the car.
She used the long ascent to clear her head, thinking through the possible scenarios for the evening. Her first order of business, she decided, was to get Manfred as intoxicated as possible. He seemed shy and she knew it was a risk; alcohol might make him bolder and less manageable. But at the same time, experiences she usually tried not to remember had taught her that a drunk man was a pliable man, and her best hope for the night involved getting him to a point where she could subdue him entirely. She weighed the risk of letting Vicious remain in their company, since he would probably consider her plan a deviation from his own. Much as she liked the idea of forcing him to be present, to watch her carry out his twisted mission - he had given more away than he meant to by his earlier reaction, and she knew now he was angry at the very thought of her with Manfred - she dreaded actually going through with it even more. And she was unsure whether he would appreciate her ability to sidestep the issue, or whether he'd vindictively force the worst possible outcome.
They arrived at the roof, and Manfred gave Vicious coordinates for his home. Then he very formally offered his arm to Julia, and with a small smile, asked, "Shall we?"
She smiled back, realizing she was glad for the opportunity to be away from Vicious. She took the proffered arm and waved to her "husband", saying, "See you soon, love!" with more chirp than was probably necessary. Vicious rewarded her with a look that would peel paint and boarded the ship, shutting the hatch without a word.
Manfred looked like he wasn't sure where to go next, and a brief wave of fear ran through her. If he tried anything now, she was in no position to decline without risking the next day's meeting. But he seemed to come to a conclusion, and turned back to the elevator. "I park on the shtreet," he said simply.
The elevator ride began in silence again, but she knew it would be best to make conversation. "How long have you known Vicious?" she asked, turning to face Manfred.
"Oh, at least ten yearsh," he replied, fighting to hold her gaze but periodically looking away with obvious discomfort. "Shince before he joined Red Dragon. He worked for me on Jupiter, loading ship."
She nodded, thinking to herself that she might learn more about her lover from this stranger than from the man himself. "He would have been, what, fifteen or so?"
"I never ashked. Young and shtrong and quiet, did hish job." Manfred lowered his eyes. "I don't make good convershation anymore," he admitted. "I talk funny."
She shrugged and encouraged, "It doesn't bother me. Do you mind if I ask what happened?"
He chuckled. "That shtory would be for later, if I tell it. Or Vicioush could tell you."
She turned the wattage down a little and demurred, "Vicious doesn't tell me very much about anything. I was surprised when he asked me to come along."
Manfred stared straight ahead as he asked, "You know why you're here?"
"Of course," she replied. "He wanted to introduce you to me." This was easier than she expected. She might be able to parlay his hesitancy into borrowed time.
He cleared his throat. "What do you like to do?"
Shrugging, she gave his arm a squeeze. "I like music; jazz mostly. Old movies. I've never been to Ganymede," she embellished. "Are there any good jazz clubs here?"
Gravity increased for a moment as the elevator slid to a stop. He smiled that strange half-smile, less threatening now than it had seemed at first, and said, "I can find shomething you would like."
***
Vicious had arrived ahead of them, and they rejoined in the lobby. He noted Manfred's more relaxed expression and Julia's faint smile, and fought back a pang of nervousness as he wondered what had caused the change in mood.
Julia beamed at him. "Manfred's going to take us to a jazz club," she announced. Manfred nodded, adding, "After we eat."
Vicious put on a half-smile and inclined his head. He admired the way she had shaved the time she'd have to spend at Manfred's apartment, but hoped it wouldn't mean more opportunity for Manfred to be alone and call off the meeting, or that he would consider the trade inequitable after the fact. He seemed pleased, though, and more comfortable in her company as they rode up to his floor. Manfred's home reflected the income his activities afforded him far more than his run-down office. He lived in a high-floor apartment overlooking the bay, not elegantly furnished but obviously expensive.
Manfred busied himself in the kitchen, and Julia ingratiated herself by offering to help prepare the meal. Vicious sat stock-still on the couch, disconcerted by the feeling of being a third wheel with his woman and a man he had expected to terrify her. They ate in a blur of companionable chatter; he learned Manfred had told her about their time working together and remained tight-lipped about the history, other than to acknowledge what Manfred said.
For a brief moment, his mood lifted when Julia offered to clear the table and wash the dishes; he couldn't help but laugh at the way she twisted Manfred's will and her own earlier snide remark into an in-joke. But he descended into a funk again when they prepared to leave for the club - he'd grown weary of socializing, but knew Manfred would inevitably be alone, whether in a bathroom or on a drink run, if he didn't go along. Finding it harder and harder to keep a scowl from his face, he followed them down to Manfred's car and rode alone in the back seat through the twisting highways and side streets of Ganymede.
***
Manfred's taste in jazz clubs likely had more to do with the cheapness of the liquor and the visual quality of the entertainers than any real appreciation for music. They landed in a smoke-filled room with mismatched chairs and tables, listening to a buxom woman in a teddy and thigh-high boots slog through impossibly stylized renditions of 20th-century jazz standards, accompanied by a sallow man on the piano and a grim-looking drummer who kept metronomic time on his snare and high hat. Julia ordered a martini, while Manfred ordered the harried waitress to bring a bottle of good whiskey for he and Vicious to share.
The martini lasted nearly an hour through her sleight of hand, while Manfred polished off most of the whiskey and Vicious declined, claiming he wanted to be clear-headed for the meeting the following morning. A small voice in Julia's head warned her that Manfred was indeed becoming bolder; by the end of the set, he was clutching at her knee every time he addressed her, the grip moving higher on her leg with each line of the conversation. When he finally rose to go to the bathroom, Vicious shadowed him unnoticed, and Julia sat back in her chair, waving off the waitress and thinking hard.
She hadn't wanted to resort to the best trick in her arsenal, but she realized with increasing dread that Manfred could hold his liquor and that he'd been promised free reign of all her assets; in addition, he seemed unlikely to forget that promise. It would be a test of skills she had not used in a long time to pull off her plan without him noticing, and even more of a challenge to keep Vicious in the dark as well.
"Women are all liars," she reminded herself, coming to a decision, and she kept a wary eye on the bathroom door as she dug into her bag for the vial of "sleeping draught", as her streetwise Venusian companion had called it when she first learned the trick. She snapped off the top and palmed it carefully, taking hold of a napkin so it concealed the flat ampoule, and smiled brightly as Manfred returned to the table, Vicious a few steps behind.
"The set's over," she said wistfully. "This was really nice. Thank you, Manfred." She used her free hand to cup his face, and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, but did not dare to look at Vicious.
The Manfred who apologized for his speech impediment had faded with each drink, and now he gave a bawdy guffaw. "Well, then," he slurred, close to her face and reeking of alcohol, "it'sh a good time to go back to my houshe and finish the night off proper!" He leered and squeezed her thigh.
She held his gaze with the best come-hither expression she could muster and purred, "I agree." And while he watched her face, she lifted the glass she'd refilled for him, took a drink, and delicately arched her wrist as she set it back on the table, allowing the contents of the vial to run down into it with the settling liquid.
"Ooh!" she gasped, wide-eyed, "That's good. Finish up, darling, you've already bought the bottle."
He grinned, menacing again, and for a moment she thought he'd decline. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Vicious watching her intently as she wiped her hands with her napkin and dropped it on the tray of a passing cocktail waitress. Manfred finally took the glass, tipped it back in a single long drink, and stood, swaying.
"Come on, then," he said to her - completely ignoring, or else having forgotten, that Vicious stood next to him. "All the good partsh of me work jusht fine." As she rose, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in close; she didn't want to kiss him in case the chemical was still on his lips and in his mouth, but he growled and bit her neck in a clumsy attempt at eroticism instead. She put her arms around him, eyes locked with Vicious and an expression of loathing on her face, and murmured, "I'm not shy, but we should continue this somewhere less public."
Manfred drew back, seeming to notice Vicious anew. "Ah, right!' he exclaimed.
"I'll drive," Vicious replied in an icy voice.
"Good, good!" Manfred was ebullient; Julia felt panic creeping from her stomach up into her throat. Perhaps she had underestimated his weight and tolerance, or perhaps the sleeping draught lost potency over time. She steeled her resolve and guided Manfred to the door with one arm around his shoulder, following Vicious to the car. She tried to ignore the feel of Manfred's hands roaming, the fact that she could tell he was missing fingers, the way he slid them over her body as though he were touching an inanimate object. She'd never seen anyone hold out for longer than a few minutes against the drug, and most were incapacitated almost instantly.
At the car, Manfred opened the back door as Vicious went around to the driver's side. Julia thought for a moment he'd let go, but instead he grasped her roughly by the lapels of her jacket and shouted, "Get in, woman!" as he pushed her backward onto the bench seat. She heard a hiss as Vicious inhaled, but had no time to think about it – the older man's body loomed in the doorway, blacking out the night sky and the streetlamps behind him. He reached out for her with both arms, laughing, and fell forward, a crushing weight that pressed her weapons painfully against her ribs. She waited, holding her breath, for his next move – but none came.
After a moment, she managed to croak out, "Manfred?" as she pushed ineffectively at his shoulders, but the man was out cold. "Oh, Jesus," she breathed, wriggling to extricate herself. Vicious looked over his shoulder at the two of them, comprehension dawning on his features.
"What did you do?" he hissed.
She turned to him and spoke in a whisper. "Shut up," she retorted, the words clipped. "Drive."
He seemed to understand that it was best not to discuss anything in front of Manfred, whether he appeared unconscious or not, and started the engine while Julia struggled to pull the heavy form inside the car and get the door closed. She sat back, scrunched against the opposite door to allow room for Manfred's body, taking deep breaths to slow her racing heart. Vicious wound through the streets efficiently, cutting corners sharp and gunning the engine at every straightaway, until they reached Manfred's building.
After parking, he turned in his seat and surveyed the scene. He made a kind of sign language gesture, seeming to ask, "is he dead?"
Julia shook her head and steepled her hands beside her face – "sleeping."
Vicious frowned, but said nothing. He got out of the car and came around to Manfred's side, lifting the man out and carrying him soldier-style, one limp arm over his shoulder. Julia followed and gestured for Vicious to wait while she entered the lobby. She emerged a moment later and beckoned; the place was deserted and she'd already called the elevator. The silence continued for the ride up, until they reached Manfred's door.
"Keys," Vicious said, giving her a look that suggested she hadn't been thinking ahead.
"They're in your hand," she replied. "You drove, remember?"
He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment and handed the key ring to her; after a few tries, she found the right one and they were safe inside Manfred's apartment. Vicious carried him to the bedroom and deposited him on the bed, reemerging with a murderous expression.
"That was an idiotic stunt," he said in a half-whisper. "He'll call off the meeting as soon as he wakes up."
"I'm not finished," she hissed back. "He won't wake up for at least another four hours, and he won't remember passing out."
"I don't get you. He's not going to be pleased that you got him so drunk he couldn't collect on his payment." Vicious spat the words at her, relief outweighed by the prospect of an ugly confrontation in the morning.
"He won't admit he doesn't remember," she said, and began taking off her jacket. "You're going to have to help me get him undressed."
Vicious stared. While he tried to process what she meant, she continued to strip until she wore nothing but a camisole and satin thong.
She sighed. "We get him undressed. I get in bed with him. He wakes up with me. He has no memory of what happened, but he's not going to admit it."
"You've done this before." She couldn't tell from his expression whether he was relieved or disturbed.
"Better than having followed through with it before, isn't it?" She turned her back on him and went into the bedroom.
In a moment, Vicious followed, helping her remove boots and buckles and clothing without a word. When Manfred was completely naked – a sight neither of them took any pleasure in – she went to rummage in her bag and returned with her perfume, spritzing it around the room, on the sheets, and on the slumbering man. Satisfied, she pulled off her camisole, mussed her hair, and turned to her lover.
"I suggest you sleep on the couch," she told him as she stepped out of the last of her clothing. "I don't think the bed's big enough for all of us."
Annie looked up from her magazine at the jingle of bells and squinted into the afternoon sun. A tall, lanky figure filled the doorway, and she recognized the hair. "Spike!" she beamed at him and he waved as he let the door swing shut.
"How are you, Annie?" he asked, pulling a stool up to the counter.
"Can't complain. Gorgeous day. Seeing you makes it better." She set a mug down in front of him. "Have a cup of coffee with me?"
He grinned. "That's exactly what I came to do."
She looked at him sideways as she poured. "Rumors of your demise have been greatly exaggerated, I see."
"Yep," he replied with a grimace, "Been hearing that all day."
She nodded. "Mao called to tell me you were coming over. Why are you looking for a new place?"
He shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "I had a little dispute with my landlady."
She leaned forward, elbows on the counter. "What kind of a dispute?"
"She let the ISSP in when I wasn't home. So I stopped paying her."
Annie allowed a small chuckle. "I assume they didn't find anything, since I never heard about it. When was this?"
"About six months ago."
Her eyes bugged. "You haven't paid her for six months? Hard to help you find a new place when you still owe six months' rent, Spike."
"Oh, I've paid her," he replied, "A couple of times, when she locked me in the place until I agreed to cough up."
"Sounds like she knows how to handle you." In spite of her consternation, Annie smirked.
"It was funny the first two times. Today, I just took my stuff out the window and left her yelling at the door in the hallway." Spike took a drink of coffee and looked up at her over the rim of the mug, eyes twinkling.
She shook her head at him, but found it impossible to maintain a serious expression. "You are terrible," she said, "and I have no idea how I could recommend you as a tenant."
"I can pay up front. It's not like I don't have the money," he replied, sulking.
"Spike, these things matter. You still have to live in the real world." She put a hand on his arm. "It wouldn't make any difference if I vouched for you. As soon as that six months of late payments came up in the computer, Nicholas would show you the door."
He sighed. "I could pay Rina, I suppose."
Annie raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "It's past that point, you know. You have to start taking these things seriously. I know what you think – that nothing's permanent, that you can just live in the moment and let it all pile up until you get locked inside your own apartment, or until you die and there's nothing anyone can get out of you when you're gone." Her expression was patient, but sad. "You could do anything, Spike, but you only do what you have to in order to get by."
He shrugged and hung his head. "There's not much I want, Annie. I just ... everything you're saying is true. And I woke up this morning thinking I wanted to make it better. I thought getting out of that dump might be a good start."
She raised an eyebrow, watching him, trying to figure out if he was just playing her – God knew he was good at it, had been all his life. There wasn't much she could deny him. Candy bars when he was a young boy, tailing his father like a shadow; letting Julia move in when he called her, breathless, to tell her a beautiful girl with no place to stay was beating him at a game of Nine-Ball. At that memory, she brightened. "What about here?"
He looked confused. "What about it?"
"Julia's old room is empty. It's better than Rina's building. Although you'd have to make yourself useful – and you'd have to pay your rent."
"Pay rent and make myself useful? Why not just one or the other?" Before she could retort, he winked and went on. "You'd really let me rent your room?"
She gave him a hard look. "I don't want trouble here, you know that. The ISSP will leave you alone, at least. But if you're serious about trying to improve your situation, you can run deliveries for me – the food kind – and live in the room. I'll give you a good deal."
He tried to keep the grin on his face from getting too wide, wondering if she knew he'd just gotten exactly what he came for.
***
Julia looked up as Vicious and Manfred emerged from the back room. By her accounting, humming an old melody to herself over and over, they hadn't even been gone five minutes. Manfred looked flushed, and she could smell whiskey on Vicious' breath when he took her hand and leaned in for a kiss. "Good," she thought to herself, "getting him drunk is good." The beginning of a plan had formed in her mind while the two talked, but she still didn't know enough to work out the details. "Where to next, darling?" she asked her husband-for-the-night, knowing he'd bristle at the term of affection, and that there was nothing he could say about it. She found herself almost enjoying the chance to needle him without consequence.
"We'll pick up our purchase, and then we'll spend the evening at Manfred's," he replied in a smooth voice, no hint of irritation. "He's arranged an introduction for me. And he'd like to get to know you better in the time we have before our meeting." She felt his grip on her shoulder tighten as he went on. "I trust you will show him appreciation for his hospitality."
Manfred let out a giggle that made her skin crawl, but she smiled back at Vicious - not trusting herself to look at the older man - and replied in similar tone, "It would be a pleasure." Manfred giggled again.
Vicious shot him a sharp look, conspiratorial but still a warning. "The basement?" he prompted.
"Oh, yeah. Yep, shtill down there, shame ash before." Manfred seemed to shake himself and rummaged in his pocket for a large key ring. Julia felt his eyes on her the entire time, and summoned her resolve to meet his gaze. He looked away immediately. "Follow me," he told them, and headed for the hallway.
They rode the elevator all the way down to the lowest basement level, which turned out to be a storage facility converted from parking. Crates marked with the importation stamps of almost every dwelling place in the system rose in towering stacks on all sides, organized, it seemed, by final destination. They wound through the makeshift aisles, and Julia noticed that they circled back several times. Knowing Manfred thought he was preventing them from remembering the location of the contraband, she feigned disinterest as she counted the rows, listening to the click of her heels, the swish of Vicious' overcoat, and the shuffling steps of their guide. They finally stopped in an aisle devoted to "unclaimed" goods, orange tags declaring original shipper, contents, values and date of storage.
Manfred gave a hard whack to the side of a crate addressed to "Arco Fuel Cell Recycling", and then pulled on the face of the crate, which gave way to reveal a jumble of metal canisters. Those, too, lifted away in a single piece - an artful bit of welding and solder - and behind the facade were racks of Red Eye vials, each engraved with a logo that featured the firing- pin end of a bullet with an eye's iris in the center. He took out four of the vial racks - she calculated them to be around twenty vials each - and set them on the floor.
"They'll fit in your cashe," he said to Vicious - the first words he had spoken since the elevator ride. "And I got room now for what you're carrying."
Vicious nodded and flicked at the combination keypad on the briefcase. The locks released with a soft click, and he opened it to show Manfred the contents.
"I like getting cash," Manfred said with a leer. "Eashy to get rid of, good for good thingsh." He unloaded the stacks of bills into the crate and sealed it again while Vicious refilled his case.
Vicious set the locks and rose, putting an arm around Julia's shoulder. It was a strange gesture, one he did not make any other time, and as they began to walk she was struck by how heavy it seemed, though she knew she carried none of his weight. It was claustrophobic, disorienting - he directed her steps with his own movement and she felt off-balance as they followed Manfred back through the maze. When their guide was a good ten feet in front of them, he leaned down and hissed in her ear, "Cooperate. Don't let him use his comm. Look like we're talking about something pleasant."
She leaned her head against his chest to better muffle her own whisper. "I thought this was pleasant for you," she replied. "What did you promise him?"
His fingers tightened, digging into her shoulder until she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. "This has been unpleasant from the beginning," he said, his voice raspy. "You'll do what he asks from the time we reach his house until we leave for the meeting."
"I assume he doesn't plan to have me wash his dishes?" She shrugged slightly and put on a half-smile as Manfred turned to wait for them.
Vicious let out what she instantly recognized as a false, forced laugh. "That would be wonderful, wouldn't it, peach?" he replied at full volume. "Manfred, we've done enough work for the day. Julia can ride with you and I'll follow. You can get acquainted." He finally relinquished his grip on her.
She nodded, putting on her best simple-and-obedient air, and winked at Manfred.
He blushed scarlet and looked away, staring at the moving LED on the elevator panel while they waited for the car.
She used the long ascent to clear her head, thinking through the possible scenarios for the evening. Her first order of business, she decided, was to get Manfred as intoxicated as possible. He seemed shy and she knew it was a risk; alcohol might make him bolder and less manageable. But at the same time, experiences she usually tried not to remember had taught her that a drunk man was a pliable man, and her best hope for the night involved getting him to a point where she could subdue him entirely. She weighed the risk of letting Vicious remain in their company, since he would probably consider her plan a deviation from his own. Much as she liked the idea of forcing him to be present, to watch her carry out his twisted mission - he had given more away than he meant to by his earlier reaction, and she knew now he was angry at the very thought of her with Manfred - she dreaded actually going through with it even more. And she was unsure whether he would appreciate her ability to sidestep the issue, or whether he'd vindictively force the worst possible outcome.
They arrived at the roof, and Manfred gave Vicious coordinates for his home. Then he very formally offered his arm to Julia, and with a small smile, asked, "Shall we?"
She smiled back, realizing she was glad for the opportunity to be away from Vicious. She took the proffered arm and waved to her "husband", saying, "See you soon, love!" with more chirp than was probably necessary. Vicious rewarded her with a look that would peel paint and boarded the ship, shutting the hatch without a word.
Manfred looked like he wasn't sure where to go next, and a brief wave of fear ran through her. If he tried anything now, she was in no position to decline without risking the next day's meeting. But he seemed to come to a conclusion, and turned back to the elevator. "I park on the shtreet," he said simply.
The elevator ride began in silence again, but she knew it would be best to make conversation. "How long have you known Vicious?" she asked, turning to face Manfred.
"Oh, at least ten yearsh," he replied, fighting to hold her gaze but periodically looking away with obvious discomfort. "Shince before he joined Red Dragon. He worked for me on Jupiter, loading ship."
She nodded, thinking to herself that she might learn more about her lover from this stranger than from the man himself. "He would have been, what, fifteen or so?"
"I never ashked. Young and shtrong and quiet, did hish job." Manfred lowered his eyes. "I don't make good convershation anymore," he admitted. "I talk funny."
She shrugged and encouraged, "It doesn't bother me. Do you mind if I ask what happened?"
He chuckled. "That shtory would be for later, if I tell it. Or Vicioush could tell you."
She turned the wattage down a little and demurred, "Vicious doesn't tell me very much about anything. I was surprised when he asked me to come along."
Manfred stared straight ahead as he asked, "You know why you're here?"
"Of course," she replied. "He wanted to introduce you to me." This was easier than she expected. She might be able to parlay his hesitancy into borrowed time.
He cleared his throat. "What do you like to do?"
Shrugging, she gave his arm a squeeze. "I like music; jazz mostly. Old movies. I've never been to Ganymede," she embellished. "Are there any good jazz clubs here?"
Gravity increased for a moment as the elevator slid to a stop. He smiled that strange half-smile, less threatening now than it had seemed at first, and said, "I can find shomething you would like."
***
Vicious had arrived ahead of them, and they rejoined in the lobby. He noted Manfred's more relaxed expression and Julia's faint smile, and fought back a pang of nervousness as he wondered what had caused the change in mood.
Julia beamed at him. "Manfred's going to take us to a jazz club," she announced. Manfred nodded, adding, "After we eat."
Vicious put on a half-smile and inclined his head. He admired the way she had shaved the time she'd have to spend at Manfred's apartment, but hoped it wouldn't mean more opportunity for Manfred to be alone and call off the meeting, or that he would consider the trade inequitable after the fact. He seemed pleased, though, and more comfortable in her company as they rode up to his floor. Manfred's home reflected the income his activities afforded him far more than his run-down office. He lived in a high-floor apartment overlooking the bay, not elegantly furnished but obviously expensive.
Manfred busied himself in the kitchen, and Julia ingratiated herself by offering to help prepare the meal. Vicious sat stock-still on the couch, disconcerted by the feeling of being a third wheel with his woman and a man he had expected to terrify her. They ate in a blur of companionable chatter; he learned Manfred had told her about their time working together and remained tight-lipped about the history, other than to acknowledge what Manfred said.
For a brief moment, his mood lifted when Julia offered to clear the table and wash the dishes; he couldn't help but laugh at the way she twisted Manfred's will and her own earlier snide remark into an in-joke. But he descended into a funk again when they prepared to leave for the club - he'd grown weary of socializing, but knew Manfred would inevitably be alone, whether in a bathroom or on a drink run, if he didn't go along. Finding it harder and harder to keep a scowl from his face, he followed them down to Manfred's car and rode alone in the back seat through the twisting highways and side streets of Ganymede.
***
Manfred's taste in jazz clubs likely had more to do with the cheapness of the liquor and the visual quality of the entertainers than any real appreciation for music. They landed in a smoke-filled room with mismatched chairs and tables, listening to a buxom woman in a teddy and thigh-high boots slog through impossibly stylized renditions of 20th-century jazz standards, accompanied by a sallow man on the piano and a grim-looking drummer who kept metronomic time on his snare and high hat. Julia ordered a martini, while Manfred ordered the harried waitress to bring a bottle of good whiskey for he and Vicious to share.
The martini lasted nearly an hour through her sleight of hand, while Manfred polished off most of the whiskey and Vicious declined, claiming he wanted to be clear-headed for the meeting the following morning. A small voice in Julia's head warned her that Manfred was indeed becoming bolder; by the end of the set, he was clutching at her knee every time he addressed her, the grip moving higher on her leg with each line of the conversation. When he finally rose to go to the bathroom, Vicious shadowed him unnoticed, and Julia sat back in her chair, waving off the waitress and thinking hard.
She hadn't wanted to resort to the best trick in her arsenal, but she realized with increasing dread that Manfred could hold his liquor and that he'd been promised free reign of all her assets; in addition, he seemed unlikely to forget that promise. It would be a test of skills she had not used in a long time to pull off her plan without him noticing, and even more of a challenge to keep Vicious in the dark as well.
"Women are all liars," she reminded herself, coming to a decision, and she kept a wary eye on the bathroom door as she dug into her bag for the vial of "sleeping draught", as her streetwise Venusian companion had called it when she first learned the trick. She snapped off the top and palmed it carefully, taking hold of a napkin so it concealed the flat ampoule, and smiled brightly as Manfred returned to the table, Vicious a few steps behind.
"The set's over," she said wistfully. "This was really nice. Thank you, Manfred." She used her free hand to cup his face, and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, but did not dare to look at Vicious.
The Manfred who apologized for his speech impediment had faded with each drink, and now he gave a bawdy guffaw. "Well, then," he slurred, close to her face and reeking of alcohol, "it'sh a good time to go back to my houshe and finish the night off proper!" He leered and squeezed her thigh.
She held his gaze with the best come-hither expression she could muster and purred, "I agree." And while he watched her face, she lifted the glass she'd refilled for him, took a drink, and delicately arched her wrist as she set it back on the table, allowing the contents of the vial to run down into it with the settling liquid.
"Ooh!" she gasped, wide-eyed, "That's good. Finish up, darling, you've already bought the bottle."
He grinned, menacing again, and for a moment she thought he'd decline. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Vicious watching her intently as she wiped her hands with her napkin and dropped it on the tray of a passing cocktail waitress. Manfred finally took the glass, tipped it back in a single long drink, and stood, swaying.
"Come on, then," he said to her - completely ignoring, or else having forgotten, that Vicious stood next to him. "All the good partsh of me work jusht fine." As she rose, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in close; she didn't want to kiss him in case the chemical was still on his lips and in his mouth, but he growled and bit her neck in a clumsy attempt at eroticism instead. She put her arms around him, eyes locked with Vicious and an expression of loathing on her face, and murmured, "I'm not shy, but we should continue this somewhere less public."
Manfred drew back, seeming to notice Vicious anew. "Ah, right!' he exclaimed.
"I'll drive," Vicious replied in an icy voice.
"Good, good!" Manfred was ebullient; Julia felt panic creeping from her stomach up into her throat. Perhaps she had underestimated his weight and tolerance, or perhaps the sleeping draught lost potency over time. She steeled her resolve and guided Manfred to the door with one arm around his shoulder, following Vicious to the car. She tried to ignore the feel of Manfred's hands roaming, the fact that she could tell he was missing fingers, the way he slid them over her body as though he were touching an inanimate object. She'd never seen anyone hold out for longer than a few minutes against the drug, and most were incapacitated almost instantly.
At the car, Manfred opened the back door as Vicious went around to the driver's side. Julia thought for a moment he'd let go, but instead he grasped her roughly by the lapels of her jacket and shouted, "Get in, woman!" as he pushed her backward onto the bench seat. She heard a hiss as Vicious inhaled, but had no time to think about it – the older man's body loomed in the doorway, blacking out the night sky and the streetlamps behind him. He reached out for her with both arms, laughing, and fell forward, a crushing weight that pressed her weapons painfully against her ribs. She waited, holding her breath, for his next move – but none came.
After a moment, she managed to croak out, "Manfred?" as she pushed ineffectively at his shoulders, but the man was out cold. "Oh, Jesus," she breathed, wriggling to extricate herself. Vicious looked over his shoulder at the two of them, comprehension dawning on his features.
"What did you do?" he hissed.
She turned to him and spoke in a whisper. "Shut up," she retorted, the words clipped. "Drive."
He seemed to understand that it was best not to discuss anything in front of Manfred, whether he appeared unconscious or not, and started the engine while Julia struggled to pull the heavy form inside the car and get the door closed. She sat back, scrunched against the opposite door to allow room for Manfred's body, taking deep breaths to slow her racing heart. Vicious wound through the streets efficiently, cutting corners sharp and gunning the engine at every straightaway, until they reached Manfred's building.
After parking, he turned in his seat and surveyed the scene. He made a kind of sign language gesture, seeming to ask, "is he dead?"
Julia shook her head and steepled her hands beside her face – "sleeping."
Vicious frowned, but said nothing. He got out of the car and came around to Manfred's side, lifting the man out and carrying him soldier-style, one limp arm over his shoulder. Julia followed and gestured for Vicious to wait while she entered the lobby. She emerged a moment later and beckoned; the place was deserted and she'd already called the elevator. The silence continued for the ride up, until they reached Manfred's door.
"Keys," Vicious said, giving her a look that suggested she hadn't been thinking ahead.
"They're in your hand," she replied. "You drove, remember?"
He raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment and handed the key ring to her; after a few tries, she found the right one and they were safe inside Manfred's apartment. Vicious carried him to the bedroom and deposited him on the bed, reemerging with a murderous expression.
"That was an idiotic stunt," he said in a half-whisper. "He'll call off the meeting as soon as he wakes up."
"I'm not finished," she hissed back. "He won't wake up for at least another four hours, and he won't remember passing out."
"I don't get you. He's not going to be pleased that you got him so drunk he couldn't collect on his payment." Vicious spat the words at her, relief outweighed by the prospect of an ugly confrontation in the morning.
"He won't admit he doesn't remember," she said, and began taking off her jacket. "You're going to have to help me get him undressed."
Vicious stared. While he tried to process what she meant, she continued to strip until she wore nothing but a camisole and satin thong.
She sighed. "We get him undressed. I get in bed with him. He wakes up with me. He has no memory of what happened, but he's not going to admit it."
"You've done this before." She couldn't tell from his expression whether he was relieved or disturbed.
"Better than having followed through with it before, isn't it?" She turned her back on him and went into the bedroom.
In a moment, Vicious followed, helping her remove boots and buckles and clothing without a word. When Manfred was completely naked – a sight neither of them took any pleasure in – she went to rummage in her bag and returned with her perfume, spritzing it around the room, on the sheets, and on the slumbering man. Satisfied, she pulled off her camisole, mussed her hair, and turned to her lover.
"I suggest you sleep on the couch," she told him as she stepped out of the last of her clothing. "I don't think the bed's big enough for all of us."