12:38:21 am CST
Pony, like many of the not-strictly-criminal denizens of Choi's world, did not have a cell phone. Cell phones were a mark of status, for good or for ill. If you had one and you took it out with you to a club it meant you dealt or you posed-either you were like him, Choi figured, or you were trying to slum it for a night, pretend you could live the goth and gutter life without losing your lifeline to the suburbs or wherever. None of his customers carried, but then his customers preferred not to have his number on their phones.
Not having a cell phone had its drawbacks-like when you have to locate the bastard, Choi grumbled. Sita took a few slaps to come up with the name of another club Pony might be patronizing this evening, but DuJour was more than up to getting the information out of her. Best part was getting to watch, Choi smiled around a cigarette. Unfortunately for DuJour-and him-Sita's next guess turned out to be correct. 'Pony' turned out to be a guy who vaguely appeared to have considered being a drag queen at some point, then, incompletely, reconsidered. He had bleach-blonde wig in a scruffy approximation of a pageboy cut, heavily made up eyes, and a pretty boy smile. Pony's nickname reflected his tendency to use his riding crop on any ass that passed by him and inviting anyone he struck to whip him back. He all but squealed like horse, too, when he saw Sita sashaying towards him.
"Ooh, baby!"
"Pony!" Sita wiggled her fingers out in front of her; without hesitation, Pony handed her the crop and presented her with his rear end. "Go faster, Pony," Sita admonished, letting loose with the crop. Pony moaned between the thwacks from leather on leather.
Choi clenched his teeth. "C'mon, Sita, we're supposed to be here on business."
"Ooh, more jockeys?" Pony turned his head to look Choi up and down. "Pony."
"I get it," Choi rolled his eyes. "Choi." He didn't extend a hand to the other man but sized him up noticeably. It wasn't like him to be this way, and he knew it, but, man, some things just needed to get done tonight. And he needed his car. And if Sita dragged him out all this way for nothing...
"Whatchoo need, boyo?"
Caught by surprise, he stuttered, "A ca-car."
"I don't got a car up my sleeve, lover."
"No, no," Choi shook his head. "I need my car."
"So, go get it."
"See that's the thing," Choi scratched at his stubble. Either Pony was an idiot, or he played the part really well. "Somebody went and put a lock over it."
"Parking tickets," Pony said and nodded knowledgeably, taking the crop from Sita, encircling her with it by holding the ends in both his hands. "You need a city man to take it off for you?"
"You know someone?"
"Nope."
"Fantastic." He rounded on The Dude because he didn't feel like distracting Sita. "Well, that was really helpful, thanks."
"Pony?" The Dude sounded scared.
"You need a city man to take it off," Pony laughed, half dancing, half grinding against Sita. "That don't mean he's gotta know you to do it."
"English?"
Pony slipped from Sita's grip to cha-cha his way over to DuJour. Choi sighed, leaning back so DuJour could step forward. She did so, dragging her clawed fingertips down Pony's chest, displaying all her teeth in a predatory snarl.
"What does he need to know?"
"Hmm?" Pony hummed, pressing his nose and forehead against DuJour's.
"If I don't need to know a guy, and he doesn't need to know me, what does he need to know to get the fucking boot of my wheels, man?"
"Gotta get to the little black box," Pony purred.
"A computer," DuJour whimpered as Pony ran the crop up and down her thighs.
"What the hell does a computer do for me?"
"Ah-ah-ah," Pony tut-tutted, waggling his finger in what he thought was a suggestive manner-Choi just found it creepy and uninteresting. "The computer tells the city man what to do. Machines," Pony tickled DuJour's chin, "they tell us what to do. Don't gotta put coins in if the meter tells the maid it's full, baby."
"It can do that?" Sita squeaked incredulously.
"Can it?" The Dude aped.
Choi gave Pony a hard look. He was a drug-dealer, there was no beating about the bush on that score. But some part of him was, well, old-fashioned. If you needed someone to do you a minor legal 'favor,' you gave them a hit here and there, or rolled them the cash for a debt or a luxury they couldn't afford otherwise. Part of him needed that reassurance that, even though people could be fallible, they could at least be held responsible if things didn't move and shake, so to speak.
Computers, though. They weren't real. The information in them wasn't real. You couldn't hold it in your hand, the value of it versus his typical measures of wealth-drugs and money-was a mystery. Could you say that so much information was worth so many pills? How did you determine it? And wouldn't I have to know how to get my name onto the computer? I don't work with those...things.
His helplessness must have showed because Pony was grinning. "All you need is the man with his hands on the keys."
Great. Pony to the rescue. "And you know a guy who works in the records department or something?"
"You're thinking small time, drug man," Pony wagged his finger again. "You think you need the man with the access."
"Who do I need, Pony?"
"The man who makes his own access, boyo," Pony fought spasms of laughter as DuJour traced his sides with the tips of her fingernails. Sita looked entirely satisfied, trilling happily as she and The Dude petted each other. If she was content, the whole thing was over for The Dude, game, set, match. Choi noticed he was rapidly becoming the odd man out on whatever joke it was that Pony had told.
"You want to spell it out for me, Pony? Nobody listening," he threw his hand in the direction of a seething mass of people ignoring them in favor of the DJ.
"Pony," DuJour's tone was sharp, as was Pony's intake of breath. Her wandering hands had settled on his chest; when she had said his name, DuJour had scratched one long bloody swath across his exposed pectorals. "Pony," she repeated as if scolding a child. "Pony."
"You need a console jockey, sweetness."
"And where do we find one of those?" Choi tried to will Pony to hear his thoughts: quit wasting my time.
"Gotta find the right guy," Pony shuddered as DuJour dug her nails into his chest again. He cast what passed for a subtle look in the direction of the crowded bar. Choi scanned the sea of arms waving twenties at the barkeeps and the few sad sacks who'd taken up permanent residence on the bar stools. Jesus, Choi fought to keep from rolling his eyes, which one?
"Got one in mind, Pony?" DuJour's grin spoke nothing of amusement; she had Pony pinned like some ruddy great cat, licking her lips, grinning. If this paid off, he was putting her on his fucking payroll as his personal enforcer. There were thugs who got things done, and then there was DuJour-she spoke their language, pushed the right buttons, and, at the end of the day, was there for a little stress relief. Very important in his line of work.
"Maybe I go see if he's interested?"
"Maybe," DuJour whispered, licking the underside of his chin. That meant 'yes,' and Pony took off like a shot. Choi watched him weave his way through bodies that wanted to rub more than they wanted to part for him. The crowd closed over the path he cut, and Pony vanished.
"This for real?" He looked to DuJour.
"He thinks so."
"Yeah?"
"Get with the times, Choi," Sita cackled.
"The times," said The Dude.
"What times would those be, Sita?"
"Today, hon, today."
DuJour wrapped her arms around his neck. Always working, his girl. "Can't hurt to try new things, mmm?" She dipped her head to the hollow of his throat and licked a straight line up to his forehead. When she finished, she met his stunned eyes with her flashing dark ones. "Yum."
"Where's Pony?"
"Do you care?"
"Not...too much," he admitted.
He didn't have to wait long, however. Whoever Pony thought he could get, he returned alone, and, for the first time, afraid. Of DuJour, probably.
"Got a name from this guy," Pony jerked his head at no one they could see. "An address." Nothing written, either on paper or on Pony. Cautious. Choi liked that. Cautious people like him stayed in business.
"Let's roll," Sita jumped up and out of The Dude's grasp.
"How do we know this is for real?"
Pony shook his head. "We make a call, see?"
No, he did not see. "Why can't we just call from here?" He fingered his cell phone, tucked away in his coat pocket.
"Said it wouldn't work."
"Who said?"
"This guy."
"Right." This felt like a run around.
"C'mon, Choi, let's go," Sita whined, tugging on The Dude because she would never dare do it to him. He glowered at her, then glanced down at DuJour, but she had Pony pinned with her eyes. Pony looked excited but no longer scared-that probably meant he wasn't afraid of the consequences, which probably meant he thought he was telling the truth. That was good enough for him. One night of wasted business to the suburbs cost him too much to do much else at this point. If Pony let him down, he'd take the money off Pony. It was that simple.
Choi rolled his eyes at Sita and glared at Pony. "Yeah, let's head out to an address to make a call to a name you got from this guy. You see where I'm going with this Pony?"
"I got it, boss-man."
"You get it, Pony?" DuJour growled. Pony drooled all over himself at the look she gave him.
"I got it."