“What for?”
“Door charge.”
“Twenty-five bucks just to walk in?”
“You see busloads of gooks marchin through here? This ain’t no sightseein stop. Pay up or walk.”
Patrick reached into his pocket. “Tim didn’t say anything about a door charge.”
“He’s not supposed to.” The bouncer grinned and stuck out his tongue—long and forked—and waggled it in Patrick’s face.
A splicer, Patrick thought, trying to hide his revulsion. What the hell has Romy got me into?
Patrick handed him the money.
“Welcome to the Jungle.” The bouncer pointed toward the end of the hall. “Mona will take care of you,” he said, then cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Incoming! Newbie!”
Patrick hurried down the hallway, brushing the sides in his haste. The faster he went, the sooner this would be over. He hoped.
Mona—at least he assumed the obese woman in the tight red dress exposing acres of cleavage was Mona—met him at the end of the hall. Another splicer: oversized lizard scales ran up the sides of her face and across her throat and who knew where else. She and the bouncer must be a couple—both into reptiles.
Tattoos and piercings had once been considered avant garde, but eventually were mainstreamed. Then tailored genes and nonhuman splices hit the black market and the bod-mod crowd jumped on them like cats on a nipcoated mouse.
“Hi, honey,” she said, showing pointed teeth in a big welcoming grin. “First time, huh?”
“Uh, yeah.”
First time forwhat ?
“Everybody’s a little nervous the first time.” She took his arm and led him around a corner. “Let me introduce you to the girls first, then you take your time and pick the one you want. The base charge is two-fifty and that allows you half an hour. We charge extra if you go over, and of course there’s surcharges for any specialties you want…”
Patrick stopped cold when he saw them.
“Kinda gets you, don’t it,” Mona said. “Nobody ever imagines they could look this good.”
The “girls” were female sims, but nothing like Patrick had ever seen or imagined. Someone had caked them with makeup, either styled and dyed their hair or fitted them with wigs, then dressed them in vinyl or studded leather or lingerie—satin teddies, frilly see-through nighties, the whole Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog. And their legs—most of them had shaved legs. Sims as a rule were only slightly hairier than humans, and the hair was coarser, but they didn’t shave their legs or underarms. Patrick had never seen a shaved female sim, or ones with such breasts—they must have had implants.
“Good Christ!” he blurted. “What have you done to them?”
He did his best to hide his revulsion as Mona gave him a sharp look, but God it wasn’t easy. Sim whores…
She grinned again and gave him a knowing wink. “You don’t like them all dolled up? That’s all right. I think I know your type.”
“You do?” That possibility was almost as unsettling as the sight of these sim sex slaves.
She pointed to two unshaven, unenhanced females lounging nude on a couch.
“We’ve got Teen and Mone over there. They work in our special jungle room for clients who like their sims just the way you’d encounter them in the wild.”
“In the wild? They don’toccur in the wild! They’re…manufactured!”
“Hey,” Mona said, her smile fading. “Are you here to have fun or nitpick my ass?”
Patrick stared, he gawked, he gaped in shock at their surreal sicko getups. His stupefaction that anyone could find these pathetic creatures even remotely erotic quickly faded, replaced by a deeper revulsion as he noticed the bruises on their shaved limbs, their dead dull eyes. They looked like desiccated shells as they sat and smoked and stared at him.
Smoked…he’d never known a sim to smoke.
He had to get out of here. Now.
“I…I think I’ve changed my mind.”
“What’s the matter?” She looked genuinely offended. “We got the best in town.”
Patrick started backing toward the hallway. “I’m sure you do, it’s just that I…nothing personal, but I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
Glaring now, Mona said, “Then why’d you come?”
“A friend told me to.” God, he wanted to kill Romy. “Said I’d find it enlightening. But I don’t.”
He turned and headed for the door where the bouncer waited.
“Jerry!” Mona called out behind him. “Something’s not right with this guy.”
Jerry placed himself between Patrick and the door.
“You got a problem, pal?”
Oh, no, Patrick thought as his gut clenched. He’s going to beat the shit out of me.
“Yeah,” Patrick said, pressing one hand against his stomach and the other over his mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He retched for effect.
“Don’t you even fuckin dream of it, asshole! You puke in here, you’re gonna clean it up—with your tongue!”
Patrick retched again, louder this time. “Oh, God!” He doubled over.
“Motherf—”
He felt the back of his coat bunch as Jerry grabbed a fistful of fabric, heard the door swing open, and then he was propelled into the stink of the alley. He stumbled, almost lost his footing, but managed to stay upright as he skidded to a halt against the brick wall on the far side.
Patrick didn’t stop to look back. He pushed off the wall and hurried from the alley at something just short of a trot. He found Romy waiting for him on the sidewalk.
“Well?” she said, raising her eyebrows.
“Damn it, Romy!”
He’d half expected some sort of ha-ha-the-joke’s-on-you attitude, but she was all business.
“I take it you ran into a few sims.”
“You know damn well I did!” God, he was pissed. He felt besmirched, belittled, diminished. If she’d been a guy he’d be taking a poke at her right now. “Why the hell—?”
She held up one hand to silence him and raised the other to her lips. He realized she was holding a PCA.
“My man inside confirms the sims are there. It’s a go.”
“What’s a go?” Patrick said.
“A raid,” she said. “Let’s get out of the way.”
She led him across the street. The first blue-and-white NYPD units were screeching to a halt in front of the alley by the time they reached the opposite curb. Patrick watched fascinated as a small horde of blue uniforms swarmed toward the dented door.
Patrick stared at Romy. “You’re a cop?”
“No. And this sort of work isn’t really a kosher part of my OPRR duties, but I’ve made it so. I snoop around. I talk to people, people talk to me. I’ve been watching this place for some time. Took me a while to find the rear exit. Once I had that, I brought in NYPD.”
“Then what did you need me for? Why’d you send me in there?”
Her gaze was focused on the alley, her dark eyes hard and bright as she watched the cops knock open the door with a short steel battering ram.
“To make sure the sims were inside. You never know who’s got a source in a precinct house. If they got wind of the raid they’d have the sims stashed out of town and I’d have egg on my face and the cops would be less cooperative next time I came to them.”
If she thought that was going to mollify him, she was dead wrong.
“You could have told me, damn it! Why’d you send me in there with no idea what I’d be getting into?”
“Would you have gone in if I had?”
“Well…” He let the word trail off but knew the answer would have been a definite no.
“I didn’t think so. But because you did, you played a meaningful part in reeling in some single-celled organisms posing as human beings,things ”—she managed to inject so much contempt into the word—“who make pond scum look tasty.” A wry smile. “Ain’t that cool?”