Matilda tilts her head. “You sound a little bitter about it.”
James offers a thin smile, belying the harshness in his tone.
“I have issues with people spreading a message about change, then simply using people for their own gain. They’ve created their own little empire, mostly by stealing from Simmons.”
James points across the street, and they move to a nondescript door. Matilda looks at the featureless entrance.
“Uh, you sure this is the place?”
James gives her a wink and knocks on the door. After a few seconds, a digital screen appears, requesting a password. James goes for the keypad but stops. Turning to Matilda, he asks.
“What’s today?”
She looks at him confused,
“What?”
James looks back at the screen.
“The day of the week. It’s Wednesday, right?”
Accessing the keypad, he enters SILKROAD into the password field. The door unbolts with a weighty clunk suggesting reinforced rods and magnetic locks.
As the door hisses closed behind them, they walk down a dimly lit hallway until they reach a reception area manned by a burly, tattooed bouncer. He looks at them suspiciously.
“Entrance is fifty credits each. Money up front – if you rednecks have it.” He looks at the Taciturn, but nods towards Matilda. “And no, you can’t have her ‘work off’ the entrance fee.”
Ignoring his statement, James transfers the credits to the terminal, and the bouncer steps out of their way.
“Casino and bars on the fourth and fifth floors, strip club is on the sixth. Seven through nine, you can get a room for some action.”
He looks at Matilda.
“They charge extra if it’s two of you at once. If you’re looking for something really hard to knock you off your feet, just ask. There’s plenty on each floor to drink, shoot, smoke, or snort.”
James remains motionless.
“I’m looking for the bar.”
The bouncer glares disgustedly at the Taciturn.
“Are you deaf or stupid? The bars are on the fourth and fifth floors.”
James shakes his head and reaches into his pocket.
“No, not that type of bar.”
He takes out an old coin with a crossed letter B on it. Placing it on the counter with a small click in the new silence, James waits patiently. Eying the coin, and then finally seeing it, the bouncer’s demeanor and voice change at once. It is, in James’ view, a marked improvement
“Begging your pardon, sir. You should really lead with that, you know. And you can turn off those camo mods. You’ll be fine in here.”
James retrieves the coin, slipping it back in his pocket.
“We’d prefer to leave things as they are.”
The bouncer nods deferentially and gestures for them to enter.
“As you like, sir. But the others inside won’t like it.”
Matilda moves past the bouncer.
“We’ll take our chances.”
The bouncer speaks once more from behind them.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The bouncer presses a button and a wall panel slides open, revealing a separate walkway. At the end, James and Matilda find a small room with gambling stations and an ornate bar. In the corner, a jukebox plays Florence + the Machines. Serving girls move between clients, taking empty glasses and bringing refills. James approaches the bar and flags the bartender. She gives him a bored look from beneath her blond curls, and her low-cut blouse reveals a conspicuous tattoo on her chest. James draws attention to the cicada symbol.
“That’s some interesting ink you got there.”
Her expression changes from bored to half-interested.
“You like that, honey, you should see the rest.”
Matilda lets out a disgusted groan.
“Ewww, gross. Let me know when this is done.”
The bartender laughs, and James presses his advantage.
“As much as I would like to keep this up, how about I just give you the number?”
The smile vanishes from the bartender’s face and a hand reaches below the counter.
“Choose your next words carefully, handsome, or that won’t be the only gross thing the young lady sees.”
James closes his eyes, accessing the proper memory.
“Thirty-three, zero, one.”
He opens his eyes to see the bartender leaning back, hands clear of the counter and free of weapons, arms folded across her chest.
“What do you want?’
James places his hands flat on the bar. “I need to talk to someone in the Onikuma.”
The woman reaches for a glass. The move is casual.
“That could take a minute. You want a drink or something?”
James nods. “Yeah, sure. A Moscow Mule for me, and…” he points with his thumb over at Matilda. Startled by the sudden shift of focus to herself, she fumbles for an answer.
“Uh… shoot. I guess, like, a beer or something.”
The bartender offers a genuine laugh.
“Okay, darling, because that narrows it down.”
The bartender taps beer into a glass.
“So, whom should I say is calling?”
James scans the crowd as the bartender places Matilda’s beer in front of her.
“Have them call their boss and say his ‘friend from Sacramento’ is in town.”
The woman places a metal cup in front of James.
“All right, chief, if that’s what you want me to say. If it checks out, you’ll meet your guy. If it doesn’t…”
James picks up the mug.
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
As she moves away, James takes a sip of his drink, winces, and places it back down.
“How’s the beer?”
Matilda sips from her glass.
“It’s a bit heavier than I like.”
She spins around on her barstool to look at the room behind them.
“So, do you think one of these guys is the one we’re looking for?”
James slowly turns to examine the room with his copper tin in hand.
“Hard to say for sure, but they all have access to this place, so they must do something… specialized. That guy in the corner has the look of an emotion smuggler.”
Matilda sips more of her beer, speaking into her glass.
“What about that girl in the jacket? With the gloves.”
The Taciturn shifts his gaze to an attractive woman in a leather coat.
“Hmm. Gloves look like they might have accuracy software coded into them. Maybe she’s an assassin. Knows how to handle a gun. Could be.”
James reluctantly sips more of his subpar drink, Matilda sizes up a nearby group of patrons.
“Well, those guys are hackers. I mean, why else would they be packing a portable console?”
James eyes the old IBM Touchpad. With that, the hacker could probably gain access to the other districts of Metropolis. He is about to comment, but the Scry interrupts him.
“Looks like your friend is back.”
James turns to see the bartender returning.
“Well, looks like I don’t have to shoot you after all. Your guy is over there.”
She motions to the back corner, to a man wearing a woodland camouflage jacket. With a sigh, James stands up, cracks his back, and walks towards the booth. Matilda takes one final gulp of her beer and follows.
The man is in his late thirties, with a grin that stretches across his weathered face. A thick British accent greets them when they get close.
“Hey, mate. Take a seat. My name’s Sean. I’ve called the boss, and everything checks out. So, you’re the mighty Taciturn, Jack, eh?”