"No," Murphy replied calmly. "I know that Ms. Demeter is in. I will speak to her, please."
"I'm very sorry, ma'am," came Bonnie's rather prim reply. "But you are not a member of the club, and you are on private property. I must ask you to leave immediately or I will inform building security of the problem and call the authorities."
"Well, that should be fun," I said. "Go ahead and call the cops."
Murphy snorted. "I'm sure they'd love to have an excuse to come stomping around."
"I…" Bonnie said, floundering. Clearly, she hadn't been trained to deal with this kind of response. Or maybe she just wasn't all that bright to begin with.
I made a kind of do-you-mind gesture at Murphy. She shook her head and leaned to one side, so I could get closer to the intercom.
"Look, Bonnie," I said. "We aren't here for trouble. We just need to talk to your boss. If she likes, she can come talk over the intercom. Otherwise, I will come up there and talk to her in person. There's only one relevant issue here: Would you rather be reasonable and polite, or would you rather replace a bunch of doors, walls, and goons?"
"Um. Well."
"Just go tell your boss, Bonnie. It's not your' fault that we didn't fall for the business-hours-only line. Let her decide what to do, so you don't get in any trouble."
After a slight pause, Bonnie realized the professional value in passing the buck. "Very well, sir. May I ask who this is?"
"I'm with Sergeant Karrin Murphy, Chicago PD," I said. "My name is Harry Dresden."
"Oh!" Bonnie said. "Oh, Mister Dresden, please excuse me! I didn't know it was you, sir."
I blinked at the intercom.
"You're the last of our Platinum Club members to pay a visit, sir. By all means, sir, please accept my apologies. I'll have someone meet you and your guest at the elevator with your membership packet. I'll notify Ms. Demeter at once."
The door buzzed, clicked, and opened.
Murphy gave me a steady look. "What's that all about?"
"Don't ask me," I told her. "I'm gay now."
We went in. The first floor of the building looked like a miniature shopping mall, its walls completely lined with small shops that sold computer parts, books, video games, candles, bath stuff, jewelry, and clothes in a number of styles. All the shops were closed, their steel curtains drawn down. A row of small lights on either side of a strip of red carpet came to life, illuminating the way to the main bank of elevators. One of the elevators stood open and waiting.
We got in and I hit the button for the second floor. It began moving at once. "If there is a welcoming committee from the Lollipop Guild waiting for us when these doors open, I'm leaving. This is surreal."
"I noticed that too," Murphy said.
"Ms. Demeter," I said. "Think it's a pseudonym?"
One corner of Murphy's mouth quirked up. "I think we'll find all kinds of nongenuine modifications around here."
The elevator stopped and the door opened.
Three women were waiting outside of it. They were all dressed in… well, "workout clothes" wasn't quite accurate. Their outfits looked something like the ones the waitresses at Hooters wear, only tight. None of them could have been much over drinking age, and all of them had clearly passed some kind of intense qualification process certifying them to wear outfits like that. They were pretty, too, a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead, and they had nice… smiles.
"Welcome, sir," the redhead said. "May I take your coat and… and stick?"
"That's the closest I've come to being propositioned in years." I sighed. "But no, I'll hang onto them for now."
"Very good, sir."
The blonde held a round silver tray with two fluted glasses of orangey liquid. She beamed at us. The reflection of light from her teeth could have left scars on my retinas. "Mimosa, sir, ma'am?"
Murphy stared at all three of them with a blank expression. Then, without a word, she took one of the drinks, tossed it off, and put the glass back on the tray with a dark mutter.
"None for me," I said. "I'm driving."
The blonde stepped back, and the brunette—whose shirt bore a stencil of the word Bonnie —came forward carrying a customized black leather gym bag that probably cost as much as Murphy's Kevlar vest. Bonnie handed me the bag, and then offered me a manila folder and a big mustard-colored envelope. "These are complimentary, of course, sir, for all of our platinum members. There are several outfits for exercise on the inside, a set of athletic shoes in your size, a PDA to help you track your progress, and some basic toiletries." She tapped the envelope. "Here is a copy of your membership papers, as well as your membership card and your security access code."
If this was a trap, it was working. I tried to juggle all of my gear and the comp items, too. If I suddenly had to walk anywhere while doing it, I'd probably trip and break my neck.
"Uh," I said. "Thank you, Bonnie."
"Of course, sir," she chirped. "If you would please come with me, I'll show you to Ms. Demeter's office."
"That would be lovely," I said. The bag had a strap on it. I managed to get it over one shoulder, then folded the paperwork and stuffed it into one of my coat's roomy pockets.
Bonnie waited for me to get settled before taking my arm in a perfectly confident and familiar fashion and guiding me forward. She smelled nice, something like honeysuckle, and she had a friendly smile on her mouth. Her hands, though, felt cold and nervous.
Guided by Bonnie and her clammy hands, we walked through the building, past a long, open space filled with various exercise machines, weights, wealthy-looking men, and attractive young women. Bonnie started prattling about how new the machines were, and how the latest techniques and theories in fitness training were in use, and how Platinum Club members would each have their own personal fitness trainer assigned to them each and every visit.
"And, of course, our in-house spa offers any number of other services."
"Ah," I said. "Like massages, mud baths, pedicures, that kind of thing?"
"Yes, sir."
"And sex?"
Bonnie's smile didn't falter for a second, although it looked a little incongruous with her wary sideways glance at Murphy. She didn't answer the question. She stopped at an open doorway. "Here we are," she said, smiling. "If there is anything I can do for you, just pick up the phone on Ms. Demeter's desk and I'll answer right away."
"Thanks, Bonnie," I said.
"You are welcome, sir."
"Do you need a tip or anything?"
"Unnecessary, sir." She gave me another smile and a nod, and hurried away.
I watched her go down the hall, lips pursed thoughtfully, and decided that Bonnie was eminently qualified to hurry away. "We get left all alone here?" I asked Murphy. "Does this smell like a trap to you?"
"There's one hell of a lot of bait," she replied, glancing around, and then into the office. "But the fire stairs are right across the hall, and there's a fire escape just outside the office window. To say nothing of the fact that there are a dozen customers within a few yards who could hardly help but notice anything noisy."
"Yeah. But how many of them do you think would testify in court about what they heard or saw while they were at a ritzy brothel?"
Murphy shook her head. "Rawlins knows I'm here. If anything happens, they'll turn the place inside out. Marcone knows that."
"How come you all haven't done it already? I mean, this is illegal, right?"
"Sure it is," Murphy said. "And very tidy. In operations like this one, the women involved are generally willing employees, and generally very well paid. They're required to have regular medical examinations. There's a low incidence of drug use, and almost never any attempts to control them through addiction or terror."