Posted by PK on April 10, 2003 at 15:14:20:
*****
"It wasn't easy," John said proudly. "But it can be done." He rose from his chair, walked with
barely a hint of unsteadiness to the bar in the corner and actually pulled a pint - British
Imperial measure - into a straight glass. He handed it to Hiram with the air of one inviting
inspection of a Faberge egg or one's firstborn.
Hiram sipped it. The ale was cool, the correct fifty to fifty five degrees Fahrenheit, not chilled
to numb the tongue. The hop aroma filled his nostrils and his brain. He wished he hadn't
spoiled his palate with the brandy. After the first experimental sip he took a hearty draught.
"Nectar of the Gods," he pronounced. There followed a few moments of bonding as two ale
enthusiasts rejoiced in the meeting of kindred souls. Inevitably, the matter at hand reasserted
itself. "Do please continue with your story," he prompted at last.
"Ah, yes, where was I? The bait, I believe. Well, there is a fishing term for it. Chum?
Breadcrumbs? I'm afraid I'm not much of an outdoorsman myself. The principle, as I
understand it, is that you get the fish to take the bait by giving some of it away, thus
accustoming them to expect a free feed."
"I do see that," Hiram said. "I'd be delighted to hear how you actually accomplished it. The
details."
SuEllen tried not to look away. She wasn't used to seeing her friends naked. Was Corny a
lesbian, she wondered. Was this some kind of lure into perversion? She didn't want to look
like a prude. And darn the girl, she looked good with her clothes off. She didn't think she'd
look half as good. Cornelia had a great figure, and lovely smooth skin. She looked
comfortable in the altogether.
And I'm a pale, lanky hick. I'll look like a scarecrow next to her...
Almost defiantly, SuEllen took her clothes off, nearly falling over twice as she did it. She
tossed them into a locker, wondering if her shoes would smell.
"What if somebody comes in and steals them?" she demanded.
Cornelia grinned. "Then we walk home naked. Don't worry, they got great security."
"What happens next?"
"Out that door. Come on."
The intrepid pair ventured into a corridor. Su felt like she was in an Indiana Jones movie.
What perils lurked in this Temple of Doom? Her nudity made her feel vulnerable and
embarrassed but also something else. Her unexamined religious background made it hard
for her to recognise, or at least admit, that it was exitement, and that a major part of it was
sexual arousal.
"Ah, yes, the details. The Devil is in the details, isn't it always so? If I hadn't been dealing
with such unreliable sources I probably never would have implemented so Macchiavellian a
scheme....." The telephone chirped. "Excuse me. Yes?" He listened to a voice Hiram couldn't
hear. "Yes, you did the right thing. No, I'll deal with this myself. I'll be down in a moment, just
make sure she doesn't leave." Not that she'd be likely to without her money, he thought. "I'm
sorry," he told Hiram apologetically. "I have a little business matter to deal with. I'll be back
shortly.
"The business we were discussing?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes."
"Would you mind terribly if I observed?" Hiram ventured.
John frowned. "Are you sure you want to? You might find it a little...distasteful."
"My dear fellow, I'm no babe in arms. I'm hardly the sort of person who prefers to believe that
meat appears spontaneously like manna in the supermarket freezer, complete with plastic
wrapping."
"Of course not, but..."
Hiram affected an affronted look. "I'm sure I'll be equal to it," he said. He really did have no
desire to be thought effete, but the main reason he wanted to come along was sheer, burning
curiosity. He wasn't about to tell John that, he hoped the man would accede to avoid
offending him.
John shrugged. "Very well then. Don't tell me afterwards that you weren't warned." With that
he led the way through the corridors and stairways of the building to an obviously more
utilitarian area. He stopped at a plain door. "Follow me in," he said shortly. "And keep back."
Despite all that Hiram had heard, the scene in the small, bare room beyond came as a
visceral shock. Not the man in the working clothes, but the two young women. One of them
was dressed in some sort of neo-punk-goth outfit, all black denim and leather with numerous
metallic attachments. She was brown skinned, with bushy black hair, a stud in her nose and
some sort of tattoo on her face, just below the eye. The other woman, also dark skinned, lay
at her feet, quite clearly and messily dead. Her upper garment was soaked with blood, her
legs and feet were bare.
"'Nother bitch for you," she greeted John curtly. "Where's my money? And who's the tubbo?"
John ignored that. He knelt and examined the carcase dispassionately. "Made a mess of the
tits again, Honey," he said. "Nice of you to halfway undress her, though."
"Liked her shoes and pants. Didn't figure you'd need 'em. She sure won't."
John stood up. "We'll take her." He nodded to the other man, who picked up the dead girl
easily and tipped her into a chute like so much laundry. "That's it, Jack," he added. "I'll take it
from here."
Jack nodded acknowledgement and left without a word.
"You know, Honey," John said with an air of patience stretched to the limit, "I really do wish
you people would learn how to aim."
Honey scowled. "Lotsa good meat on her. Pussy too, you like that, right? Not like I got time
to do it pretty. You take her, you pay."
John nodded affably and reached inside his jacket. Honey's eyes widened in alarm. Hiram
suddenly realised he had drawn a weapon. "Remove your clothing, please."
Honey's face had gone a muddy grey colour. "Now look, you don't gotta do that..."
"Clothes. Off."
Honey complied, babbling pleas, defiance and arguments all the way. John acknowleged her
entreaties with a few brief remarks. Hiram watched as if mesmerised. He was almost certain
he knew what was coming and he suspected that Honey did too, but she had no alternative
but to comply and hang on to the thinnest thread of hope, as people always do. Finally she
stood naked.
"What'd I do?" she complained. "Why you doin' this to me? Didn't I always.."
"Sorry," John said. "I'm afraid you've become a liability. I'm developing alternative resources
so I will be dispensing with your services."
"So I leave, okay? What, I gonna tell on you? No way. With what I did?"
Of course, Hiram understood. She could hardly report John to the police without implicating
herself.
"Probably not," John agreed. "But why take the chance? You're a loose end. Besides, you
can still be useful in other ways."
In her own way, Honey wasn't stupid. "No! Not me, no way! Don't..."
Hiram flinched slightly at the sound of a small calibre weapon discharging. For a long
moment nothing seemed to happen. Then, with dreamlike clarity, he noticed the small hole in
Honey's forehead, just above and between the eyes. She folded to the floor. John knelt down
and unfolded her. "Care to give me a helping hand?" he asked Hiram.
Hiram took Honey's legs, grasping them by the ankles, while John lifted her from under her
arms. Her skin was warm, her flesh resilient, it was almost as if she was still alive. There was
so little blood. It's as if the cells of her body don't know that she has died, he thought, and
wondered where that had come from. He enjoyed the view with one part of his mind -
Honey's thick pubic hair framing her tenderest flesh - while the other thoughts chased each
other. Touching her like this, he felt an intimate connection with her, almost an affection.
It's the beer, an inner voice told him. Hops are psychotropic. That's why most American beer
doesn't taste of anything but sugar and has to be served freezing cold and fizzy. Might as
well add industrial alcohol to lemonade. It wasn't a new thought but it seemed to be more real
than it had been before, not an abstract thought but a profound feeling.
John tipped Honey's head and shoulders into the chute and Hiram lifted her feet until she slid
down. The restaurateur dusted off his hands, a man finishing a tough job completed
satisfactorily.
"Sliced up or whole roasted, do you think? "
"Hm?" Hiram was still lost in thought. "Oh." He collected himself. "I believe that would be
your field of expertise."
"Another ale while you think about it?" John's expression was indulgent. He clapped Hiram on
the shoulder. "You did well."
Hiram mustered a nonchalant smile. "I believe I'll trouble you for a pint of Old Peculier," he
said.
SuEllen could feel her heart pounding.
"You have to choose a door," Cornelia prompted.
SuEllen chose one. "Now what?"
"Go in and do what's there."
SuEllen balked. "I can't do this. Forget it."
Cornelia sighed. "It's just a game, Jesus, what you got to lose?"
"You coming in with me?"
Cornelia wasn't sure about this. "I don't think it's allowed."
"You come in or I don't do it."
"Okay, okay, I'll come in. What a baby." Grumbling, Cornelia accompanied her into the room.
In the center of it was what looked suspiciously like an electric chair, but with some hi-tech
additions. She had heard about this from someone who'd done it. It was a VR rig. As the door
closed, a recorded voice started up, making SuEllen jump.
"Please sit in the chair and put on the headset. The game will explain itself as you play."
Cornelia had never done this one. The only person she knew who had, had explained that it
was just like being Lara Croft, except you got more money the more levels you went up.
She'd wondered at the time if they were using the players as models for an RPG program. It
had sounded like fun, she almost wished she was playing this one herself.
"It's a kind of computer game," she told SuEllen. "A really good one. And it's free. If you win,
they pay out."
"And if I don't?"
Cornelia shrugged. "They don't pay out. You wasted half an hour. Big deal."
"I still don't get it. All this fancy stuff so these peephole freaks get to see me naked?"
"Go figure. Could be they're testing the stuff on you. Like they pay college kids to do drug
tests, all that shit. Maybe they'll put you in the program, you'll be the next Lara."
Hiram was back in his favourite chair, he had grown quite fond ot it. The experience with
Honey had not daunted him at all, he felt invigorated and renewed, as if he had undergone a
rite of passage and emerged triumphant, initiated. He sipped his Old Peculier. Sadly, it was
not drawn from the cask, only bottled, but the brew still hinted of its original majesty.
"The plot thickens," he said sententiously and barely winced at the cliche. "Games, I believe
you said?"
"Ah, yes. Games. Here we come to another ingredient in the mix. Have you ever wondered
how a stage magician fools the crowd?"
"The standard reply would be 'smoke and mirrors'".
"Optical tricks, yes, but that's just the toolkit, the technology. The real key is psychology.
Another buzzword is misdirection, though that's really part of the same thing. That's what the
smoke and mirrors are for, they're props, like the scenery on a stage, it's just theatre. What
matters is to fool the mind, not the eye. Not hard to do when the audience want to believe.
Every carnival huckster gets that from his mother's milk."
"And the television evangelists, I presume."
John smiled. "Yes, of course. I didn't think to distinguish them from carnival hucksters, as
you and I know that's all they are, but you're right. Both play on the willingness of the people
to deceive themselves, and if some people see the religious hucksters as different then
they've obviously done their job well."
"Somehow, I can hardly see you as a tub thumper." Hiram smiled comfortably.
"Indeed not! Fortunately, we don't have to rely upon fundamentalism to tap the gullibility of
the general public. It's a limitless resource. All we have to do is to create an illusion..."
"Of unearned wealth. Fame and fortune."
"Exactly. The problem was to create a smokescreen of rumours to disguise what was really
happening. People are endlessly creative. Drop a hint ot two and they'll improvise any
number of theories, the more hare-brained the better. Would you care for some hashish?"
"Moroccan?"
"Afghan."
"I do believe I will."
John opened a finely worked wooden box, Indian in origin, and offered a smoke. The pair lit
up and puffed appreciatively in companionable silence.
"Casinos," John said, almost as if talking to himself. "All the different games, the flashing
lights and noises, what are they all for?"
"Glamour," Hiram said.
"Precisely. And the original meaning of the word is..."
"An enchantment. A spell, an illusion."
"To disguise the eyes and minds of the hoi polloi from the the simple, dull fact that they are
being fleeced. The object of the machinery is simple, to take their money. That's what I
missed the first time I tried it. I had the greed and desperation factored in, but I was crude, I
made it too obvious."
"And it didn't work?"
"Oh, it worked. Up to a point. The problem was the quality of the harvest."
"Do enlighten me."
"Well, you see.." The telephone chirped again. John paused. "Excuse me. Yes? Oh. I see.
No, leave it."
"Problem?"
"Possibly. I'm sorry about this, no rest for the wicked, eh?" He pulled out a remote control
and pressed a button. A television screen flicked into life. Into the phone he said, "I'll watch
from here. Yes. In a minute."
Hiram took in the scene on the monitor. Odd that he hadn't noticed it before, it blended
unobtrusively into the furnishings of the room. His eyes focussed on it, the room around him
faded into the blind spot of his attention. Two naked young women in a bare cell. One of
them, a blonde, sat in a chair with a strange apparatus on her head. The other one, dark
haired and Hispanic, was standing.
"This would be one of your games, I presume?"
"You presume correctly."
"I've a feeling we're getting ahead of the story."
"Very astute. She's not supposed to be there."
"I see." Hiram didn't entirely, but he suspected that John would explain it anyway. He was not
to be disappointed.
"The one in the chair is playing a game," John explained. "How well she does determines
how much money she earns. There's a cash dispenser on the wall tied in to the computer
system. If she loses, there's an injector built into the chair. She'll be incapacitated, the room
will lock itself -the outer door, there's a concealed inner one - and she can be safely
removed."
"And the illusion can only be maintained if her disappearance is unobserved," Hiram
deduced. "Wouldn't it be obvious anyway, though? Surely a novice would be bound to lose
eventually, the first time she played, and then she'd never come back to gain experience. If
everyone who played this game vanished...." he shrugged.
John nodded absently. He was watching the girl in the chair, whose body movements
suggested someone in REM sleep. She was responding to events unobserved by the
onlookers. Her hands, encased in VR gloves connected by wires, twitched spasmodically.
"Not all losses are fatal. This girl is new, normally she'd wipe out after a while and be
awarded a small prize. The really fatal traps are changed at random. That way, some
customers will 'die' in the game, go away with a small prize, and come back later hoping to
win more. After telling others how she won."
"Isn't that sort of equipment expensive?"
"The VR rig? Normally, yes. I started out with much simpler stuff, but I had the good fortune
to enlist the services of a naive computer technology enthusiast - a techno-geek in common
parlance - who has numerous contacts in the field. We feed him pizzas and coffee and all the
secondhand equipment he requests and we can budget for, and he performs his wizardry for
the sheer love of it, as far as I understand."
The pair watched the screen in silence for another minute or two. There was nothing much to
see. The blonde girl was absorbed in her game, the dark one paced and fidgeted, displaying
impatience and unease.
"You were saying something about the quality of the harvest?" Hiram finished his beer.
"What? Oh yes." John returned his attention to his guest. "Do forgive me, would you like
another? Any particular brew?"
"I believe you mentioned Timothy Tailor's?"
After the glasses had been refilled, John resumed. "Yes, the quality. You see, the first games
I set up were quite blatant. It would be easier to show you." He switched on another monitor,
the screen lit up. After a little fiddling with the controls of a recording device, an image
appeared. John fiddled again and some footage shot past too quickly to see, then settled
back to real time. The quality left a lot to be desired, but Hiram could see a skinny young
woman kneeling next to a hole in a wall. She put her head through the hole and fumbled for a
switch next to it. She pulled her head out of the hole, took something from a slot next to it
and moved out of the frame. John scooted the film forward, skipping several similar scenes.
In the next one, events took a similar course until the girl touched the switch. There was a
flicker of motion and the girl's body collapsed, minus its head, blood spurting from the neatly
severed neck.
"Messy," Hiram commented.
"Very," John agreed. "The electric chair was a bit tidier, though there were some problems.
The principle was the same."
The image on the monitor changed. Another scruffy female sitting in a chair, wired like a
condemned murderer. A switch pressed, she convulsed and went limp. Hiram noticed her
crotch stained with spreading urine before the screen went dark.
"Presumably the majority also received payment? Russian roulette with a cash incentive, I
see."
"Quite. I assumed, correctly, that some people would be desperate enough for easy cash that
they'd risk their lives to get it. And of course they did. I've seen them stagger in, slipping on
the blood of their fellows, just to get the money for a quick fix. I won't keep you in suspense,
I'm sure you've worked it out. Most of them were addicts. To take so blatant a gamble with
their lives, they had to be. Not that I minded that but the quality of the meat was somewhat
lacking. Profitable, of course, girlflesh always is, but still..." John sighed. "One strives for
excellence. There must be more to life than the mean pursuit of profit."
Hiram nodded in sympathy.
"Besides, the fuzz were closing in, in the vernacular. As when the Piranha brothers resorted
to the use of a nuclear device within the city limits, some things cannot fail to escape notice. I
was forced to resort to more subtle means."
"The other operation?"
"Well, given the lapse of my experiment with the gangs, I suppose you should designate it
as...."
"The OTHER other operation."
"Which returns us to this..."
They turned as one to the monitor featuring the two girls.
"I don't suppose it constitutes a serious problem," Hiram said. "The new girl will probably win
a small remuneration; her friend will see her rewarded, the happy pair will go on their way
rejoicing to return to the well at a later date. Ultimately, they will return to the well once too
often. Almost a pity, really."
"Oh?" John shot him an arch look, eyebrows raised in ironic enquiry. What, a qualm of
conscience?
"It would be rather nice to pick one's own fish from the pool, don't you think? I rather fancy
eating that one."
"What a gourmand!" John chided affably. "After that fine rump of street urchin I provided you
with! Still, it's an idea not entirely without merit. "