Dead Roots (The Analyst) Page 8

  It was unlike any club Tom had ever been to. People were dancing, and like any good dancing it was pure and carnal, the movements of creatures of instinct. But these were no creatures he had ever known, and wasn't sure he was ready to deal with. Bodies jerked and twitched erratically, writhed against each other like they were in a back alley or hotel elevator. Some were simply in a dead daze, hands flowing across their bodies as if they'd never felt skin before, and flinching in response like the music was physically assaulting them.

  Artie said something, or at least his lips were moving. For all Tom knew the concept of communication had exploded out of existence, and they were just going through the motions.

  “What.”

  “I said it’s like a goth rave threw up on MTV.”

  Tom had to stifle his laughter in spite of himself. The music did remind him of some of the shitty clubs for ‘deep’ people he had crawled around during his youth, but the people on the floor looked considerably more well-to-do. Silk button-ups and low-neckline dresses were the norm. Tom only spotted one or two who were wearing borderline fetish gear, with the piercings and hair colors he used to love as a teenager.

  Tom felt a hand clap on his shoulder. Harold was leading them to the bar. Tom had no idea what he was doing, but Harold evidently was a regular. One of the bartenders came up to them, placing his hands across the counter. Harold held up two fingers and the bartender seemed to understand. He then turned to Tom. He was a skeletally thin Japanese man, wearing a very loose white t-shirt and a shaved-bald head. He gave Tom a stony glare.

  Tom mouthed something out to him. The man shook his head. Tom groaned as loud as he could, no one noticed. He repeated himself. The bartender cupped his hand up to his ear.

  There was a sudden break in the music for a couple bars of gentle piano, catching Tom just as he yelled out his order.

  “Two whiskey and cokes!”

  Tom looked around in mild embarrassment. A couple of heads turned, but what mattered was his got his order across.

  Tom pulled out his cellphone. He sent a quick text to Margaret.

  I've died and gone to 80s nightclub Hell.

  His drinks appeared. Tom sidled up next to Artie and handed him his whiskey and coke. Artie nodded in appreciation. He had already begun swaying his head back and forth. Artie could listen to just about anything. It wasn't completely terrible, Tom could possibly even enjoy it after he'd liquored up some, but the combination of the droning, bleak music and the orgy of unnatural dancing unfolding in front of him put him on edge.

  Tom had long since pieced together that this was a club for Mediums, but not Mediums attempting to fit in. This was where the hosts were brought so that the demons and ghosts inside of them could socialize free of human expectations, and revel in the novelty of their forms. He'd heard vaguely of places like this but hadn't imagined he'd ever actually go to one.

  Harold and Keda had already disappeared. Harold was easy to pick out, as he stood a good head higher than a majority of the crowd. Keda, however, petite as he was, was nowhere to be seen.

  He felt Artie elbow him gently in the side. He turned to look and Artie was already placing his empty glass on the counter. He pointed at the dance floor. Tom rocked his head back and forth. Maybe. Artie elbowed him again and gave an encouraging beckon. Come on.

  Tom slugged down what remained of his drink--which was a lot--and set it on the counter. He shrugged as he wiped his mouth. Artie clapped his hands and rubbed them together, grinning broadly. Tom noted Artie’s missing tooth just past his right incisor. They stepped onto the floor together.

  Tom hadn't done this in years. The days of clubs had gone long behind to be replaced with quiet booths in nice bars and lounges. He felt out of place, and worse, conspicuous. They didn't belong here. Artie, however, didn't seem to mind.

  While Tom awkwardly began to shuffle his shoulders and feet, trying to find the rhythm, Artie had already begun to do broad hand motions and pelvic thrusts, eyeing the crowd for attractive possessed women. Tom felt someone bump into his shoulder. He turned and saw an Asian woman with her eyes rolled up into her tilted-back head. Her arms stretched out in front of her, swaying up and down like ocean waves. In front of her a mohawked man was watching her, with his outstretched tongue lolling up and down.

  Harold had already gotten himself some company. A young black woman with dreadlocks was wrapped around him backwards, grinding up and down with her midsection cradled in his huge hands. Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment, long enough for Tom to see that she had black sclera and sickly yellow pupils. The whole situation was unsettling.

  He returned to the bar. He needed more liquor if he was going to pull this off. Artie noted him and put up his hands. What? Tom pointed at the bar. Another drink. Artie nodded and went back to his gyrating.

  The same bartender put his hands on the counter and gave Tom an almost angry-looking stare. Tom shrugged broadly for a moment and then awkwardly raised one finger. The bartender nodded. Shortly he returned with another whiskey and coke.

  Tom sipped at his drink for a few minutes, watching Artie lose himself. He was flanked on either side by identical women with green hair. Tom looked away, not really wanting to know where that was going.

  Someone's eyes in the crowd caught his.

  She had to be his age. He couldn't quite tell the color of her hair, but it was dark. Her eyes were sweet, and penetrated his from her spot on the dance floor. He liked the look of her.

  She gave a gentle grin from her round face and approached him, emerging from the crowd. Tom saw that she had a small, but well put together body: nice hips, fine tits. She was wearing a black tank top and ratty blue jeans, some sneakers. Pretty plain. And she wasn't twisting or jerking anywhere, which was a plus. Maybe this won't be such a disaster after all.

  She slinked up to him to rest one elbow on the bar. They couldn't speak, so he just flashed a smirk, and proffered his drink. She bit her lip, grinning cutely. The girl reached out a petite hand and took the glass to indulge in a long, slow swig.

  Tom admired the smooth skin of her neck as the liquor passed down her throat. She handed the glass back. There was a sip or two left at best. They shared a laugh. Off to a good start, thought Tom.

  He turned back to the counter. As if prescient, the bartender had returned, staring at him again. Tom snorted at the guy, though was sure he didn't hear it. Smiling confidently, Tom held up two fingers. The bartender nodded.

  Tom turned back to his new friend. He wanted to introduce himself. He mouthed 'Tom' to her. She mouthed back, what?

  'Tom'

  She shook her head and pointed at her ear. 'I can't hear you'

  Tom looked around, releasing a silent roar of frustration. In a moment of genius, he reached into his pocket. With a snort, he pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to his drivers' license. He idly covered his FADI badge with his thumb as best he could. He pointed to his name. The girl laughed loudly, covering her mouth. She daintily reached into her pocket and pulled out her own wallet. She pointed to her own name, Evey.

  'Hi Evey'

  'Hi Tom' They shared another laugh.

  Their drinks had arrived. Tom took a long swig of his own, Evey a gulp of hers. Evey, resting her head on one of her palms, pointed at herself, then held up her index finger. She closed one eye, and pushed an imaginary shutter button. She pointed at Tom.

  He was confused. He leaned forward, yelling over the music into her ear.

  “You want to take a picture of me?”

  Her laugh was drowned out, but Tom picked up a musical quality about it.

  “I'm a photographer,” she yelled back at him. “What do you do?”

  He flinched.

  “Journalist,” he ad-libbed. She nodded and flashed her warm smile.

  “Wh... wrabble bout.”

  “What?” he yelled.

  “Whataryub... ing about?”

  “What am I writing about?”

  “Yeah,” she sai
d with a pleased nod.

  He thought of something on the spot.

  “Music.”

  “Cool.”

  They finished their drinks. Tom glanced out onto the floor. Harold was neck deep in his lady, and Artie was trying to hold a yelled conversation with the green-haired twins. Keda was still missing. Tom’s eyes returned to Evey's.

  She pointed past him. He turned around and noticed a set of dimly illuminated stairs at the far wall behind him. She opened and shut her hand, miming a mouth. She wanted to talk. Tom nodded.

  The two of them left the bar and set off. At the top of the winding stairs, they came to a single heavy-looking door. Evey pushed it open. They walked into a room lit by pink neon lights.

  The air was much cooler in here than the sweat-filled dance floor downstairs. The door made a soft pop as it sealed them in, and suddenly they were free from the noise. The bass still rumbled the floor, but finally speech was feasible again. Tom sighed with relief.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Tom, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  The rectangular room was filled with booths. There were no tables, just comfy-looking semicircle couches. Evey plonked down in one and Tom sat opposite from her. Tom looked around the room. There were groups of people chatting, some couples making out, a couple of guys in sunglasses not talking and just sipping at some drinks, probably recovering from the floor. It was a nice intimate space.

  He gave Evey another proper look up and down. Her body was just the kind he liked. She would look at home in a wedding dress or a French maid's apron-- a business suit or a bondage costume. Not too much and not too little. Perfect, really.

  “Where are you from, Tom?”

  “California. Riverbank.”

  “Really? I'm from San Francisco.”

  “That's really interesting...”

  “Are you on vacation?”

  “Business trip,” he replied eagerly. “Writing... about music...”

  She brushed some draping locks of hair out of her face. Tom watched her do it in earnest.

  “What are you into? Music.”

  He smiled. “EBM, jazz... the stuff downstairs is really good,” he said enthusiastically.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  She ran her tongue across her lip, eyeing him up and down. He smiled dumbly and relaxed into his chair. He felt like he could fall asleep there, fall asleep with her. It was a nice thought.

  “Can I sit closer?” she asked.

  Tom nodded eagerly. “You can sit wherever you like.”

  She could do whatever she liked. As she crept across to him and straddled his lap, he realized he'd do anything for this woman. Anything.

  “Do you want to kiss me?”

  “Yes.”

  Evey lowered her head to nibble on Tom’s neck. He groaned, and wrapped a hand around her waist. She pressed her forehead against his and kissed him on the lips. Blue electricity shot through his mouth and down to his fingertips. She pulled back and gave a half-lidded smile.

  “Did you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to do it again?”

  “Yes.”

  They kissed again. He slid his other hand around her shoulder and let her hands come up to cradle his face. He felt her hot breath on his lips and moving down across his neck, and groaned again.

  “Don't stop touching me, Tom.”

  “I won't.” He wouldn't. Ever.

  This wasn't turning out to be such a bad trip after all, he thought, as he lost himself in Evey.

  ********

  “Tom?”

  Artie's voice broke the moment. Tom looked up from Evey's shoulder, her teeth still digging into his neck. He squeezed her behind and she cooed in appreciation. Her hair smelled like lilies.

  “Fuck off, Artie.”

  “Tom, what the fuck…”

  “I'm busy,” Tom barked.

  “Tom, that’s a succubus.”

  Tom shook his head. He was dizzy, disoriented. He felt like he'd smoked a whole joint to himself. The pleasing vibrations from the floor below rose up and relaxed his thighs, onto which Evey’s weight was sinking heavily. He let himself sink further into his couch. He wasn't getting up from here anytime soon.

  “What are you talking about...”

  “Tom, fuck's sakes, wake up. She's got you-- Snap out of it!”

  “Go away, Artie,” snapped Evey as she sat up. Tom groaned in irritation. Artie started towards them. Tom felt himself get up like a shot, his body moving of its own accord. He lazily swung his fist at Artie, catching him hard in the jaw.

  Artie stumbled backwards and fell on his ass. He rubbed his jaw, standing up with his eyes wide in a stupid, annoying gawk. Tom couldn't stand the sight of him. He never could. Tom hated Artie, pure and simple. Finally smacking him in his idiot mouth felt good.

  Tom sat back down on the couch, and Evey returned to her perch. She smiled broadly in satisfaction, before rewarding him with another deep kiss. Tom had done well, and he knew it. He'd done a good thing for Evey. Artie wouldn't come anywhere near her. Her soft breasts pressed into his collar.

  “I'm getting Harold,” Artie called at Tom. Evey snorted loudly, and Tom rolled his eyes. He let his head fall back, as Evey's lips traced little kisses on his chest.

  ********

  The white sun beat down on the beach. A cool island breeze swept through Tom's hair. He felt the heat on his muscles, the sand between his toes. The cold gun’s handle in his palm. His fingers felt numb from the recoil of the shots he'd just fired. A small platoon of black-clad ninja assassins lay around him in heaps, their blood staining the otherwise spotless beach.

  Evey was in the water, arms wrapped around her front, and a look of pure terror on her face. She was hyperventilating. Tom stepped over a black-suited body and strode towards her, leaving heavy footprints in the sand. When he reached her, he dramatically pulled off his mirrored shades and wrapped an arm around her.

  “Don't worry, baby. I sent them on an express flight south. Way south.”

  “Tom, I'm scared…”

  “Don't be scared, sweetheart... I'm a professional.”

  Evey wrapped her arms around him. Her perfect body pressed up against his. Tom let their weight drag them down into the wet sand on the water line. Evey lay on top of him and tugged at the waistband of his swim trunks. He cast his pistol aside, and kissed her.

  Evey pulled her head back. “Do you think they'll be back, Tom?”

  “I'm sure Professor von Mord isn't done yet. But no matter what he sends, he's gonna learn...”

  He put his sunglasses back on.

  “...That the Bell tolls for thee.”

  Evey gave a lascivious grin. She ran her tongue across her lips.

  “Mmm, yeah...”

  Evey leaned down and kissed him hard on the mouth. Their bodies sunk into the sand.

  *

  “Cut the shit right now or I'll put you in the ground.”

  A deep voice broke up their session. Tom, still lying on his back, tilted his head to look behind him. There was a very tall, upside-down black man in an expensive-looking suit. He was built like a linebacker.

  “More assassins?” Tom said casually. He pushed Evey off him and stood up. He faced the man down as the form approached them swiftly.

  “Don't get in the way, Tom,” the man said. Tom mused that he would have this guy on the floor in seconds, and then would go pluck one of those fat-looking coconuts from the nearby trees.

  “You don't know who you're dealing with...”

  Tom tried to deliver a karate punch, but his forearm was immediately captured by his opponent’s huge hands. Tom felt his arm twist around behind his back, and a pain like a hot knife shot into his shoulder. He crumpled to the ground.

  “Ahh. God damn it…”

  A high-pitched ringing sound broke the air, and he suddenly couldn't move. He clutched his hands against his ears. All Tom could do was flop onto his back, a
nd watch helplessly as the huge assassin approached the screaming Evey. He saw massive hands reach for his lover’s throat.

  ********

  “This one is with me, slut.”

  The gray and black world came crashing back into existence.

  Tom felt like he'd been thrown from a thirty story building as the ground under him suddenly returned to solid cold concrete floor. He rubbed his head and shook it from side to side violently. A smoky haze was lifted from his thoughts, but he still couldn't focus.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Where--”

  “Relax, Tom,” said Keda, who was kneeling down over him. Behind Keda was another man Tom didn't recognize, a slim Japanese man with wild hair, wearing a purple dress shirt. Tom gave a bleary wave to him. The stranger nodded in acknowledgement.

  Tom realized he was back in the club. He sat up as Keda handed him a glass of ice water, from which he took a grateful gulp. He looked around for Evey.

  “Where's...?”

  “Over there.”

  Keda thumbed to the wall behind himself. Tom saw Harold's huge form holding up a girl he recognized as Evey by the throat. She was choking out an apology.

  “Mr. Saldana... I'm--”

  “If you say sorry, I will snap your useless legs.”

  “Harold. For God's sake, what are you doing?” Tom cried out in protest, trying to stand. Keda and the guy in the purple shirt gently held him in place.

  “Stay back, Tom,” Harold commanded. Tom obeyed. “This is my fault. I apologize. I'll take out my frustration on this one.”

  Evey no longer had her cute brown haircut. She had long black hair that was totally obscuring her face. Her fingers seemed longer with prominent knuckles, almost emaciated. Tom suddenly understood what was going on, and groaned loudly, no longer trying to stand up. Tom took a long sip from his glass of water, and Keda released him. He felt like the biggest idiot to ever walk the earth.

  “She snared you,” Artie's voice cut in from behind him. Artie knelt down next to Tom and patted his shoulder. “You lucid?”