2004-12-25 - 1:27 a.m.

Extra Big Entry. With Ninjas. Merry X-Mas

Chapter 5: Moderné Times

There wasn’t much about The City Actionhero particularly liked. For the most part, it was just another place for him to hang his guns. He loathed the corporate whore face of City Center and everytime he was forced to go to Maüshaven, he felt the urge for the good old ultra-violence. Little Chiba was always good for a diversion and the best eel this side of Harujuku, but dealing with the yakuza got old really fast. And Night City, well he didn’t like having to shoot people all the time. Old Downtown had history but so did London, with the added bonus of blond girls with British accents who would swap their virtue for a pack of Silk Cut. But the Moderné, that part of the City he actually liked.

It had been started in the ‘20s by a particularly eccentric writer named Kensington Smith, as a haven for the Lost Generation. Smith was technically insane, a side effect of playing at Lord Byron during the Great War. But he was rich, so that made him eccentric. He was also an interesting writer who managed to squeeze a few poems and a short story or two out in between the opium, absinthe, and Flapper fucking to make himself a minor literati and to gather a cadre made up of the people deemed too weird for Stein’s American Expatriate Ghetto in Paris. Smith’s notoriety (and more importantly his money), his cadre’s almost cult-like devotion and celebrity, added to the inherent greed of the City’s then boosters to create an art deco movement in the City. Ultimately it died out before it swept the entire city (thanks to the Depression and Smith’s more than questionable death) but nevertheless, it made an indelible mark: over a dozen buildings branded with weirdly arcane geometric designs and icons, like pagan temples, or sporting flaring edges and soaring Zepplin docking towers. Like if Howard Hughes and D.W. Griffith had co-directed Albert Speer’s wet dreams, draped in Babylonian air stream future gothic. It now sat in the middle of Old Downtown and the new City Center, like a piece of the mad ‘20s frozen in amber or preserved in a bottle, attracting the most bohemian of sorts and more than a little of the strange.

Actionhero walked in the Baal Tower, the tallest of the Moderné’s buildings and oldest of the City’s hotels. The Baal had a dark history only hinted at in urban legend. Actionhero knew the details but he wasn’t telling. The Lobby was full, but it that was no surprise. Despite (or perhaps because of) it’s reputation and its disturbing “Whore of Babylon” décor, the Baal had a certain immortality. It never lacked for guests, especially those who knew that at the Baal nothing was taboo. As if to emphasize this, the lobby was dominated by a massive frieze of the seven deadly sins under the phrase “Do As Thou Wilt,” the official motto of the hotel.

Actionhero crossed the lobby to the Hotel’s restaurant. It had no official name but the carvings of “Gluttony” on the pillars framing its entrance seemed to speak for themselves. The greeter was a beautiful woman, her hair cut in a ’20 style bob, her make-up an authentic vamp style. She wore a simple black cocktail dress, but its neckline barely hid—or held in—her breast and the hemline was barely mid thigh. She also wore a leather collar. All of the Baal’s staff wore collars.

“Hello sir,” her voice a breathy whisper, as if, at a request, she could orgasm right on the spot. Actionhero wouldn’t have been surprised if she did. “What is your desire?”

“I’m expected. Reservation for ‘the Amazing Bob.’”

“Right this way.” He followed her through the restaurant, her dressing hiking up with each step, revealing just the hint of a tattoo. Cant had it that the Baal branded all of its employees with a goat skull or some other sigil. The restaurant itself was dark, casting everything in a gauzy twilight. Diners say in deep booths, almost alcoves, hidden in shadow. You couldn’t really what was happening in each booth and that was the way it was supposed to be. Actionhero could easily have activated his smartlenses’ “night sight” function but the, he didn’t want to see what was happening in the booths. It was better that way. The woman led him to a booth with an occupant. Actionhero sat down.

“My name is Caprice sir,” the woman said. “Please let me know if there is anything further you desire.” Her hand brushed across the swell of her breasts. “Anything at all.”

As she walked away Actionhero turned to the other occupant of the booth. “You know I have got to get an office.”

“And why is that? This is a great place. Whatever you want they’ll get it for you. WHATEVER YOU WANT. I could order human flesh and virgin’s blood and that girl to orally service me under this table while I ate and they would do it. I wouldn’t even have to use my Voice.”

“And the funny thing is, you’re a Catholic. I have no problem being here at ‘Gluttony,’ I just hate meeting you here because I know you have no fucking will power and have already started ordering your vices.”

Padriag leaned back and smiled, puffing on a mouthpeace connected to a small hookah. Actionhero sniffed. “Shit. Hashish. You know how you get when you smoke that shit.”

“I couldn’t help ordering it. It was just too tempting. Relax, it’s light shit, cut with apple tobacco. Very mellow. And I just started so I’m still sober. Here, take a hit. You’re all business and I don’t like you when you’re all business. Because it usually means I have to start dodging bullets. Better yet, take a hit and call Caprice back here to suck you off.”

Actionhero waved all way the proffered smoke and flagged down a waitress. Another scantily clad, collared vamp walked up to him. “Yes sir. What do you desire?”

“Scotch. A whole bottle. And some food. Venison, rare. Also a Cuban cigar, something sweet, not sugary, just mellow.”

“Will that be all, sir?”

Actionhero looked at Padraig. “Same for me, love. But when you bring it, come to the table nude.”

“Whatever you desire, sir.”

Actionhero shot him a look as the waitress walked off. “You ham.”

“Hey, this is why I have my agent book me at this place every time I play the city.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small computer disk. Casually, he tossed it to Actionhero.

“The details are all in there, for both requests. The first thing was easy. Yannah’s a pro. And Russian. She’ll do it, for the right price.”

“Done.”

“I’m, talking five figures here. I mean, I‘ll do what I can, she owes me but it’s still going to be five figures.”

“Done.”

Okay. The second thing, that’s tricky. I’ve laid out everything I could get on the disc but here’s the cliff notes version. Basically, you hit the jackpot. This is the money shot.”

“You mean…”

“Yep. Central hub for all soft money for the GOP on the East Coast. Every dirty trick, every political shadow play, all of it comes from this building. More specifically from the computer mainframe in the basement.”

Actionhero was about to saw something but paused as the waitress returned with the food and drinks. In the nude. He shook his head as he watched Padraig look the woman up and down, focusing on the goat-skull tattoo at the base of her spine.

“Very nice,” Padraig finally said. “My room. The Borgia suite. An hour and a half.”

“Yes sir,” was all she said.

“Bring a friend. Female.”

“Of course sir.”

“You may go.”

Actionhero shook his head as he a glass of scotch. “Your appetites are going to get you in trouble. AGAIN.”

Padriag shrugged. “Not in as much trouble as you’re in right now. My contacts have checked this shit out. That computer is the CREEP Keeper. It’s a fucking glacier, and you can bet your ass the ICE on it is as black as they come. It’ll fry any deck you try to hack into it with and, for good measure, your brain as well if you’re jacked in to a neural rig. Not to mention that it’s pretty much a stand-alone system. Access is limited only through specially designed computers accessing though a custom transmission that shoots through at least 16 blind relays both on and off planet before they’re even allowed to uplink to the security choke points. The best hackers in the world couldn’t pull this off if God wrote their ICE breakers himself.”

Actionhero smiled and started cutting his venison. “Since when did you get so tech saavy? And since when did you get cold feet when it came to a chance to burn the Republican Party?”

“I’ve been paying more than a little attention to the Political scene lately and tech goes with the territory. And you know I want you to burn these fuckers. Hell, I’m not even charging you for the info on that disk. All I’m saying is this is not a situation you can solve with a gun.”

“It all depends on what kind of gun you’re packing.”

***
Chapter 6: Fucking Ninjas

Actionhero left the Baal after he finished his venison, turning down more offers of hashish and anything else he desired. He liked the Baal but he didn’t want the option to sin. He needed to keep his edge and besides, he had “work” in the morning. Stopping at the corner of Lang and Boileau, he looked around and smiled. From the ground up, the Moderné looked like some insane outpost of Ming the Merciless. It was the City’s bohemian quarter, with coffeehouses, small indy bookstores, supper clubs and music rooms. He could hear music: steel guitar and saxophones and whiskey throated singing. People were beginning to fill the streets: unconventional kids from nearby Novo College, operators from Old Downtown, suits from City Center and money men from Maüshaven; pretty much people looking for that Other taste you could only get in the Moderné.

And then he saw them. Japanese, which would mean nothing to an untrained eye since Little Chiba brushed up against the Moderné. But he knew what they really were. Two of them, man and woman, dressed in black cycle leathers; no obvious weapons but then, there wouldn’t be. They just across the street, stock still, their presence a challenge. Actionhero sneered.

Ninjas.

And he knew, that with them right in front of him, the attack would come from behind. He rolled aside and the third ninja struck empty air. He grabbed the arm and broke it, pressing until the bone sliced through the ninja’s arm. As the ninja fell, he quick-drew a pistol and fired a red bolt of laser fire into the back of the ninja’s head. He watched the other two ninjas fade into the background. With a snarl, he reached down and ripped off the jacket and shirt of the dead ninja. Tattooed on the back, in secret kanji code they knew he could read, was a message.

Midnight. Little Chiba. The Kimono Dragon.

“Goddamn ninjas,” he swore. “Never fucking heard of using a cell phone.”

Actionhero checked his watch. Just enough time to dress for the occasion.

***

Chapter 7: Right Love

They had dinner at a rooftop Bistro that was a favored hang out of the corp. set from City Center. Missy noticed the looks she and J.C. had gotten when they walked in and smiled smugly to herself. Any girl could get a boyfriend. But exotic arm candy, especially a rare flavor sought after by the GOP, well that was something else. And he was perfect, she thought, as they had their martini appetizers. Perfect English, right down to that slight southern accent. He says all the right things. He’s whiter than white but ASIAN!!! He’s going to be a star and I’m going to ride him. In more ways than one.

As dinner progressed, Missy found herself becoming more and more comfortable with J.C. She opened up and told him everything about herself, being a Baptist minister’s daughter, sorority girl adventures at Washington & Lee, the whole Missy Whitebread bit. It seemed so natural to open up to him.

“You know,” she said, between forkfuls of pasta. “You’re really a good listener J.C. I’ve never felt so comfortable talking to someone.”

He looked at her, an almost deep stare. And then he smiled and said, “It’s a thing I do. I like to listen.”

“So tell me about yourself.”

“Nothing much to tell. Just your average guy.”

“I don’t buy that for a minute.”

“Really, I’m just….” He stopped as a tall blond woman walked up to the two of them. Missy recognized her instantly.

“You’re a bastard, Johnny Chinaman.”

“Ann. It’s good to see you.”

“How could you? Do you know how many nights I lost over you?”

“Ann, I told you its over.”

“Why? I mean was it the job? I told you I could get you senior deputy. What is the sex? Did I not satisfy you? Is this your new bit of fluff?”

“Enough Ann. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“You son of a bitch.” Her hand shot out to slap him but somehow it never got to his face. It ended up instead in his grip as he stood in front of her.

“You need to leave. NOW.”

“Oh god…I’m sorry…please, take me back.”

“I’d sooner fuck Hillary. GO.”

With a sob, Ann ran off. J.C. sat down, shaking his head.

“Oh. My. God.” Missy said in shock.

“I’m sorry.”

“That was…”

“Yes.”

“You and her…”

“It was some time ago. And it wasn’t a big deal. Well, at least not on my part.”

“But…I mean, she famous. I have all of her books. I have a signed copy of Liar.”

“So do I. Well she wrote more than her name, really.”

“But you and her were together. And you dumped her. HER. The…”

“Yes, the Queen Bee of the GOP. The hot Neo-Con princess. The blond bombshell of the Beltway. Yeah, I heard it all.”

“Oh I’ve got to ask….”

“Do you have to?”

“Bet your ass.”

“Preacher’s daughter’s got a mouth on her. Look, I told you I’m just a regular guy….”

“You are not a regular guy if you went out with Ann Co….”

“Look can we just drop this. People are still staring,” J.C. interrupted, wincing.

“Oh no. You have got to tell me everything.”

“I don’t kiss and tell. Let’s just say I have a weakness for blondes and whiskey.”

“But why did you leave her?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

J.C. looked around and whispered. “She was a little too liberal for my taste.”

“No…”

“Yeah. And she was a really boring fuck.”

***

Chapter 8: Big Trouble in Little Chiba

The Kimono Dragon was something of a city fixture, right down to its Godzilla Geisha hologram. It was Little Chiba’s most famous club, which wasn’t nearly as big an accomplishment as being Little Chiba most garish, neon soaked building. In the one part of the City of the city that looked like Tokyo with impulse control problems, the Kimono Dragon was an all out ecstasy and coke orgy. All to an ‘80s beat.

Actionhero pulled his Kawasaki racing bike to the front parking area and parked it next to the other bikes. He didn’t know what he hated more: the waspish bikes, which all looked like they had been designed by engineers who had entomology fetishes, or the Kimono Dragon’s parking circle for bikes, which was surrounded by a ring of concrete barriers that looked like penises. He pushed his way through the crowd trying to get in and walked up to the bouncer, a steroid popping Sonny Chiba wannabe who looked him up and down, taking in Actionhero’s outfit of white Nike Corteses, acid wash jeans, t-shirt with the simple phrase “Kung-Fu Grip,” the worn black long coat, the midnight sunglasses. Then he shook his head.

“Oh come on, man,” Actionhero said with a smile. “I dressed for the occasion. Isn’t this the place where the ‘80s came to die?”

The bouncer gave him a stare and Actionhero continued to smile. He could tell he was pissing Sonny Chiba off and he saw two other bouncers moving in. He ran the situation though his head. There were 17 immediate ways to get into the club that he thought of within 1.5 seconds. All of them involved killing a whole lot of people. He decided on option 18, which he thought of at 1.527 seconds. He raised his hand, a crisp $50 gripped in his fingerless glove. The bouncer continued to stare. Actionhero’s hands then blurred and the $50 was somehow instantaneous pinned to ground by a ninja shuriken. Without a word the bouncer stepped past and gave a small bow. Actionhero shoved his hands inot his coat pockets and walked inside.

“What is it with fucking ninjas,” he muttered. He stopped as he took in the inside of the club. Poison over the loudspeakers. Flares. Big hair. Member’s Only jackets. Bartels and James wine coolers. Bandannas. A young schoolgirl of 30 walked by him wearing an armful slap bracelets. FUCKING slap bracelets.

“On my god. This is the place where the ‘80s came to die.”

He made his way though the club, fighting the impulse to pull out his guns and do the course of human evolution a favor and start shooting. He finally reached the VIP room and walked inside. At the end, at a table surrounded by what had to be either a quartet of ninjas or a Japanese BonJovi tribute band was Simone. It wasn’t often you came across someone who was out on the edge enough for Actionhero to regard them as an interesting person. Simone was one of the few. Sure, just by looking at her she looked like just another pretty face, though right now, dressed as a member of Jem and Holograms, one could almost wonder. But Actionhero knew that she had at least 18 different aliases and false identities that were so slick you’d expect them to walk in while you and she were in bed. He knew that she killed 23 men once in a penthouse massacre in Kuala Lampur in ways that sent the first three CSI teams on the scene into therapy for life. That with a phone call, she could get just about anything done, from ordering a pizza made with endangered species to having the Pope killed in bed by thirteen teenage Iranian hookers. Plus, she was a demon in the sack, in more ways than one.

The first of the ninjas came at him, fast and nasty, a pair of sais in his hands. Actionhero’s hand blurred and three shuriken buried themselves in his eye, throat, and forehead.

“An angle’s smile upon your lips,” he said walking forward, his eyes and Simone’s locked together. “Blood red nails on your finger tips.”

Two ninjas moved this time, a matched set moving in tandem. Actionhero moved to meet them, drawing a pair of escrema sticks. Both drew wakizashi short swords and, for a few seconds , all three were a blur of strikes, parries and feints as both ninjas took Actionhero on at once. Then with a blinding double riposte, Actionhero knocked their swords aside and drove his sticks into both throats at the same time, crushing their windpipes. They dropped to the ground choking and gasping. He dropped the sticks, one next to each and walked on towards Simone. Behind him the sticks started to glow, and them smolder and finally with a muffled bang burst into flame, immolating the two ninjas.

He looked back at Simone, who was smiling. “A school’s boy dream, you act so shy.” He continued. “You’re very first kiss was your first kiss goodbye.”

The last ninja moved forward, slowly, deliberately. He was bigger than the other two, seven feet of Kobe beef, his hands wrapped in spiked gauntlets. Actionhero qucikdrewa a pair of Glock 9s and emptied both clips into his chest, killing him in a rhythmic dance that was almost in tune with the “Talk Dirty To Me” baring over the speakers.

He sat down and picked up the drink that Simone pushed in front of him. “Shot through the heart and you’re to blame.”

Simone leaned forward the small table, her face inches from Actionhero’s, her hot pink lips parting seductively as she finished the line. “Darling you give love a bad name.” She leaded forward and kissed him lightly on the lips, her tongue just flicking out. The she leaned back and smiled. “You’re looking very John Cusak tonight. Was it for me?”

“Well I know how much you like ‘Say Anything.’”

“And yet you never stood under my bedroom window in the rain with a ghetto blaster of Peter Gabriel.”

“That’s because we were always in the same bed playing out your ‘Journey of Natty Gan’ fantasies.”

“Well it’s not like I haven’t done my part fulfilling 80s fantasies. I do have those Baroness and Scarlet costumes.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy that too. Why the ninja-gram?”

“Well you were in town and you didn’t call. I was hurt. I thought our relationship meant more to you than that?”

“We don’t have a relationship Simone, we just sleep together.”

“Well, we don’t really sleep….”

“I don’t know, you passed out last time.”

She shot him a look. “ONCE.” She smiled. “I guess you’re a little…preoccupied in that department now, huh?”

“She’s just a means to an end. Why did you contact me Simone? It can’t have been just for dirty talk. We can ‘path for that.”

“I just wanted to know what you’re up to. I’ve ‘heard’ you’ve been meeting with some interesting people. Don’t worry, I don’t know the details.” A pause. “Should I know the details, ‘Hero?”

“It’s nothing.”

“’Hero, you, of all people, should know how good I am at spotting lies.”

“It’s nothing that concerns you, Simone. Or any of your…Interests.”

She gave him a look. “You don’t know all my interests, ‘Hero.”

“Not for lack of trying.”

“As fun as having you around is, ‘Hero, you know that if you piss off people who have the same…Interests as I do, I’m going to have to come after you.”

“Hmmm. That should make for a change. And the 3-to-1 ratio’s going to be hard as hell to meet, if we do it like that.”

Despite herself, Simone smiled. Actionhero stood up, leaned over the table and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Sure you don’t want a full serving and not just a taste?” she whispered. “After all, the Lloyd Dobbler look and the surreal, pointless ninja blood bath sure can get a girl going. Just break out a bottle of Dom and some Pretenders and I’m all yours.”

“Pity I don’t have any Dom or Pretenders.”

“I’ve got CDs and Champaign at my place. And you know how much I love riding on your crotch rocket.”

“Sorry, baby. I’m working. Make it up to you in Singapore when it’s all over?”

“Our usual hotel?”

“Our usual suite,” Actionhero said, standing up to leave. “And next time, use a cell phone. Ninjas are so ‘80s.”

‘Hey, ninjas are never out of style.”

“Truly truly outrageous, right?”

“Asshole.”

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