Company Town by Madeline Ashby
PART ONE
SEPTEMBER
1
Broken Nose
Hwa wondered if today was the day she would finally get to finish that sorry son of a bitch once and for all. She checked her watch. Eileen was officially late. She pinged. Waited. No answer. The client had paid for another tier of service, one where a bodyguard would keep a discreet distance. That tier was only for clients with trusted status. In Hwa’s experience, that trust could be a mistake. If the tower had recognized her face, Belle du Jour would have pinged the client and told him to finish up because she was on her way. But the towers never saw her face. And neither did some of the clients’ filters. That was part of her value to the organization. They simply didn’t see her coming until it was too late.
She checked the hallway. Just a few stragglers: kids on their way to school, jostling each other at the elevators. No big guys. No roughnecks. No riggers. Nobody who would give her trouble if she was already in the process of making it for Eileen’s client. Ideal conditions.
Hwa spoke into her watch: “Belle, my safecall is late; proceeding to contact.”
There was a pause. “Keep us posted! Good luck!”
Hwa stood up, checked the hall again, and knocked on the door. Inside there was giggling and a muffled, “I told you so!” Hwa rolled her eyes. The hallway was almost empty, now.
“It’s okay, Mr. Moliter,” she said to the door. “Nobody’s gonna see you.”
The door jerked open so fast he had to have been waiting for her. All these years later, he was still a pallid, fishlike man, with a weird gawping mouth and almost colourless eyes. He was short, and he acted like it. This morning was no exception.
“How dare you say my name out here?” he hissed. “What if somebody’s parents heard you? What if—” He blinked. She watched the filters fall away from his eyes. He saw the stain. He recognized Hwa. He shut up.
Hwa plastered a smile across her face. “Hi, Mr. Moliter,” she said in her cheeriest cute-half-Korean-girl voice. “How’s the eye?”
The old scar across his right eyebrow twitched. He swallowed. Then he gathered some dignity by closing his robe and standing a little straighter. “It’s fine,” he said. “Doesn’t bother me at all.”
“That’s real good to hear. So they reattached the retina and everything, huh?”
Moliter licked his thin, raw lips. The man was dumb as a pike and twice as mean. He watched Hwa with one side of his face as he directed his voice into the apartment. “Eileen! Time to go!”
Eileen was still giggling. She bounced out of the apartment and made an I’m sorry face at Hwa. She looked fine: rich red hair in place, eyeliner expertly winged, no bruises, no funny walking, no tears in her stockings. She even squeezed Moliter’s hand.
“I had a great time,” Eileen said.
“Yeah. Great. Bye.”
“The United Sex Workers of Canada thank you for your business, Mr. Moliter.”
He slammed the door in her face.
Eileen turned to say something, but Hwa was already talking to her watch. “Belle, my safecall is accounted for. I’m taking her home, now.”
“Good job!” the watch said. “Have a nice day!”
“Thank you for knocking.” Eileen threaded one perfumed arm through Hwa’s. “Can we mug up? I’d dies for a real coffee.”
“Teachers can’t afford the good stuff, eh?”
“I have fucked teachers with much nicer coffee. Hell, I’ve fucked tutors with better taste.” Eileen squeezed her arm. “Please? Can we stop? There’s a good spot on my floor.”
“Sure.”
Eileen cocked her head to the side and closed her eyes. There was an audible crunch in her neck. “Ugh. I’ve had that all night.”
They hustled into the elevator, and Eileen leaned against the glass. The massive blades of the windmill whirling outside cast her in shadow briefly, and then revealed her again. On and on, dark and light, as the blades of the mill cut and cut and cut through the veil of morning mist.
“Busy night?” Eileen asked.
Hwa shrugged. “Not too.”
“People are just saving their money,” Eileen said. “New sheriff in town, and all that.”