I gesture to my clothes. JD’s wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket with the Public Fuck logo on it that glows under the UV light. “I’ll watch from above. Get her down below and I’ll shoot with a zoom from above.”
This is how we set the mood of the shot. This cybergoth shit on Thursday nights isn’t always our thing, but when it is, we make the whole thing seem sinister. It’s easy enough. The stained-glass windows, upside-down cross on the ‘altar’ directly across from the VIP boxes, and the tolling bells give it enough atmosphere for a horror movie. Add in all the fluorescent dreadlocks, platform boots, and glowing outfits, and you’ve got Dracula Goes to a Space Rave.
JD makes his way through the crowd, looking for our girl. It’s early still, but she was told what time to be here, so I help him scan from above. Tonight’s contract is a girl who’s been watching us do this for a few weeks. Somehow she got a hold of our schedule, because she turned up at every gig for a while there. Just hanging back, watching. JD saw her the very first night, but back then, we weren’t having problems getting the girls to show up. So he left her alone for a while.
Now we are. So he approached her a few weeks ago and gave her the speech. Testing, contract, ID, waiver of liability, and, if they are one of the girls we will use for the upcoming Public Fuck website, a non-disclosure agreement.
But this one isn’t for Public Fuck. She’s fetish shit. That’s why she’s dressed up in a pink tutu with white lace stockings, ripped in all the right places. Her cyberlocks are in a variety of glow-in-the-dark colors, and she’s got on a tight pink corset. I can’t tell from here without the zoom lens, but she’s probably got something painted on her face too. I take my phone out and text JD, letting him know she’s over by the east bar.
He checks his phone, shoots me a thumbs up, and then makes his way over.
“Your next victim?” A man leans down in my ear.
I turn. The man is wearing a black suit and a collar like a priest. So he must be some kind of manager here. I give him the once-over. He looks familiar, but no one I recognize.
“Contract,” I correct him. “We don’t deal in victims, only willing participants.”
“Ah,” the man chuckles, again close to my ear, so I can hear over the thumping music. “Us as well.” He shoots me a smile when I look at him funny. But then he extends a hand and when I accept his offer, he leans in and says, “Father Gabriel.” And then he pans a hand down to the dancing crowd below. “My flock.”
“Nice,” I say back. Father Freak is more like it. What do I expect though? He deals in fantasy, same as me. We’re all freaks in here.
“How often do you film here, Ark?” he says, this time in a much lower voice, and much closer to my ear.
I recoil a little, because I never gave him my name. It’s not hard to figure out who I am if you’re paying close attention. And it’s his club, so I guess he is. But to come right out and use that knowledge to unseat me is fucking rude.
“Let’s talk,” he says, turning to walk away. He gives me one last smile over his shoulder and beckons me with a finger.
“Fuck.” Now I know he’s management and he probably wants to ask me for more money. Ray warned me that once we took over our own business, the leeches would come out of the woodwork.
I follow Gabriel to the back of the lounge and wait as he keys in a code to open a door. Inside is a stairwell. “Please,” he says, waving me forward. “My private area is above.”
I do an internal shrug and start climbing the stairs. “I feel like we’ve met, but I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.” We enter the private box and I walk over to the far wall. It’s floor-to-ceiling glass that overlooks the entire lower level of the club. The music is only detectable by the thumping of the glass, so it’s essentially soundproof. “Huh. We’re up in the ceiling beams. I never realized this was here.”
“Yes,” Gabriel says as he walks up behind me. “This is where I watch. And we have met, just under different circumstances.”
I turn to him and he beckons me to a seating area. Just two chairs with a table barely the size of a dinner plate between us. There are two drinks waiting, but neither of us takes one. “What circumstances?”
He smiles but something about this is off, so I don’t smile back. “Last weekend I was at Ray’s. I saw you from a distance. I was there trying to get your attention.”
I squint, trying to think back.
“The offer. To fuck my wife while I watched.”
I can’t help myself, I belt out a laugh. “Jesus Christ. You are very blunt. And I guess I can stop thinking of you as a priest, since you’re clearly playing dress-up tonight.”
He lifts his hands and shrugs, like I caught him in the act. “I’m not a Catholic priest. This was once a Catholic church, and the icons are deliciously sacrilegious in this club environment, so I couldn’t resist. However”—he pauses to shoot me another creepy smile—“I am a leader of a small religious sect.”
Cult, is the word I hear in my head.
“And since you and I work in the same business, I thought you’d understand.” Another pause so he can steeple his index fingers and press them to his lips. The gesture reminds me a little of Ray, but not in a way that sets me at ease. Father Creepy here studies people, picks up on their mannerisms, and uses them to influence. It’s an instinct more than anything. But I didn’t make it this far into the job by not listening to my instincts. “Perhaps even find a common ground.”
“What does any of that have to do with fucking your wife?” If he wants to be blunt, I can be blunt.
The creepy smile and stare continues for a few more seconds, just to make sure I get it. “I need a third person in my relationships and they seem to find you desirable.”
“They?”
“I have just one wife. But we are a flock. The others are just as much a part of the inner circle as my first.”