Raleigh's drink arrives. He takes a sip. The old man is like a crow, all death and putrescence sitting on his barstool, watching his whores arrive for their night's work. He looks her over with barely masked disgust, as if she is a piece of dog shit stuck to his shoe. He takes another drink. "It's a hard road north. Damn expensive."
"I can earn my passage."
Raleigh doesn't respond. The bartender finishes polishing the bar. He and an assistant set out a chest of ice from the luxury manufacturer
Raleigh holds out his glass and Daeng drops a pair of cubes in with a tinkling report. Out of the insulated chest, they start to melt in the heat. Emiko watches the ice cubes sag into liquid. Daeng pours water over the cubes. She is burning up, herself. The club's open windows do nothing to catch the breeze and at this early hour the swelter inside the building is still overwhelming. None of the yellow card fan men have arrived yet, either. The club radiates heat from walls and floor, encasing them. Raleigh takes a swallow of his cool water.
Emiko watches, burning, wishing she could sweat. "
Raleigh sips his water and watches as more of his girls filter in. "Keeping a windup is damn expensive."
Emiko smiles embarrassment, hoping to assuage him. Finally, Raleigh makes a face of irritation. "Fine." He nods to Daeng. A glass of ice water is passed across. Emiko tries not to lunge for it. She holds it to her face and neck, almost gasping with relief. She drinks and presses the glass against herself again, clutching it like a talisman. "Thank you."
"Why should I help you get out of the city?"
"I will die if I stay here."
"It's not good business. Wasn't good business to hire you. And it's definitely not good business to bribe you all the way north."
"Please. Anything. I will pay it. I will do it. You may use me."
He laughs. "I've got real girls." His smile disappears. "The problem, Emiko, is that you've got nothing to give. You drink the money you earn every night. Your bribes cost money, your ice costs money. If I weren't so nice, I'd just throw you out in the street for the white shirts to mulch. You're not a good business proposition."
"Please."
"Don't piss me off. Go get ready for work. I want you out of your street clothes when the customers arrive."
His words have the finality of true authority. Reflexively, Emiko starts to bow, acquiescing to his wishes. She stops short. You are not a dog, she reminds herself. You are not a servant. Service has gotten you abandoned amongst demons in a city of divine beings. If you act like a servant, you will die like a dog.
She straightens. "So sorry, I must go north, Raleigh-san. Soon. How much would it cost? I will earn it."
"You're like a goddamn cheshire." Raleigh stands suddenly. "You just keep coming back to pick over the dead."
Emiko flinches. Even though he is old, Raleigh is still
"How much?"
His face reddens. "More than you've made 'til now!"
She jumps back but Raleigh grabs her. He yanks her close. His voice is a low whiskey growl. "You were useful to someone, once, so I see how a windup like you might forget herself. But let's not fool ourselves. I own you."
His bony hand fumbles at her breast, seizes a nipple and twists. She whimpers in pain and wilts under his hand. His pale blue water eyes watch her like a snake's.
"I own every part of you," he murmurs. "If I want you mulched tomorrow, you're gone. No one will care. People in Japan might value a windup. Here, you're just trash." He squeezes again. She takes a shuddering breath, trying to keep her feet. He smiles. "I own you. Remember that."
He releases her abruptly. Emiko stumbles back and catches the bar's edge.
Raleigh returns to his drink. "I'll let you know when you've earned enough to go north," he says. "But you'll work for it, and work for it good. No more of your picky ways. If a man wants you, you go with him and make him happy enough that he wants to come back and try the novelty again. I've got plenty of natural girls offering natural sex. If you're going to go north, you'd better start offering something more."
He upends his drink, gulping it, and slaps the glass down on the bar for Daeng to refill.
"Now quit sulking and start earning."
Hock Seng scowls at the safe where it squats across from him. It's early morning in the SpringLife office, and he should be busy forging a ledger before Mr. Lake arrives, but the safe is all he can focus on. It mocks him, sitting there, enveloped in the smoke of offerings which have done nothing to open it.
