Strange Flesh (32 page)

She gives me a guilty smile. “I know, I know. I just . . . It’s a bit limiting.”

“Right . . . We designed it that way. You know, simple, streamlined. Straight to the fucking. Not everyone who uses these things is going to have a computer science degree from MIT.”

“But I think we can assume that someone screwing a robot will be a bit
technically inclined,
yeah?”

“That’s the whole point. They don’t want to screw robots. Look . . .” I step back to my laptop and pull up a site. “Here is a whole community devoted to ‘aquatic erotica.’ It started as people swapping stories about disporting with dolphins, but now they’re in Second Life, Red Light Center, and of course NOD. And they’ve diversified into walruses and, hmm . . . anemones.”

She leans over and points to a picture of an otter. “Ooh. I wouldn’t mind taking a dip with that little guy.”

Olya picks this moment to breeze in with Garriott in tow. “Why do you speak of animals? This is not in the spec. Always wasting time, you two—”

“And you’re always interrupting conversations you know nothing about.”

She laughs. “Zhimbo, you are so fiery today. XanXan, I think you are torturing him with your naughty schoolgirl?”

Olya’s project-management style falls somewhere between the Dog Whisperer and Pol Pot, so her graciousness is quite a surprise.

“You’re in a suspiciously good mood.”

“Yes. I have very good meeting with a large potential partner, a company with very much experience in the sex business.”

“Who is it?”

“Ah, Zhimbo, be patient. I tell you all about it when things firm up.”

“Olya, come on, this is ridiculous.”

She has the gall to actually ruffle my hair. “Zhimbo, just give me a couple days. Then you’ll thank me. I promise.”

I look imploringly at the other two, but they both shrug as if they’ve become accustomed to life on a Soviet mushroom farm. Olya grabs one of our test laptops and walks out.

Garriott clears his throat and says solemnly, “Working on this with you has been the greatest experience of my life. But I want you both to know that all the money”—he nods his head, coming to a momentous conclusion—“the money absolutely
will
change me.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep, cleansing breath.

Then he says, “I’m going to become a vampire.”

Frustrated, I step outside for a cigarette. The team seems quite lackadaisical about the legal basis of our partnership. Garriott, who has the very distant relationship with money found in real droid-druids, I can understand. But for someone as meticulous as Xan, this attitude doesn’t make sense.

As I light up, I see Olya had the same idea. She’s at the front of the alley talking softly into her cell but adding spiky emphasis with her freshly rolled cigarette. She observes my arrival and rings off.

From playing Billy’s game, perhaps I’ve absorbed an “everything is connected” paranoid perspective that makes me stroll up beside her and ask, “So is it Exotica?”

Olya doesn’t look at me. But from my oblique angle I notice her eyes flare slightly and her lips compress by a fraction. What am I seeing? The chagrin of learning that someone has guessed your closely held secrets? Or is she betraying some actual anxiety about the state of her enterprise? Maybe she’s entertaining second thoughts about hooking up with a shady pornographer while Billy’s stalking her over the death of her lover.

I can’t decide in the bare instant before she’s again mastered her apex predator insouciance. She takes a long drag and exhales leisurely. “So maybe you think you have ESP now?”

“Is it?”

“Zhimbo, I know the, ah, ‘tenacity’ is a very good quality for programmer. But,
milyi,
do not act like badger with me.”

“Just how much do you know about the company, Olya? Are you sure they’re the right people to be getting in bed with?”

“You think I’m not careful? You think I am a promiscuous woman, Zhames?”

“Well I have to question that, if you’re proposing that we deal with this company. I understand that they know how to market. I understand they have distribution channels. I’m sure
you
understand how expensive it’s going to be to tool up Chinese factories to make such a complex device. But did you know that your hot date is getting sued by the IRS? That their working capital has been frozen by a court order?”

She grabs my belt buckle and drags me close to her. “Eh, you listen to me now. I have not proposed
anything
. You are making bullshit assumption about what goes on here. How is it you know so much about this Exotica company? Are you a fan, Zhimbo? This is strange, that with all their interesting material, you take the financials to bed. Why is that, James? Why are you researching this company, when we’ve never discussed it?”

“Look—”

“No, you look. I know you want to find out what’s happening. But this is my party. You come late but want to start telling the tune. You think I will sell our daughter to the first man who wiggle his dick at her? When I find Ginger a husband, he will be rich, respectable, and
committed
. He will put a kingdom at her feet.”

“First of all, she doesn’t have feet. And you think Bill Gates and Nelson Mandela are going to serve on the board?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Well, why don’t you clue us in? Why all this secrecy? This isn’t espionage.”

“Ah, but our Dancers will be very famous when they are ready for the main stage. So it must be very secret now. Someone else copies our design and beats us into production? I will not allow this. With my first company the thieving bankers take it all. Russia, those days, there’s not so much you can do. But that will not happen again.”

“But we’re on your team. You have to trust us.”

“No, James, you trust me. Maybe I have trusted you too far already.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let us be honest. You are too good a programmer for a video artist. You are too good a fighter for a Harvard pussy. So, you see, we all have our secrets.”

“Wait, you think—”

“I think if you want to be private about your history, fine. I don’t tell everyone my whole life either. But that means we take things a step at a time here. You keep doing such good work, and our team becomes very . . . intimate.” She slaps me gently on the cheek. I almost think she’s going to kiss me. But instead she flips open her phone. “I enjoy our little talk, but please excuse me. I have to call.”

Dismissed, I head back into the POD. Olya’s little wince of uncertainty when I brought up Exotica indicates a sore spot. I need to probe further to see if that was just a reflexive twitch, or if our otherwise thriving team has been infected by the Bug.

L
ate Tuesday night, Amazone is crowded with hard-core patrons, mostly financial players eager to take on the proverbial losing proposition. I actually have to wait for a minute to pay my cover. In the main room, I see Ben Mondano standing by the bar speaking with one of his bouncers, an older gentleman built like a septic tank.

Olya wouldn’t expressly admit that Mondano is her secret partner, but I’m betting a little pretense can extract an official confirmation from him. And maybe some more information about their plans. In light of Adrian’s warnings, I can’t resist letting him know there’s someone new on the team who will be watching him closely.

As I approach, his eyes pass over me without recognition. I sidle up next to him and say, “Hey, can we have a ‘sit-down’?”

The bouncer stares at me and says, “I’ll be with you in a moment, sir.” He turns back to Mondano.

“I’d like to talk to you, Mr. Mondano.”

He turns. “With me?” A slight slur tells me he’s pretty much in the bag.

“Yeah. In private.”

“Do I know you?”

The bouncer puts his hand gently on my shoulder. “Listen, guy, I’m sure I can help you with whatever you need here.”

I ignore him and focus on Mondano. “We met last week. I was working on a documentary.”

“Oh, yeah. How’s all that going?” He hits ‘that’ with derisive emphasis, the booze having spared me from the solemn mafioso routine.

“It’s over. I’m working with Olya now.”

Mondano looks at me for a second, deciding whether to admit that he knows what I’m talking about. Finally, he sends his guy off with a sideways flick of his head.

I continue. “I wanted to ask you about a disturbing rumor I heard about—”

“Disturbing . . . you know, I find it
disturbing
to be seeing you here again.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, you show up out of the blue asking me these questions about a missing fruit. And then I find out you’ve inserted yourself into Olya’s project. That a coincidence?”

“Not at all. We work together.”

“Yeah? Well I work with Olya too. She’s handling any arrangement we might make. So if you have questions, you need to just talk to her.”

“I could do that. But I don’t think she’d be real happy to hear that you’re not in any position to be throwing money around.”

“I’m not, huh?”

“Exotica Enterprises? I hear the most exotic thing about your enterprise is its tax return. So maybe you can explain to me how you’re planning to fund our space-age cybrator factory when you don’t have the capital to back a hot dog stand.”

Mondano stretches his jaw like a boxer preparing for the bell. “You’re beginning to piss me off.”

“Really? ’Cause I’m just getting started. Why don’t you tell me—”

Mondano goes volcanic with rage. He yanks my shirt so our faces are inches apart. “I’ll tell you this, motherfucker. Olya knows the money is not in doubt. I don’t have to justify shit to you.” He jerks me again. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see two bouncers walking toward us. He continues. “You’re fucking with things you don’t understand. This shit will get taken care of at a level way over your head. We are dealing with Olya. Only. You keep dicking around, she’ll have your nuts. And that’s not even close to what I’ll do if you come back here. You understand me?” He jabs his index finger at my face.

Though I’m suspicious that I’ve just been subject to his best Joe Pesci
impression, I set my feet, preparing to make him wish he’d kept his hands to himself should this run to actual rather than affected violence. I say, “What I understand is that you’re not the only two-bit pornographer on the block. So I suggest you behave yourself.”

The bouncers arrive and look at him expectantly. But he just stares at me.

“I think I can find my way out.”

I wheel away from Mondano and brush past his security. He watches me go. His expression is now pensive but saturated with menace. Like he’s sorting through a list of ways to dispose of my body.

Both of the bouncers follow me out to the street.

A
stinging sleet falls as I search for a cab on Eleventh Avenue. The ice feels as though it’s negotiating with the frigid wind to unite and form a full-blown fusillade of hail. Since precipitation instantly melts all available taxis, I resign myself to trudging the seven blocks to the Port Authority subway.