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On a giant pair of tits.
I stared at them for a moment, speechless. The tits had legs, encased in black fishnets and ending in red stilettos. They did not have anything else. They were just a fully realistic, hugely oversized, pair of boobs that had just pushed me back to the ground and were now trying to motorboat me.
Or maybe that was the other way around. I didn’t know, because it’s kind of hard to think straight when you’re about to be crushed by the Grand Tetons up there. Louis-Cesare pulled me out from under before my brain completely broke, and all of us ran into the vestibule of the building, with Elvis slamming the door behind us and calling for back up on a radio.
I didn’t know what he was saying, but a couple of mages hauled ass past us a moment later, one of them throwing a spell before the door was even fully open. I hugged the wall and stared at Louis-Cesare, who stared back. After a moment, I cleared my throat.
“Gonna ask for her at the desk?”
“You think you’re funny . . .” he said, looking shaken.
“Not at the moment,” I said fervently. “What the f—”
“Sorry about that,” Elvis said, as what sounded like a battle started up outside. “They get like that sometimes. Too much magic floating about.”
He waved a hand around his head.
I just looked at him.
“This way,” he said, after an awkward silence.
We went that way. And discovered that the vestibule let out into a smoky club with a split personality. Like, really split.
On the one hand, the club’s basic features were surprisingly upscale. There were discreet, red leather booths around dimly lit tables, a modernistic chandelier, and an extensive bar, where tuxedo clad waiters were getting drinks for the well-dressed clientele. It looked like a cross between an upscale gentleman’s club and an expensive restaurant.
On the other hand, there was the artwork, in big, golden frames stuck anywhere that had enough wall space. The cuties in here were as active as the ones outside, dancing, gyrating and posing inside their frames, until somebody expressed an interest. And then the “art” stepped out of its painting, and walked off with a customer.
But at least, other than for a few anime types, they looked pretty much like real women, if real women had been designed by the Mattel Company. But that did not make it any better. If anything, it was somehow worse, only I wasn’t exactly sure how. But I was feeling less than comfortable as we were led across the room to a booth in the far corner, where a friend was waiting.
“Hey, short stuff.” A Chinese vamp who threatened to make Louis-Cesare look petite grinned up at me with a cutie pie on either knee. “I’d rise, but as you can see . . .”
What I could see that the girls were either more fakes, or else they’d gotten extensive plastic surgery with Jessica Rabbit in mind. Or maybe one of the anime girls, since they were both Chinese. They could have been twins, except that one had a blue cheongsam and a short, blonde bob, and the other a slinky silver cocktail dress that Radu would have loved and a fall of long, straight black hair.
“Is that a gun in your hand, or are you just happy to see me?” Zheng asked, apparently reading my mind.
I looked down to see that I was still clutching my .44. I put it away but didn’t apologize. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot the tits,” I told him.
“That would be a shame,” he agreed. “They’re our mascot.”
And then he did get up, dumping the cuties and hugging me. “How the fuck you been, anyway?”
“Weird.”
He pulled back and grinned. “Know the feeling.” His eyes went to my receding hair line. “New style?”
“Decided to punk out.”
“It suits you.” He shook Louis-Cesare’s hand, and gestured at the booth. “Sit down, sit down. These two were just leaving.”
The girls took the hint, slinking off to charm some other table, and we slid into their place. “What the hell?” I asked, looking after them.
Zheng grinned at me some more. He was looking prosperous, in a dark gray suit that managed to camouflage most of the muscles, and was jazzed up by a discreet, paler gray pinstripe. He had a gold watch on one wrist, a matching ring on the other hand, and a tie tack with a ruby the size of my thumbnail.
Unlike his city, he seemed to be doing okay these days.
His attire, which matched the swanky clothing of the rest of the room, made me feel slightly out of place in my black jeans, matching T-shirt and leather jacket. But at least Louis-Cesare looked nice. He wasn’t dressed up—he rarely was if not at court—and only had on a dark blue button up with equally dark jeans. But, somehow, on him it matched any suit in the room, bringing out the red in his hair and the sapphire in his eyes.
Or maybe that was just me.
