The Night Shift

It’s not my ideal environment, but I’ve been to worse clubs.

The first detail that I notice is how well it’s been hidden. It’s incredibly exclusive; you can only find it if you’ve been to the club before, or if you know someone who’s been to the club before. I, as part of the latter, pick apart the text message that details where I’m supposed to go. ‘In the Old Marina Boat Yard, the third warehouse to the back.’ The big metal structure is empty, save for a manhole cover in the front corner. ‘Open the cover and go down the stairs.’ They’re rusty and dripping with condensation, but that’s how everything is in Western Seattle. The stairwell leads to a dark and damp intersection of tunnels. ‘Take the left turn until you reach the door. Tell the bouncer you’re meeting me.’

I clip-clop down the stone corridor in my tiny red dress and huge black heels, following the subtle and consistent thumping of faraway music. My platforms hit the dirty ground in time with the beat.

I don’t spot the bouncer until I’m only a few feet away from him- the end of the hall is shrouded in darkness. The blackness of his suit and onyx color of his skin make him blend in perfectly. As I get closer, my smile gets sweeter.

“Hi.” I say, a little breathlessly.

“Name?” He grunts, raising a thin tablet that must contain the guest list. Not one for small talk.

“Aine. A-I-N-E.” I spell out. He scrolls through the list, face as hard as stone.

“How the hell do you even pronounce that?” His deep voice rumbles down the hall behind us.

“You say it like On-Ya.” I answer, pulling my dress down where it’s ridden up. He doesn’t even spare me a glance.

“It doesn’t look like you’re on here.” He concludes, looking up from the tablet. In its digital blue glare, I can see his eyes are bright red, like a snake’s. They must be synthetic.

I purse my lips. “I should be. I’m here to meet with Anais- I thought he told you?”

The bouncer raises his eyebrows at that. “You’re meeting with Anais? Anais Rodriguez?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have proof?”

I pull my phone back out of the tiny purse I’d opted to bring. “I have a test message.” I hold my phone out to him, the screen displaying the list of instructions Rodriguez to sent me an hour before. Without another word, the bouncer squints at the screen, raises back up to his full towering height, and waves me in the massive metal door he was guarding.

“Have a good night,” I chirp before flouncing through.

Inside, the music is loud enough to drown in. The place is lit by the sparest of lights that flicker different colors and patterns across the floor and those dancing on it. It’s cavernous. It’s big enough to fill up the entire warehouse it sits under, with a ceiling taller than I thought possible underground. And it’s completely packed. People dancing, drinking, tripping on whatever new drugs found their way into the back-market. People with their eyes closed and their hands up, trying to reach some sort of synargy with the throbbing music. People trying to get lost, to escape, to release the stress of constantly being under surveillance up on the surface. Here, there are no authorities breathing down our necks. As I walk through the heaving crowd of dancers, I understand the appeal of a place like this. But this is work, and I don’t have the time to contemplate the free atmosphere. I have to focus.

There’s a bar on the far wall- lining the whole of the wall, with multiple bartenders slinging out colorful drinks in complicated glasses. It’s backlit by hazy blue lights behind a glass wall that’s equipped with clear shelves storing copious amounts of liquor bottles. Groups of people are gathered around the long bar, flirting with the tenders, guzzling drinks. Ever since liquor became illegal above ground again, civilians have gotten into the bad habits of sneaking into holes like this to drink until they blackout to sate their booze craving for a few months before repeating the process. It’s led to an increase in alcohol poisoning, and violent arrests for intoxication. From the looks of it, a good number of the people here are headed that direction tonight.

Then I see him. He’s sitting alone, looking out over the crowd. One of the few who are still visibly sober, swirling an amber-colored drink in his hand. He can’t be older than 24. Almost like he can sense me staring at him, his inky black eyes find mine. I hold his gaze, letting a small smile grow on my face. Back to work.

“I’m Aine.” I say as I approach him, holding out my hand. He’s charming- dark features and black clothes, with sprawling tattoos sprawling over his neck and disappearing under his shirt. He takes my hand with a smile and kisses it softly.

“Anais. Nice to meet you.” He raises his glass. “Something to drink?”

I shake my head. “I prefer to stay clear-headed during meetings like these.” I take a seat next to him, letting my hair fall over my shoulder. “So, you’re the owner of this hole-in-the-ground.”

He scans the room, from the uneven stone floors to the metal beams holding the ceiling up high above. “It’s a bit rugged, but people love it.” He boasts. “Weekends are always busy, and weeknights aren’t half bad, either. Brings in more than enough money.” He lifts his glass, looking at me over the lip. “That’s what brings you here, right?”

I smile again. “My boss is interested in investing.”

“Remind me, who’s your boss?”

I look at him in the foggy blue light. His eyes sparkle. “DeVonte Brown.” I respond clearly, as if he isn’t one of the biggest criminals in the Northwestern United States.

Anais’s eyebrows raise. “The head of the Kingpins?”

“That’s the one.”

“How does a pretty girl like you get involved with the most notorious gang in the country?” He asks with a devilish grin. I put both of my elbows on the bar, letting my dress straps fall down my shoulders and bring more emphasis to my chest.

“A pretty girl’s gotta survive. And God knows I wasn’t living the straight-and-narrow.”

The song changes, morphing into a bouncing synth pop track. The crowd picks up, dancing faster to the rhythm.

“What in the world interested Brown in me and my humble club?” Anais asks, but I get the feeling he already knows the answer.

“You said it yourself. You make more than enough profit, and you offer refuge away from the real world. The Kingpins are looking for a space just like this.”

“But why? They’re already the biggest gang in the city, and the most prominent threat to the police. I didn’t think they needed any more help.”

I purse my lips, leaning forward even more. He notices, just as I’d hoped. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things are getting tense upstairs. Nowadays, the police aren’t police anymore- they’re becoming a military. They’re getting aggressive. Antsy. We’re about to shift from a police state to all-out totalitarianism. My boss wants nothing more than to protect innocent Americans from that. He thinks your club could be a huge help.” I gesture to the vast expanse of writhing bodies. “You have enough space for my gang’s headquarters, plus enough booze and money to keep us comfortable. In exchange, you’d be compensated financially, and get our protection.”

“If the police are militarized, I don't know how far your protection would go.” He argues.

I lick my lip, tasting the sweetness of my lip gloss. Again, his eyes follow the motion. “The Kingpins are more than ready for what’s about to come.”

“Hm.” He grunts, looking me up and down. My dress has ridden up again, sitting high on my thighs. “I’m open to your boss’s proposal, if it means I can see you often.”

“That’s just what I hoped to hear.” I smile, tilting my face toward him. He leans in immediately. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m about done talking business, and I wanna get away from this music. Wanna take me somewhere?”

He looks at me, black eyes alight.

We end up in an underground condo, where I assume he lives. It’s behind the bar, down a long hallway that takes us away from the music. It’s beautifully furnished, and well lit for being underground. As soon as he closes the door behind us, I grab his shoulders and push him onto the nearest leather sofa. I drop my tiny purse next to his hip, and he’s kissing me before I can even sit on his lap. He’s eager- one hand finds its way into my hair, another pulling my dress farther up my hips. My hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, as his mouth moves from mine to explore down my throat. He doesn’t notice the absence of my other hand. I sigh, arching my back.

“Where’s your bedroom?” I whisper.

“Down the hall.” He murmurs. “But we can just stay he-”

My switchblade plunges into the side of his neck, cutting off the last word. I pull it out swiftly, watching blood pump out of the gash and onto the leather beneath us. I shift to make sure none gets on my dress.

“Sorry,” I say, “I actually kinda liked you.” He stares up at me, his shocked expression muddled by pain and the urgency that proceeds the realization that you’re about to die. I stand up, waiting until the light dims in his dark eyes. Then, I pull down my dress and walk to the bedroom. It’s as nice as the rest of the condo, pretty lights and glass decorations. The only thing out of place is a rusty old locket, shaped like a heart, on the dresser. I swipe it, shove it into my dress, and slip out the door. As I click the door of the condo closed behind me, a dull sense of shame creeps up my spine. But this is my job- and I’m good at it. It was a quick and easy kill, and I was honest with him about mostly everything- especially the part about me not following the straight-and-narrow.

My employer’s waiting for me in the boatyard. His face is shrouded in shadows, but I don’t care about what he looks like, or why he wants this dumb locket. He’s paying me- that’s all I need to know.

I toss him the locket. “Here.”

“That was faster than I thought.” He catches it with one hand.

“I told him I was a Kingpin and went from there.” I pull up my dress straps. “He thought I was cute, so it wasn’t hard to get him alone.”

He nods and turns away. “There’ll be a deposit for you in the morning. Good job.”

It was a good job, if I say so myself. I’m quick on my feet and hyper-perceptive, making me perfect for this line of work. My father once told me I would be a great detective, that I should try and join the police force. That was before he was shot and killed by an officer who had had one too many drinks on duty and was convinced my dad was affiliated with a low-level street gang. He was a pottery-maker. Needless to say, I’m quite weary of the police nowadays. But I’m also not too keen on the gangsters that are about to start a civil war with them. So I make my own path, on my own terms. It’s gritty and numbing, but so is the rest of the world. It’s 2152, for God’s sake. A pretty girl like me does what she has to do to survive.