Page 8 of Hex and the City
4
MAX
Iwarmed my fingers in the pockets of my jacket as I negotiated the sidewalk. I pushed past the scattered bar-goers out for either a breath of fresh air or several lungfuls of smoke. My boot soles clacked on the concrete, cheeks a little cool from the evening breeze. Bit of a chilly night in Dos Lunas. I glanced up at the sign above the bar: a swirl of letters inscribed along a stylized, unrolled bolt of cloth.
“Silk,” I breathed, the word itself filling me with an odd, familiar sensation of warmth. It was one of those places in the city where I still felt welcome, almost comfortable, home to a spider who actually greeted me with a smile instead of the muzzle of a gun.
I muttered as politely as I could muster, pushing my way between the stragglers. My fingers searched along the wall right by the glass doors that kept Silk’s blend of jazz and lounge music contained, looking for the telltale lines and indentation of the spider’s mark. I always knew it was there, having visited plenty of times before, but part of me wanted to make sure. Like a ritual, like taking off my shoes at the threshold.
Ah. Found it. The eight-pointed star that the network of spiders used to identify its own, marking the establishment with the symbol of a spiderweb. As safe a space as it could be for us finders. Before I pushed the doors open, I caught a last whiff of cigarette smoke from the street. My nose wrinkled. Never did smoke myself, but the smell brought back memories of a time when people actually could puff away inside a club or a bar.
This was the kind of joint where that wouldn’t have been out of place, except the clientele would be smoking cigarettes from long-stemmed holders,Breakfast at Tiffany’s starring Audrey Hepburn. The interiors were elegant, if simple, plush seating mixed with leather upholstery, as dark as the night could be, and not an actual stitch of silk in sight.
No, the place was named for the cocktails, lovingly crafted masterpieces that went down as smooth as nectar. This wasn’t a place for slippery nipples, flaming orgasms, sex on the beach. Silk plied its trade in the classics, and it did them exceptionally well. I ordered a negroni from the bartender, likely a new hire, intricate tattoos running down his forearms, the sleeves of his crisp black shirt tight around his biceps.
Cocktail in hand, my wallet a painful twenty dollars lighter, I scanned the bar for the resident spider. Where else, but her favorite spot? A booth toward the back, but never too far in, enough to pretend she wanted privacy. And yet she remained so visible, too, evoking her availability. Her dress said very much the same, a green so dark and rich it almost shimmered black in the gloom of the bar.
Long and fitted, whether at the sleeves, the bust, or the hips. Restrained and conservative, apart from the slit that ran all the way up to her thigh. Her hair half raised in an elaborate updo, her lips painted a deadly red, there sat Vera Loong, the Jade Spider. She rested her chin on her knuckles, playing with the wedge of citrus adorning the rim of her glass, twirling it with exaggerated boredom.
I rolled my shoulders as I stepped up to her, unable to contain my smile. “Lavishly overdressed as always, Vera.”
She plucked at the sleeve of her dress, tossed her citrus rind halfway across the table with a beleaguered sigh. “Oh, this old thing? You’re such a naughty, naughty liar.” She beckoned, pouting as she reached for my jaw. “Come here and give Auntie Vera a kiss.”
I chuckled, letting her plant a quick one on my cheek. Warm and wet, only a whisper of lipstick. This song and dance every time: my compliment, her asking for a kiss, then stealing one for herself anyway. I enjoyed it, though, part of our routine. Our own little ritual.
Vera patted the cushions. I slid into the booth next to her, the leather seating buttery and soft. Why she insisted on calling herself Auntie Vera always seemed a mystery, though. We were practically the same age. Hell, Vera could have been younger, even, a late twenty-something beauty forever haunted by the specter of a Hollywood long dead.
She waved a hand around her, lip upturned with feigned disgust. “And what brings you to this ramshackle hovel on this dreariest of evenings?”
“Profit,” I told her, restraining a snort of laughter as I shook my head. She was so, so overdramatic, but that was part of her charm. “Same as always, Vera. Money. You might have heard that it makes the world go round?”
She brought her fingers to her lips, as if pretending to smoke an invisible cigarette. “So droll, Maximilian Drake. You come to a place of pleasure, looking for work. So predictable.” She exhaled. A faint wisp of something greenish streamed from her lips. It smelled of nothing, but I held my breath anyway.
Once, Vera had tried to convince me that the strange phenomenon was simply the fumes of too many secrets trying to escape her body. Too toxic, she insisted, holding on to so much forbidden knowledge, that the poison must be vented every now and again. I didn’t believe her.
But I definitely believed that she was the best source of intel in the city. She made me forget that the first half of spider wasn’t actually spelled with a Y, given how much information she had on just about everyone and everything in Dos Lunas. For the right price, of course. The Jade Spider’s wisdom didn’t come cheap.
How did she know? Who told her? That was the one detail Vera would never surrender, no matter the cost. She made plenty enough dispensing jobs to local finders, anyway. And not to brag, but I was fairly sure I was one of her favorites. It paid to be in the good graces of the jeweled spiders, these keepers of arcane secrets.
Her face glowed a pallid blue as she inspected her phone, so much smaller and slenderer than what I was used to. “I prefer to keep my technology lightweight,” she said, never removing her eyes from the screen, still perfectly aware that I was staring. “I only use it for calls and messages. Very easy to crush under a stiletto heel, too, in case I need to destroy it.”
Fair enough. The spiders probably made as many enemies as friends. Maybe some of them were even rival spiders.
“Ah, here it is.” Vera tapped at her screen, then twisted her mouth into an exaggerated pout. “But it says here that you’ve already taken a job, Maximilian. And you were supposed to turn it in tonight, too.”
“Yeah, about that. Sorry, Vera. Something came up. Two somethings, in fact. There was another finder there, and someone else, too. Snatched the bag before either of us could get to it.” I folded my hands together, huddling closer. “How come you didn’t tell me that you had a second person on the job?”
Vera recoiled like I’d said something to offend her. “Come now, Max. I like you and all, but you and I are hardly exclusive.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Vera’s eyes had suddenly lit up. And they weren’t focused on me, either, but on something over my shoulder. I turned to look at whoever had captured her attention. My reaction was very, very different. My muscles tensed, my blood ran cold.
The man from the Smith house slid into the booth, cheeks flushed from the cold of the night, maybe from rushing to the bar. His hair fell over his eyes in long, wild curls, as distracting for me as it was for him. He pushed it away from his forehead, blinked huge, brown eyes at Vera, pointedly avoiding my gaze.
“Sorry,” the man said, grinning from ear to ear, his smile almost as disarming as it was annoying. “I would have arrived sooner, but the lady at the door wouldn’t let me in. Said I looked too young. Must be my boyish charms.”
“Poor Leonardo.” Vera laughed as she twirled a lock of her hair, entranced by this interloper. “Sadly, Haruko isn’t working tonight, or she would have let you straight through. Sasha here is a bit more thorough. I hope she didn’t rough you up too much.”
I didn’t even notice a bouncer at the door. This one had been waiting past the entrance, the kind that lurked in the shadows and assessed everyone who stepped through those glass doors, performing the world’s fastest body scans. She frowned from behind the fronds of an exceptionally lush potted plant, blending into the dark in her pantsuit, prepared to lay a smackdown.
