28. Midnight Madness!

Why does everything have to be so complicated?

I never even saw Gwen for the rest of the day on Friday. I got one text from her in the afternoon, asking if I wanted to wait around for a ride home, but I just sort of forgot about it, since I knew I was going out anyway. Seriously, though, it's not as if I was actively ignoring her or anything.

So about an hour after I finished my shift, Gwen was leaving, and she saw me making small talk with Tim in his office, where Mr. Vaig - Alton - whatever - was supposed to meet us when he finished his press conference. She asked what I was still doing there, and I told her, because, look, it's not like it was some big secret. I was gonna call and let her know about it... eventually. I mean, I didn't even know what we were doing, or how late I would be. So she acts all impressed, but sort of put off by the whole thing, too, until - long story short - Tim winds up asking her if she'd like to join us.

Which... okay. Fine. It's just - the invitation coming from Tim makes me look bad. Besides, I was expecting maybe an upscale meal, a couple of drinks on the company dime, but with Gwen coming along, the whole thing would turn into an event. She even went back to her apartment for a shower and a change of clothes, which meant she started questioning why I wasn't doing the same thing. This is Denver, for chrissakes - I was wearing a button-up shirt. Tucked in, even.

An hour passed without any word from the boss-man, so I got a Westword from outside to kill a little time. When I got back to his office, Tim was getting off the phone.

"So, he's on his way. He said he had to change." He started mussing about with his shirt again, after all that time I spent talking him down. I told him not to worry about it, that I was sure we were dressed fine.

"Yeah, I guess," he said uncomfortably, "but the thing is, um... well, you're gonna need to call Gwen. Mr. Vaig just said - 'no girlfriends'."

"Aw, shit... are you kidding me?"

"I know, I know. But he sounded pretty firm. He wants us out front in ten minutes."

I spent the ride downstairs tentatively fingering my cell. Once we were out of the elevator, I got a couple yards distance from Tim so I could make my call.

"I'm really sorry. I would have figured that Tim cleared it with him first."

"Well, not your call, I guess. Tell Tim I said thanks, anyway."

Great. I made a joke that she probably wasn't missing out on much, that I was gonna be way out of my element, without a tie, or one of those shiny shirts like all the guys on "The Bachelor" wear. She told me not to worry about it, and we agreed we'd see each other the next night. I was so relieved by how cool she was with the whole thing that I had disconnected before realizing "the next night", I was supposed to be getting together with Kyle.

I was debating whether or not I should call her back when an immaculate black limo pulled up to the curb. It didn't occur to me that it was for us, until the chauffeur stepped around to open the rear door.

I didn't realize they still dressed like that. The little hat was pulled down low, but I could've sworn I recognized him. In the uniform, he looked a little like Kato, from that old masked hero drama on TV.

I figured the vehicle was just to take us to wherever our destination was - imagine my surprise when I saw Vaig himself sitting there, illuminated by the pulsating LED lights, with a half-empty tumbler in hand. He was still wearing the Nehru jacket from earlier, but it was now complimenting what were no doubt a pair of $200 jeans.

"What's up, boys? Come in, come in! Get yourselves a drink." The trademark menace in his voice was softened by a barely detectable slur.

Tim introduced me to Mr. Vaig ("Alton, please,"). It took a minute for recognition set in.

"Ah, yes, I do believe we already met; the stairwell, correct? Now, you realize that in our Manhattan office, we have a state of the art security system which recognizes each of our employee's DNA? That way, if anyone finds his way into an area which he's not authorized for, he'll be paralyzed instantly by one of the 50 million nanobots floating invisibly through the air, until he can be interrogated later by a member of my security personnel."

I nodded cautiously.

"So, why is it, that here in Denver, I can't even walk through the halls of my own company without a badge? I mean, come on! It's like a hall pass. What is this, fucking middle school?" He burst into laughter. "Am I right?"

The limo lurched forward, right as Tim was pouring his scotch and soda. And then, if I'm remembering this right - I think (think) that Alton Vaig leaned in close to me for one of those shoulder-bumping bro-hugs. I don't know, I may have dreamt that part.

"I really appreciate you being there for me, man..."

We drove around downtown for a while, Tim pointing out landmarks like a tour guide. I'm not really sure whether he was trying to match Vaig's buzz or just drown out his own nerves, but he was good and drunk within the next 30 minutes.

After we passed Coors Field, Vaig polished off his third drink since we got in the car. "Well, seeing as baseball season is over, perhaps you gentlemen would be up for some entertainment that's a bit more - shall we say - illicit?"
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As I've said before, I believe Denver's reputation as a "cow town" is unfounded. That said, if you're looking for a posh destination, where you can sit in the dark on animal-print cushions with your knees up to your chin while you drink overpriced martinis, you may be happier in an area code other than the 303. I mean, we have all that bullshit here, it's just that we never look more provincial than when we're trying to act all "big city" - more often than not, in some strip mall alongside a P.F. Chang's.

The Diamond Cabaret is Denver's premier strip-joint-steakhouse-with-a-nightclub-on-top, which means they cater to not just travelling salesmen and creepy politicians, but also the average douchebag wearing too much cologne and hair product, who can stumble downstairs for an eye full once they've figured out they bought a bad batch of roofies.

I have to admit, I felt a little bad for Tim. Sure, he had a few, but I think more than anything, the doorman - mad with the sort of power that people feel when they're wearing a bad suit and one of those secret-service earpieces - just didn't like the look of him. Regardless, Tim was told to walk around the block a few times, sober up, and come back later. I would've been more than happy to find someplace else (seeing as I didn't really want to be there at all) but Vaig had made up his mind.

So there I was, watching the drunk CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation stuff hundred dollar bills into every g-string that happened by, the "chauffeur" standing just behind us.

"Uh, thanks," I said, when paid for another round of drinks, "you sure you got these?"

"Please. What do we pay you people? Fifty, sixty thousand a year? It's the least I can do."

I recognized this as maybe the only window of opportunity I would get the whole night - opened just a crack, but there it was.

"So, uh, yeah... about that. With the hypercollider and all, I bet that's going to open up all sorts of new jobs."

"Hmm? Oh, yes, a few, I suppose."

"Oh. So, then, did you design it yourself?"

"In it's present form; but the potential has been there for some time, since the invention of the original 'death ray'." he said, a faraway look crossing his face, "Make no mistake: the collider wasn't reverse engineered from technology left behind by an alien race. It wasn't brought back in time, from some far off era. It is the product of purely human ingenuity. I'll tell you something, Joel: when you dabble on the fringes of science, they call you a 'mad doctor', a 'super villain'. Oh, I know - you've heard all the viscous rumors regarding my motives. That comes with the territory for any self-made man. But if there's one thing I simply cannot abide, it's being called super... are you going to get that?"

I had been ignoring the insistent buzzing of my cellphone, reluctant to interrupt Vaig's rant. A text from Tim: he was still downstairs, arguing with the doorman, which Vaig found patently hilarious.

"Ridiculous! He's going to miss out on all the fun!" Then, to the chauffeur: "Handle it, will you?"

"I will deal with it presently, Mr. Vaig," he said, nodding... but he stood exactly where he was.

"Now, Joel, we're not here to discuss work. Besides, it seems as if one of the dancers has taken an interest in you."

I sort of appreciated the confirmation; one particular redhead, wearing a gilded, neo-Victorian mask had, in fact, been staring me down for the last few minutes. She caught my eye, motioning me to join her.

"Ah, yes," Vaig said, handing me a wad of bills, "go on now, enjoy yourself!"

Reluctantly (yes, really), I did as he said. When I approached her, she grabbed me by the hand and pulled me to a small, personal table at the other side of the stage.

She straddled me and began to dance. She looked me right in the eye, but conspicuously, there was no smile. "Joel! What the hell are you doing here?"

I was speechless... until she brushed her hand on the light fixture alongside the table, delivering a tiny electric shock to my cheek with her fingertip.

"Me? What are you doing here?"

"All part of the job," she said, more pissed than embarrassed. After all, her usual togs are no less revealing than what she was wearing. "I've been tracking his every move since he came into town. Have you found anything out?"

"Uh, not really. I don't know, he seems to be an ass man..."

"Funny. Are you going anyplace, after this?"

"It's possible, I guess. Right now, one of our 'party' can't even get in the door. The chauffeur was supposed to go down and something about it, but..." I nodded in their direction, where the chauffeur stood in place, his eyes shut, as if in deep concentration.

There was a flash of recognition in her face: she dropped from the table and up onto the stage, interrupting the dancer there, who went crawling off the side. Lilywatt bent in half, down to her tall, fetish-y boots; when she was back to her full height, the signature whips were coiled at her sides.

The chauffeur's eyes snapped open, and he smiled, viciously. Suddenly, three "clones" of him appeared, one of him standing at each corner of the stage.

(Yeah, I know. What can I say? I must've been too nervous to realize it...)

Ignoring the copies, Lilywatt flung her whips toward the originator; one caught his ankle, and sent him flipping backwards onto a table. Vaig had vanished from the room.

The chauffeur was still conscious - his three clones had made their way on stage. She grabbed onto one of their necks and rammed his head onto the pole, then threw the body into another, sending the two copies down onto the floor. Behind her, the chauffeur's fourth clone appeared (his mission downstairs completed - or just interrupted?)

She was taken by surprise, the two clones bearing down on her, kicking her weapons away. She slipped out from underneath them and grabbed on the pole, swinging around it like a professional, kicking them both from the stage.

She released the bar and dropped down in front of the chauffeur. He blocked her lightning-quick sicsor-kick, and delivered one of his own to her chin, sending her flying back a few feet from punching range.

She recovered quickly - standing up just in time to see his sweeping, deliberate arm movements, the opening and closing of his hands. The defeated clones vanished, then replaced by four more, ready to attack...

Gunshots rung out - the sound blaring over the music from the abandoned deejay booth. When I looked up from the table, the clones were all gone, and the chauffeur was lying face-down on the floor, dead.

Alton Vaig was still holding the gun as he faced Lilywatt. She looked around at the few of us who remained, glancing at me only a second longer, before shouting "All of you, out of here! NOW!"
______________________

I found Tim outside. He told me how the chauffeur had been roughing up the door man, but disappeared into thin air before doing too much damage (down there, anyway). I talked him into sneaking away with me, convincing him that we didn't want to risk being "accomplices", or saying anything that we'd have to explain to Vaig, later. He agreed, and we said our goodbyes in an alley outside the club.

I walked home to my empty apartment, threw up a couple of times, and slept until noon - ignoring the calls I got from Gwen.

She'll get the story when she picks me up to go out tonight, anyway.