The Hunted Assassin (21 page)

The airlock opened, and they stepped through the docking ring and into the space station. Jaxon led them aboard, handing his falsified travel documents to the attendant at the security line.

The man was dressed in a charcoal-colored jumpsuit with an orange insignia embroidered on his sleeves. After only a few moments of scrutinizing the documents, he handed them back to Jaxon.

“Next,” the attendant said, dismissing Jaxon.

Jaxon hesitated briefly, but when it was clear that they expected him to continue on into the station before Camille could step forward, he reluctantly left her behind.

Jaxon wandered to the edge of the moderately sized atrium just beyond the security checkpoint. He looked up and saw three levels of casinos, bars, and restaurants, all located above the shopping district that meandered around the main level. It was all quite similar to the promenade on his own Taloo Station. Moments later, Camille joined Jaxon, having passed through security without protest.

“Listen, I didn’t say anything earlier, but as long as you’re paired with me, we’ll have to be more alert because of the potential of another assassination attempt,” Jaxon said.

Camille leaned on the rail, the warmth of her arm touching Jaxon’s. “That goes without saying,” she said. “If I had a problem with it, I would’ve asked to be paired up with Miles.”

Jaxon breathed a sigh of relief, not knowing exactly what to expect from her. In the brief time that they’d been around each other, her emotions had been quite scattered, and he couldn’t blame her. He could only imagine the emotional roller coaster that she’d been on recently.

“Wow. This is … not quite what I was expecting,” Camille said, looking up at the many levels of flashing neon lights and scores of people living on the edge. “I assumed from all of the cautionary tales that both you and the director mentioned that the outer ring would be a dingy and dangerous place. This looks … quite fun.”

“Yeah, it does have a certain fascinating feel to it. The ambiance certainly is welcoming, and the sounds from the casino of all the winning slot machines definitely promote frivolity. But it’s all just smoke and mirrors,” Jaxon said. “It’s all just a guise to loosen your grip from your hard-earned money. There’s more crime and corruption per square meter of this place than there is back on earth, all the states of the US combined.”

“Huh,” Camille muttered. “You’d never guess it.”

After a few more moments of gazing up at the scenery, Jaxon said, “Shall we proceed?”

“But shouldn’t we wait for the boys?”

“Meh, they’re grown men. They know the plan, and Miles will no doubt be familiar with a place like this.”

“Okay then. I guess I’ll follow you.”

Jaxon led Camille through the crowd of the shopping district, where they found a stairway leading up a level to the bars. Walking past several recognizable establishments, they crossed into an entirely different atmosphere. It was like walking from a world of safety and innocence into another, laced with danger and corruption, as they turned down a side street.

“Well? Do you have a preference?” Jaxon asked, motioning to the dozens of themed strip clubs along the walkway.

“One is as good as the next, right?” Camille asked, clearly out of her element.

Jaxon nodded and walked toward the entrance of the nearest club. The sign above the entrance flashed Diamond Bell Emporium in blue neon lights.

After paying a small cover charge, they walked into a dark, smoky hallway that opened up into a room lit with black lights on nearly every surface.

Once inside, there were two bars—one straight ahead, on the far side of the club, and one tucked into the left, just near the exit. It was no doubt to tempt the departing customers into having one last drink before they hit the road.

There were four dance tables arranged in a diamond shape throughout the club. Besides the immediate seating at those stages, there were a dozen or so smaller cocktail tables interspersed.

More neon lights decorated the walls for accent while several colored spotlights drew attention to the individual dancers. Music bumped throughout the club, giving the dancers something to gyrate too.

Jaxon led Camille to a small table just away from the immediate crowd. It was situated near a curtained-off doorway, most likely leading to the private entertainment facilities.

Jaxon took a seat and motioned for Camille to sit to his left. Their backs were against the wall, and as soon as Jaxon could, he caught the attention of a waitress to bring them some drinks.

“You think it wise that we drink something being mixed out of our sight?” Camille asked. “I’ve heard stories about bartenders in places like this spiking the drinks with something, then the guy wakes up several hours later with empty pockets and an open fly, and no idea what happened.”

Jaxon smiled and winked. “That’s why we only order bottled beer. But you certainly paint a vivid picture.”

As if on cue, a scantily clad waitress came by and took their drink order before disappearing to the back bar.

Camille leaned over to Jaxon to speak more discreetly. “So, how do we do this? Do we just ask the next person that comes by where we can buy us some drugs?”

Jaxon shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. My bet is the real information will come from one of the strippers. They’re most likely strung out as it is, and they’ll be more likely to bleed the information out if we ply them with a handful of credits.”

“So, what? Do we just go up there and … give them money?”

“That’s usually how strip clubs work. If we play it right, they’ll come to us. The glory of the side table is that you can make eye contact with just about any one of the girls, and as soon as their set is over, they’ll pay us a visit. If they’re interested, that is.”

Camille sat back up and looked across the club at the women dancing. She had a frown on her face. Not quite of disgust, but out of curiosity.

“What are you thinking?” Jaxon asked.

“I don’t know. It’s just … how is it that these women become strippers in the first place? How is it that they’re okay with selling their bodies to drunk, arrogant men?”

“I don’t think these dancers are actually selling their bodies,” Jaxon said in defense.

“Oh? These are dancers?” Camille asked sarcastically.

“Yes, they are, but not the kind of dancers at your ballet. These are dancers for hire, I guess. They’re just selling an image of their body but not the body itself.”

“So that makes it okay with you? To give these women money to show you their naughty parts?”

“Hey, don’t blame me. Strip clubs have been around for hundreds of years, and I bet these women make more money than you or I did last year. Besides, it’s a young woman’s profession. After a certain age …” Jaxon stopped, thinking about the path of the conversation, and decided to curtail it before he said the wrong thing.

Camille looked at him quizzically. “And? What happens when they hit that age limit?”

Before Jaxon had a chance to respond, the waitress returned with their beers and Jaxon paid her, giving her a handsome tip. She winked at him before continuing on to her next customer. Jaxon tipped his bottle back, drawing a cool stream of beer into his mouth.

After several moments of silence between them, Camille leaned over again and spoke. “So, tell me, Jax. Which of these ladies is your type these days?”

Jaxon surveyed the four dancers up on stage for several minutes. “I guess I don’t really have a type. But if I had to choose, I guess I would opt for a woman that was fit, not too tall, but not too short. Perhaps with brunette hair, down just past her shoulders, and blue eyes if possible.” Jaxon had just described Camille, almost to a T. “But then again, beggars can’t be choosers in this market.” He winked.

Camille continued to eye the various dancers, either electing to ignore Jaxon’s description of herself, or simply scrutinizing the various women types in the club. “They certainly do come in all shapes and sizes,” she said, resting her arm against his. “And ages,” she continued. “Jesus, is she even thirteen?”

Jaxon followed Camille’s gaze and found a very young girl on the far table. She had already dropped her top and was moving rhythmically to the music. Her breasts were clearly not fully developed, and it pained him to see the spectacle. As he continued to watch, his eyes rose up to her face, and he was startled at the similarities to that of his own daughter. Granted, to the picture of his daughter that was loaded on his commPad. It was clear that the girl wasn’t his daughter, but what frightened him most was the fact that it very well could have been Celeste.

Suddenly, walking across the club, Jaxon saw another young girl. She was around sixteen or seventeen—about the same age as Celeste—who had more striking similarities to her as well. Jaxon leaned forward slightly, until he got a better look at her face. “My, God. It can’t be,” he said, his face white as a ghost.

34

The young girl turned toward Jaxon and smiled from across the room. As soon as they made eye contact, Jaxon thankfully realized that his mind was playing tricks. It wasn’t her. He’d convinced himself that it was, simply because he was so powerless to help her. And, until they completed the mission, he would remain useless.

Jaxon drew his attention to the table closest to them. He wanted the image of his daughter out of his mind. Just the thought of the possibility that his daughter could be lost in a place like this caused his heart to race. He sat up and took another drink of his beer. He could feel his skin flush with anger.

“Jaxon, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s … I’ll tell you later.”

Forcing himself to recover, Jaxon looked at the woman on the near table more closely. She was a tall blonde, with enormous double E breasts. Not at all his type, but they needed to make headway. He pulled out his credit stick and laid it on the table next to his beer, certain that she noticed his action. Jaxon winked, and she smiled in return.

Jaxon leaned back and noticed that Camille was watching his every move. He leaned into her and said, “The bait is set,” nodding to the voluptuous blonde that had just finished her dance set.

No words were spoken for several minutes as they waited for the stripper to approach. As predicted, she arrived at their table once she had gathered all the tips scattered across the stage.

The dancer, now redressed in a red, sequined mini-dress and crystal-clear, six-inch spike heels, smiled.

“Hi there, I’m Misty,” she said. “Are you two looking for some company?”

“Absolutely,” Camille said eagerly, then slid out the empty chair across from her and Jaxon.

As she sat down, she continued to eye Jaxon’s credit stick lying on the table before them. “Are you two here for business or pleasure?”

Jaxon was about to respond when Camille cut in.

“A little bit of both. We had a conference earlier, but now we’re out to have a little fun, before … returning to our significant others back home,” Camille said. leaning in close to Misty as if sharing a great secret.

Jaxon was taken by surprise at Camille’s quickness in drumming up a believable cover on the spot.

“Hey now,” Jaxon protested mildly. “Let’s not share too much personal information with Misty. We just met her, and who knows who she might tell?” He winked.

“Don’t worry, mister. I’ve heard it all. Your secret’s safe with me,” Misty said, returning his wink. Then she looked back to Camille, who had clearly captured her attention. Seeing a woman in such a male-dominated environment was not the norm. “Have you been to Alpha Station before?” she asked.

Camille answered Misty’s questions as they settled into a nice conversation. As the ladies talked, Jaxon’s training took over, and he proceeded to scan the club for questionable characters and exit pathways. It had been a few days since the last assassination attempt, and he wasn’t exactly sold on whether or not they were out of danger.

Before returning his attention back to the girls, he noticed a new dancer stepping up onto the table where Misty just left. Jaxon’s heart nearly burst at the sight of yet another young teen dancer. Jaxon was dumbfounded because this one looked almost younger than the first girl they saw on the other table.

“I don’t want to sound too forward,” Jaxon said, interrupting the girls’ conversation. “But, is there any chance we can get a … private performance?”

“Absolutely!” Misty said with excitement. “For you, or the missus?” she asked.

“Both,” Camille said as she weaved her fingers into Jaxon’s hand sitting on the table.

“All right,” Misty said. “Just so you know, I’ll have to charge a little more, seeing as we’re making this a threesome, but I’m sure that won’t be a problem, right?” she asked, her eyes falling on Jaxon’s credit stick once again.

Jaxon was more than happy to dial up the extra credits on his device before tapping it onto Misty’s credit receiver, which was disguised as a necklace pendant around her neck.
Her tip jar,
so to speak. Jaxon would’ve paid twice as much if it got his mind off of his missing daughter.

Misty smiled gleefully as she led Jaxon and Camille past the velvet curtain, practically dragging Camille by the hand. Jaxon followed and noted the light dimming as they stepped into the other room.