Franky lounged in the DumDum Lounge nursing his drink, nursing his headache, and thinking about nurses. Nurses, sterile white-robed angels dispensing drugs and sponge baths, made him think of Nik.
Nikolina Stravinski was a Russian expatriate. She left when her father, physicist Feliks Stravinski, defected before the war to avoid the confiscation of his notes on antigravity. Once in America, Feliks, a true capitalist at heart, went into business for himself and reaped tremendous profits from the Stravinski effect. Nikolina, being Daddy’s Little Princess, was the recipient of this wealth when her father died. She spent most of her time bumming around the free world, smuggling more often than not. For the thrill of it, she said.
Franky first met Nik in Sydney when he was on tour with the Rabbid Rabbis, shortly before they blew themselves up in Bangkok. He’s let he backstage to meet the band and she was very appreciative. They’d been seeing each other off and on over the last few years. Nothing serious, just a tumble whenever they happened to meet.
She’d called him last week from Kashmir saying she really needed to see him. She wouldn’t say why. Probably wants me to hold some more shit for her, he thought.
Franky didn’t need any more problems; he had a lot as it was and his recent headache fixation had turned him into an aspirin addict. He was pale; his black lipstick and eyeliner accentuated the pallor. He sprawled across the confines of the booth, his shaved head against the shifting colors of the wall and his spurred boots on the table. ROWEL SCRATCHING THE WOOD.
His mirrored magnigoggles his his intense gaze, slowly scraping across the blue tabletop. It was smooth to the casual glance, but to Franky’s magnified vision it was pitted and gouged, scarred like the surface of the moon.
Franky was hypnotized again.
He saw himself at a party he had been to last month at Debra Smythe-Wingate’s mansion. She had been Nik’s lover but they’d broken up over Nik’s recurring heterosexuality and her involvement with Franky. Oddly enough, he and Deb had become friends.
Franky heard about the party on the news and had wondered at his lack of an invitation, so he crashed it. He had been at the bar only a moment when he was tapped on the shoulder.
Busted, he thought. He turned around and his eyes widened as he took in the tuxedoed megalith of a bouncer before him. He tried not to panic. “It’s cool. I’m leaving.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir,” the big man said in a gentle voice incongruous with his appearance. “The mistress wishes to see you. Follow me, please.” The giant turned and walked away, the crowd gave him plenty of room. Franky followed.
They went to the second floor and down a long hallway the end of which were ornately carved doors of teak inlaid with platinum. The mountain knocked and led him in.
“Mr. Bach, m’lady,” he said to the tall redhead on the balcony. He left, closing the door behind him.
“Franky!” the woman squealed, turning around. Her face was leonine, an effect intensified by the mane of red hair. Her green eyes had a subtle epicanthic fold and she had a way of blinking them slowly in a way that drove men, and women, mad with passion. her hair had been jet black spikes the last time he had seen her.
She walked to him with long, graceful strides, the slits up the sides of her metallic evening gown revealing tanned leg with each step. Franky expected a peck and was surprised when her tongue slipped between his lips. He recovered quickly, however, and returned the gesture in earnest. He had his hands on her back and was just bout to move then down TO HER FABULOUS ASS when she pulled away.
“Long time, no see,” she said after a deep breath.
“You’re looking good, Deb. Or should I say m’lady?”
“Oh, pleeeease,” she said. “Let’s go out on the balcony. It’s such a beautiful night.” He followed her outside.
It was a beautiful night. The moon hung low and orange in a cloudless sky. Deb lived in the Hills, a posh neighborhood on the outskirts of town. The houses were mostly underground and Franky saw nothing but forest down to the brightly lit city.
“Let’s sit,” she said as she swung up and sat on the stone railing in one fluid movement. She kicked her bare feet back and forth over the abyss. “Hop up.”
He did, although less gracefully than she. He looked down to see that the balcony was built into a small cliff and the ground was a few hundred feet below. They sat for a minute listening to the night until Franky broke the silence.
“So what about this m’lady business?’
She looked at him and theatrically wiped a nonexistent tear from her eye. “It’s a pretty tragic story, actually. I was in Europe last year and married a duke. He got his Dukedom and I got unlimited credit, a butler, and a small Caribbean island I’ve never even been to. You want it?”
“Want what?
“The island. Do you want it? I don’t and I think you might need a place to get away from it all.”
“What do you mean?’
“Have you talked to Nik recently?”
“No.”
“Well, I was in Houston last week and got picked up by Interpol. They had questions about Nik. Our affair was pretty public, you know. Apparently she’s mixed up with some kind of terrorist group, The Friends of JFK, and they pissed of the wrong people.”
“What happened?”
“They nuked Dallas. The Texas president put out a $500K bounty for each one delivered. Dead or alive, of course.”
“How wild west,” Franky commented.
“Quite. Interpol had an inside man that was snuffed just before the operation. He had already fingered Nik and a few others.”
“The fuzz told you all this?”
“I’ve got resources of my own.”
“Shit.” Franky said eloquently. “I told her this would happen if she kept srewing around like that. She told me to fuck off.”
“Yeah, she was always stubborn.” Deb held out a ring.
“What’s that?”
“The royal seal of the Isle od Driscoll, your island. Hold out your right hand.” Franky complied and she slipped it in his ring finger. “I now pronounce thee Duke Regent of the Isle od Driscoll. Long live the King!”
Franky laughed. How about a celebratory drink, m’lady?’
“I’d love one, m’lord.”
Her head exploded all over him.
Franky sat up with a start and pulled off his goggles with shaking hands. Bits and pieces came back to him. The body, the fuzz, the questions, the funeral. I must’ve blocked it all out, he thought. Repression. He remembered missing about a week, but that happened all the time and he’d thought nothing about it. He looked at his hands. The ring! He’d been wearing it since that night and hadn’t even noticed.
Still shaking, he popped a handful of aspirin and washed it down with the remainder of his drink. He punched his credit number into the drinkbox and ordered a Tequila Sunrise. A moment later the dinkbox buzzed and the drink slid out. He downed it in one gulp. Where is that bitch? he wondered just as Nik walked in.
she glided across the floor, her spike heels silent on the carpeted floor. Her blond hair was in a ponytail, pulled back from her face. Slate gray eyes darted around the room and she kept looking behind her as if followed or pursued. She walked up to Franky’s booth and stood there, her long, lean model’s body wrapped in a minidress of tight white plastic.
“Have a seat,” Franky said, vaguely waving his hand. “Long time, no see.”
She sat across from him. “You look like hell, Franky. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Great.”
“I’m so glad. Franky, I’ve got to talk to you about something important.” Nik kept her hands under the table and wouldn’t look at him. Franky sighed and decided to finish the game.
“You killed her.” He was simply stating a fact. “And now it’s my turn.”
“I’m sorry, Franky. They made me.” She sounded sincere.
The nanosecond before Nik pulled the trigger Franky turned her off. He reached into her head with long mental lips and sucked out her mind. Her eyes dimmed and Franky rubbed his temples as his head began to throb mercilessly. Reaching again for his bottle of bliss, Franky took another handful of aspirin, dry.
“May I help you, sir?” The lady behind the airport counter asked.
“I’d like a seat on the next flight to the Caribbean,” Franky said, toying with his ring.
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