Chapter 1
“We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;”
1
Seen from outside, the building was a low concrete structure, large windows blacked out and barred. It was possibly once a department store but the sign was long gone, screw holes and crumbling concrete the only evidence that is had once been there. The front doors also consisted primarily of blacked out windows and bars, but they were also backed by two formidably large men. Both were beefy men in their early thirties, bald heads shining in the unrelenting Albuquerque sun, one of them sporting a large goatee. As Mel approached they loosened their stances and greeted her affably, opening the door for her and then resuming throwing threatening looks at passersby.
As she entered she was momentarily blinded in a low ceilinged, dark hallway. Although she couldn't see anything she knew sensors were scanning her every inch for weapons. The knife jammed into her knee high stiletto boots was in the databanks as acceptable but any additional weapons would immediately set off an alarm in the back and lock her in the darkness. These days,you couldn't be too careful. She had nothing else, and a blacklight came on allowing her to see the door, which opened for her easily.
After adjusting in the hall, the dim light of the club was easy to see by, a multitude of colors swirling and flashing around her, reflecting off mirrors and the shiny pates of elderly customers. There weren't too many of these nowadays. Most had either died during the early days of the plague or later on, when their retirement money disappeared along with the government and they were too old for the kind of work required in this new world. Living another day was exhausting, and most of them couldn't cut it. Still, the sly and strong among them remained, and brought their little remaining money here.
She made a quick bee line for the bar, giving the occasional cheerful “hey” to girls and regulars as she passed. She went through a door marked “employees only” and was forced to adjust her eyes again to deal with the brightness of the dressing room. Mirrors and counters lined two of the walls, with a series of light bulbs over the mirrors. She should have been surprised that they were never short of light bulbs, since she couldn't imagine any factories were still running in the US, but her bosses always were good at “finding” things they needed. Makeup to sell to the girls, cloth so they could make new outfits, drugs of every kind you could want – or wouldn’t want – and, apparently, light bulbs.
The other two walls were covered in lockers, most padlocked but some open as their owners got ready for work, and a door leading upstairs to the office. Mel made her way to one of these and unlocked it with a key from around her neck, and pulled a bag out of her locker. Time to get to work.
Mel's community had a lot going for it; protection, friends, a safe place for your shit, and people who left you the fuck alone. One thing it didn't have, however, was showers. Luckily the Double D (apparently the name derived from the owner's initials, despite the obvious jokes one could make from it) did have showers; and instead of paying to use it like most public bathrooms, she was the one getting paid. The showers consisted of a large room with several spigots coming down from the ceiling and a couple large drains on the floor. One wall was lined with hooks and shelves for your stuff, another was a clear sheet of glass. Depending if the watchers added in tips or not, she usually made about twenty bucks just for taking a shower. The stupid things men will pay for, even now, she thought with a inward laugh of derision.
The only girl in there at the moment was Tia, who had logic defying hair. It was thick and dark and flowed down just past the curve of her ass. Makeup and hair products had to be shipped in from other countries and bought on the black market (not that there was much legitimate market these days, aside from NYOS) and were very expensive. Her hair must run through at least a bottle of conditioner a month.
Tia smiled and waved cheerfully. “Hi honey!” she called briefly and turned back to getting ready. She was a stunning Asian woman, her eldest child 18 and yet she didn't fit the washed out old stripper stereotype. For once, she was newer to dancing than Mel, only having done it for a month. For another, she also had skin that seemed to defy the same logic as her hair. It didn't seem to have a single wrinkle or blemish, making her seem closer to Mel's age than she actually was. It was if there was some magic involved, Tia must be some kind of fey creature, and she giggled a little inside about the absurdity of that before setting her bag down and starting to get ready herself.