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Nightlife

The word, “Nightclub,” generally conjures up a different image nowadays of a dark, crowded room with a dance floor; in order to enter, you’ll need to pay a cover fee and then, once inside, you awkwardly shuffle over to the bar and order a ten dollar drink, before getting herded onto the dance floor, colliding and banging into people before getting the bare minimum of room to dance. It’s an awful lot of work to go through, when, let’s face it, you’re there to get lucky. Why else would you be there?

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve certainly been to such a place and enjoyed myself. But “The Fur-Coat,” was something else, either from a by-gone era or having always been there, but above my pay-grade. Dark wood paneling lined the walls with spiraling, brass supports crawling out of the walls, cupping soft, dim lamps. A set of stairs led further down, towards the dance floor and the stage, lined with different levels circling around the room, with round tables, each with empty, silver candle-sticks. On the top level, there were private booths, covered up by burgundy curtains. I had a hard time imagining Patty attending such a place, even if he was related to the owner and just going there to get, in his words, “Furry pussy.”

There was still a cover charge and a dress-code on top of that. Thankfully, as it was before opening hours, I just had to get past a bored-looking hostess, rather than a well-dressed neanderthal of a bouncer. It took almost no effort to track down the owner, being the only man in the club, nervously smoking a thin cigar while sitting on the edge of the stage.

“Mr. Grimes, I presume?”

He looked up at me as I climbed down the stairs towards the dance floor. Rit would be disappointed, he didn’t look much like Humphrey Bogart, looking about ten years older with graying hair, and having a strange, ugly scar running from the corner of his lip to his ear, “You presume a lot.”

“Well, you’re smoking,” I nodded towards a conveniently placed No Smoking sign on a nearby column, “So I figured you owned the place.”

“Shit!” He grabbed a saucer from behind him on the stage and stubbed out the cigar on it, “It’s funny, these furballs, they buy cigars by the crate-full and complain that you can’t smoke inside here, but if you so much as take a puff ten hours before opening time, you’ll have one of them sniff the air with those big noses of theirs and complain about the smell, and then soon enough, the whole place is whining about it, even the damned humans.”

“They can smell things better.”

“Then why do they all have a serious body-odor problem? Especially the Vulpies? You don’t see them complaining about that.”

It was true that my apartment had a musky scent lingering in it ever since Rit moved in, but after awhile the smell became kind of appealing. “Some say it’s an acquired taste.”

“Guess so. Can’t complain, these are my customers,” he grabbed my hand and shook it, “Just call me Grimes. You must be Nate?”

“Yeah. Please to meet you.”

“Enough chatter,” he motioned towards a door on the far side of the room, “Let’s get to work.”

He led me through the door and up a flight of stairs, eventually leading into an immaculate meeting room with polished wood furniture and a bar with crystal tumblers and a selection of high-range booze. Flat-screen televisions showing video footage of the club at peak hours were broadcasting in each corner.

And lying in the center of the room, atop the table, was an old, dusty IBM case with a, thankfully modern, monitor connected to it. If I had to guess, it was from the mid-90’s.

“Alright, what happens when you try to turn it on?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? No noise, no fans, no lights?”

“Nothing.”

If we were lucky, it would be just the power supply. But with a machine this old, anything was possible and getting replacement parts would be not likely, that is, if were were intent on making the thing fully authentic, which the average alien enthusiast was not likely to tell the difference. There was even a Regulian “Human Computer Expert,” who wrote a huge paper about the “Human Computer Dark Age,” that we’ve lost all traces of, citing the fact that there are about 80+ versions of Windows that we have no records of, citing the newest, Windows 10 and comparing to Windows 95.

On the other hand, there were plenty of ones who took their obsession to the next level and said people eventually laughed this “Expert” of a job, and as I was working with a human, rather than an alien, I had no way of judging whether the people he was trying to impress were experts or mere enthusiasts.

So, I had to be honest.

“I can’t really give a guarantee on this machine as it’s very old. I’ll do an examination and give an estimate,” I cleared my throat, “I do charge an hour’s time minimum and...”

“I’ll pay you, fix or not. I told you, I know your rates and I told you, if you fix it, you get a private booth, any night you want, and company,” Grimes paused, pointing a finger at me, “No sex in the club.”

“I, uh, I already have someone,” I paused before muttering, “Sort of...”

I whipped out my screwdriver, unplugged the tower, and took off the screws on the back and slid off the cover, causing a storm of dust to fly out and a swarm of baby spiders who crawled over my hand.

“Christ!” I screamed, slammed my hand against the table, flinging and crushing most of the arachnids. This was not good. It was clear that this machine had not been turned on in a long time.

“Great,” Grimes muttered, pulling out a cigar before cursing and putting it back, “Now I gotta get a cleaner and pest control before tonight.”

There was still a huge layer of dust all over the motherboard and the other parts, I couldn’t even tell the year of its make, let alone the damned color of the board. Taking out a can of compressed air from my bag, I took aim inside the case, “You mind?”

“Go ahead. That damned dog’s already going to smell this shit unless I get it cleaned, might as well blow the whole thing out.”

The can hissed and a cloud of gray tunneled out, caking the surface of the table. Groaning, I saw just how old the computer was. The motherboard was designed for Pentium I’s, which placed it at 93 at the earliest. These weren’t uncommon as far as outdated computers went, but they weren’t easy to fix; at least it wasn’t anything really unique like an Apple II or a Commodore 64. It was still familiar ground.

I disconnected and removed the power supply. Grabbing a spare one from my bag, I connected it. My spare power supply did not fit in the case, so I just left it running outside with the wires tracing into the case. It looked unprofessional as hell, but it was just a test.

“Grimes, this could honestly take hours,” I pressed the power button. “Even if this part works, there’s no guarantee...”

The fans whirred to life followed by a single beep. The monitor flashed on, displaying an old friend, the Windows 95 start-up logo.

“Holy shit,” I muttered.

I kept waiting for something to slap me in the face, like a blue screen of death or a memory failure, it was to be expected, but then the start menu appeared along with the desktop, which, funny enough, had a black background with red text proclaiming, “YOUR COMPUTER IS INFECTED!” As the wallpaper.

“Should we be concerned?” Grimes asked.

“Just don’t connect it to the internet. There’s no Wi-Fi on this thing, so as long as you don’t plug it in, you don’t have anything to worry about. It’s probably bullshit and I highly doubt it could spread to a newer computer anyways.”

“Kid, you’re a life-saver,” Grimes slapped me on the shoulder, “That crotch-sniffer’ll be real impressed.”

“Well, we should probably talk about getting a proper power supply. This one doesn’t fit.”

“Naw, it’ll do for now. Don’t have time, I’ve got to get ready for tonight,” Grimes, for his part, hit shut-down on the computer and was only mildly confused when it told him that it was safe to power off the machine, before turning it off, “You should come tonight. There’s a Vulpy princess, honest to God, reserving a table tonight and rumor has it, she has a thing for skinny human men.” Grimes nudged me in the ribs, “Seriously though, I can get a suit rented for you if you can’t make it home in time.”

Honestly, with the amount of check-points, if I were to go home now it would have been a wasted day, while if I were to go another day, that would have been another wasted day on top of that. There was really no point in saying no.

After a quick suit rental and a cup of coffee, I arrived at the club dressed up in a black suit with a white shirt, a standard choice for a night out, but I wasn’t really in the mood to try out anything more daring and it was on someone else’s dime.

There was a long line-up and it was still light out. Recognizing me somehow, the big mountain of flesh in a tuxedo guarding the door flagged me down and let me in. I was greeted by a significantly less bored-looking hostess and led into a significantly more crowded night-club with humans and aliens intermingling, though what few private booths that weren’t cordoned off, were almost entirely populated by aliens. I got seated at my booth, which had a perfect view of the center stage and placed my drink order, a Manhattan, which was placed on the table in just over a minute. Good service.

Feeling a little awkward, I sat at the edge of the booth, trying to get lost in the music. It was playing some kind of Jazz or something similar, I wasn’t really up on my music genres and being as the club was filled with people with sensitive, pointy ears, the bands no doubt had to be careful not to include musical notes that might irritate them, leaving the music pretty conservative and soft. But then, I suppose that added to the ambiance.

Still, it was uncomfortable being alone. I thought to myself that I should have asked Grimes to get someone to pick up Rit, but I wasn’t too keen on the idea of her being alone in a car with Patty and she had work to do.

Work that I wasn’t paying her for.

I didn’t have a chance to start moping as a heavy, furry face nuzzled up against mine and smelled.

Recoiling, I turned my head and saw the familiar, and disconcertingly hostile-looking, ‘smile’ of Prince Shalth.

“Nate! It’s good to see you again!”

Sighing, I relaxed a little. I had already been to one party with way too much interest in me from alien men and wasn’t really in the mood for another. Shalth was okay, as far as I was concerned, “You too. I never had a chance to thank you for...”

“No need!” Shalth sat down across from me, “Thank you as well!”

“For what?”

“For the beer.”

I stared back at him.

He continued, “When you do a favor for a human, they return the favor by buying you a drink, yes?”

“Uh, yeah, a lot of us do that.”

“And you were busy and your door was unlocked, so I went inside and helped myself.”

“Okay, Shalth, we also believe in privacy and you have to wait for the human to make the offer.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s not polite.”

“I see. Nate, I think I owe you a beer.”

“Six, actually...”

Shalth raised his paw and flagged down a waitress, “Six beers for my friend, Nate!”

The waitress, a cute, Chinese girl with a French Bob asked, “What brand?”

“Ironhorse! My favorite!” Shalth turned to me, “The stuff you had wasn’t as good.”

“We don’t serve that.” Of course they wouldn’t. Shalth was essentially asking for ghetto beer, the cheapest and nastiest you could get here, ironically it actually taste like licking a rusty train engine. Regulian taste-buds were strange.

I cut in, “Just make it a pitcher of whatever lager you have and we’ll call it even.”

She left and returned shortly, pouring both of us a glass before returning to her other tables.

Taking a sip, I nearly cringed. It did not go well with my cocktail at all, but it was Shalth’s order, so I had to abide by it.

A thought occurred to me, “Shalth, you visited my house.”

He nodded.

“I have a Vulpeculan s...staying with me and I asked her if she smelled anyone strange. She said she could only smell human.”

“Ah,” he pulled out a small bottle from a pocket in his suit, “Makes me smell like a human. You smell good, you know. Salty.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Why were you worried about someone breaking in?”

“Well, I came home from the party and the door was unlocked...wait a minute,” I had a sudden realization, “Shalth, you said the door was unlocked! Did you see anything unusual?”

“Yes. Nate, you had a strange machine on your counter, it had a wand attached to it and I couldn’t figure out how to work it. It smelled bitter, really bitter.”

“That’s an espresso machine!” I snapped, “I mean, did it look like anyone broke in? Or smells! Did you smell anything unusual!?”

“Human. That’s all.”

“Are you sure? Nothing else?”

“I’m sure...”

A familiar voice, one I had just heard not too long ago, suddenly spoke up just outside the booth, “Well, well, if it isn’t Nate.”

Quickly, I turned, only for my vision to be taken up entirely by a large, black nose. I closed my eyes as it nuzzled up against my eye, before retreating with a quick lick. Opening my eyes, I confirmed the voice belonged to the brown-furred Sirian I expected.

Argus was not alone though. As he went over to greet Shalth, someone else jumped into view and shot their head towards my cheek. It didn’t take long for me to realize this person had a significantly shorter face and much less fur than the average alien.

With a heavy sniff, the human pulled away and I got a good look at him. It was surreal, like looking into a mirror, or rather, a trick-mirror that somehow made you look about ten years younger. He looked exactly like me, thin-faced with a short crop of brown hair, even having some freckles on his nose, which I used to have, but they faded when I was eighteen or so. But the biggest different was, underneth his plain, white shirt, was the plain, steel collar around his neck, with a loop on the front of it, likely for a leash or chain.

I was so stunned that I couldn’t even muster up an insult. It took Argus growling and whispering something in his ear, which caused him to look downward submissively, before he backed away.

“Nate,” Argus began. Shalth scooted to the inside of the booth as Argus and his pet sat down, “This is Rawk.”

I couldn’t break my gaze from the slave. Except for when he was admonished, he was grinning like a happy puppy the whole time, and even when he was scolded, you could sometimes hear a whine and you half-expected his ears to lower, as ridiculous as it sounded.

“A pleasure,” I did not hold my hand out, not because he was a slave, but because I was feeling a little uncomfortable about the implications behind this recent acquisition of Argus’s, “What, uh, what was your original name?”

“Rawk,” Argus interrupted firmly.

“I see. And you’re, uh...”

“I’m Master Argus’s loyal slave!” He said cheerfully, leaning his head against the Sirian’s shoulder, “I’d do anything for him! He’s so good to me!”

The waitress stopped by, leaving behind a glass for Argus and, after getting his approval, one for Rawk, and poured them some beer, then one for myself; it seems that I had drank my glass dry already without even realizing it. Not a good habit to get into, but could I really help myself? I was having drinks with the rich alien I spurned and a younger, more submissive clone of myself.

“It’s not, uh, weird or anything?”

Argus cast me a quick glance.

“No!” Rawk exclaimed, taking a tiny sip of his beer, “I had a pet German Shepherd growing up that looked just like master, so it’s kind of fun being on the other end of the leash!”

“Wow! Uh...” I exclaimed, trying very hard not to cringe. I had to get out of there, if only for a moment, “...that beer is really going through me! Anyone know where the washroom is?”

Shalth pointed them out to me, but not before we shared a cross-cultural exchange of what humans and Regulians use for indicating male and female washrooms. Apparently they use a little Regulian with a mane on their men’s rooms doors as opposed to a mane-less one for the ladies room, while he was confused as to why a skirt meant it was a female human. This was actually kind of interesting and I almost wanted to stay and chat, but then I saw Rawk begging Argus for a scratch behind the ear and I was instantly uncomfortable once again and darted out of there.

The washroom was pristine with smoothed granite-lined walls. It was more modern than the rest of the club, but still keeping with the stylish presentation of the rest of it. I almost expected to see a bathroom attendant.

Unfortunately, there was someone else there.

A Sirian was standing in front of the mirror, applying make-up to her lips. She had a coat of brown fur all over her, except for a small, black patch on her jowls. Noticing me, she cast me a sharp glance.

“Sorry, uh, I must have...” my eyes looked to the left, at the row of urinals, “Uh, this isn’t the ladies...”

“It’s my party, I’ll do as I wish.” She turned back to the mirror and continued working on her face. She was slim and was about as tall as me, but being a Sirian, she still looked like she could beat the crap out of me if she wanted. And, I hated to admit this, but she was pretty attractive. It seems Rit had broken the dam and now I was a full-on xenophile.

“Your party?”

“Mm-hm,” she finished applying her lipstick and pressed her lips together, “How do I look?”

I stood behind her, looking at her reflection. She was stunning, but I didn’t want to lead her in the wrong direction, so I tried to phrase my question as flattering and politely as possible with no undertones whatsoever. “You look great.”

I caught a quick glimpse of a fiendish smile in the mirror, but before I knew it she sprang onto me, shoving me against the wall, and her tongue was in my mouth. I put up a token resistance, but the fact was, even though this was rather trashy and I was dangerously close to losing my balance and landing butt-first into a urinal, she was one hell of a kisser.

Releasing her grip, she pulled away and planting one last kiss on my cheek before giving me a gentle nip.

“See you later, stud.”

With that, she turned and with a swish of her black-tipped tail, she was gone.

Gasping, I felt my chest. My heart was beating about a mile a minute and I was beginning to feel guilty. There wasn’t really much I could have done to stop her, but Rit…

What was I to her? What was she to me?

I remembered how she recoiled before I had left and once again I was feeling remorse. She’s had a hard lot in life and the least I could do is make her more comfortable. I couldn’t free her, I looked it up, you had to pay a freed slave a significant lump-sum to make it legal, one that I could not afford; this was to prevent people from carelessly buying slaves beyond their means and tossing them away when they got bored. I never bought her, but as owner, this still applied.

Still, at least I don’t treat her like a dog, and I once again remembered Rawks and Argus, but this time I chuckled instead of cringed. It was so ridiculous, how could I not laugh?

Footsteps approached and I sealed my lips and glanced toward the entrance. A woman wearing an old, black dress and a veil, like the kinds ladies wore to funerals, over her face.

“Sorry, this is the men’s room.”

She shut the door behind her, flicking the lock shut. With a sweep of her arm, the veil lifted, revealing a face that would have been beautiful were it not for the claw marks over it.

“C-Captain?”

“I’m here for the device, Nate,” she said, holding out her palm. Looking at my cheek, her gaze turned cold, “Did you lose it?”

“No, it’s uh,” I looked down. I was a little paranoid of all the checkpoints and wasn’t willing to risk having it in my pocket or in a more visible place, “I attached it to my thigh, let me just...” I began to fiddle with my belt and remove my pants.

The Captain stepped forward, placing her fingers on my cheek where the mole had been. I froze in my tracks, surprised by this sudden tenderness.

“You didn’t have this scar before. Did he…?”

“No, no, a wolf did it.”

“A Lupiad?”

“No, I mean a real...” I coughed, lowering my trousers, “Nevermind.”

I gripped the mole with my thumb and forefinger, carefully digging my nail under it. It took me nearly an hour to figure out the trick for removing it at home.

“Did you kill him? Litho?”

Pausing, I shook my head before replying, “Did you guys?”

“No.”

There was a subtle click, not noticeable unless you were listening for it, and the mole popped off. No pain and no mess, aside from a tiny drop of blood that was gone with a quick wipe. I handed it to the Captain.

“For what it’s worth, Nate, I’m sorry,” she sighed, rolling the mole on her palm, “I can only imagine what that monster did to you when...”

“Not really in the mood to talk about it.”

“Understood,” she said, lowering her veil and turning to leave.

“Hey. After all I’ve been through, I think I deserve some answers.”

She raised three fingers, “Three questions. Three answers. Go.”

Without missing a beat, I fired back, “What’s your goal?”

“Earth Liberation.”

“For who?”

“All life on Earth. Native or not.”

“Who’s your benefactor?”

“Classified. You get one more extra.”

I had to stop myself as I was approaching this the wrong way. There was one more question and chances are, she was not going to be much help, but I couldn’t help but feel there was some sort of a correct question to ask, one that would get her to open up and spill the beans.

And then it just popped into my head. It could have been a dead-end, a non-sequitor of epic proportions, like asking for a toe-nail clipping at an all you can eat buffet; but there it was, bright, loud, firing through my brain and I couldn’t get it out unless I shouted it out.

“What do you know about the Lupiad-Sirian Empire?”

And there it was. A pause. An honest to god pause in her snappy answers. It didn’t mean much, I had to admit, it was a very random thing to say. Perhaps if she didn’t have that damned veil on, I would have been able to read her better.

“The Regulians conquered them gerations ago,” she finally muttered, turning around and making her way out, “We don’t support any empire.”

I didn’t follow her. What was I going to do? Follow her into a crowded club and start pressing her about her rebellion while name-dropping a fallen empire that may or may not be a forbidden line of discussion here, depending on whether or not Argus’s radio statement broke the taboo or just made it worse.

Suddenly, I didn’t really feel in the mood to stick around the club much longer. In fact, I was downright ready to get the hell out of there, head home, and cuddle with Rit. Weighing my options, that seemed like a much better option than going back to the table and awkwardly talking with the dog who wanted me in bed and my submissive clone who acted like a loyal dog to him.

Not even bothering to wash up, I slipped out of the washroom…

And smack-dab into Rawk.

“Oh! Sorry sir!”

Backing away slightly, I shot back, “What the fuck!?”

“Master was worried about you, so he sent me to bring you back,” he grabbed me by the arm and gently tugged me.

“No thanks, I think I’m...”

His hand brushed up against my cheek and I nearly clocked him right there, “Oh! You, uh...looks like someone’s been...”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Black lipstick. Looks like a Sirian or a Lupiad...maybe a big Vulpeculan.”

“Yeah, I met a girl and that’s why...”

“Sorry, sir!” With a surprising amount of force from someone as gangly as him, he pulled me into the club, leading me towards the booth, “I can’t disobey Master Argus, he’ll punish me!”

“Yeah, maybe he’ll swat you on the nose with a newspaper or something...”

We stopped and he turned his head back, looking at me with wide eyes.

“How did you know that I asked him to do that for me?”

Shuddering, I tried to squirm free but couldn’t. We were approaching the maximum level of awkwardness that I could stand and there was no signs that it was going to stop. We were also getting dangerously close to the booth and breaking free was about to be meaningless; older though he was, Argus was definitely stronger than me and even more capable of stopping me.

“I was a good boy.”

And there we had it. At this point, I was basically dead from second-hand humiliation and could not longer fight back. This became unfortunate, because as I was prodded back into my seat, I soon realized that there was someone sitting next to me.

I recognized her immediately. The black fur lining the jowls of her square, short muzzle, and the brown coat covering the rest of her. Only then, did I notice she had a small, black dot of fur on her cheekbone, almost like a beauty-mark. She looked at me with an impassive gaze, probably a bit more reluctant to be as forward as she was earlier, now that there was a crowd, I figured. I was relieved that I might have someone to talk to and, if she showed interest once again, someone else to show off to Argus and let him know that this was how things were.

That relief lasted about five seconds.

“Ah, Nate. I don’t believe you’ve been introduced,” Argus held out his paw towards the mystery woman, “This is my daughter, Larga.”

I clutched the table leg in a desperate attempt to project my panic away from my face and into my hands. Argus turned to Shalth as he continued talking, “...we’re hoping to have the reception here. Mr. Grimes was very convincing.”

While Argus was distracted, I glanced back at Larga, who immediately returned a wink, followed by her tongue gently running along her lips.

“Ah,” Shalth said, talking her paw suddenly and shaking it, causing her to turn to him, a little surprised at the human handshake, “The Duchess to be! How wonderful to meet you!”

“Likewise, Prince,” she politely lowered her head and retracted her paw before coming back to me and ever-so slowly leaned into my left cheek, which happened to be on the side not facing her father, and gently rubbed her muzzle and nose while whispering in a harsh tone, “If you know what’s best for you, keep your mouth shut.”

Why can’t I ever have a normal night out?