Served with a Twist

Cut swallowed. He couldn’t very well ignore him. Priya would know. Cut had never found any security cameras hidden through the shop, but somehow, Priya always knew.

He delayed a few minutes more, making sure the other customers were taken care of first before he made his way down the bar, like a child dragging their feet to delay a punishment long in coming.

A smile involuntarily twitched at Cut’s lips, his body moving on autopilot. “Welcome back. What can I get you?” He would keep it light and professional and treat this like any other day, but the very air between them had changed. He was still so damn sexy, but seeing him here dragged up the memories Cut had worked so hard to block out. Those memories wouldn’t stop haunting him until they talked the incident out, but that was more work than Cut was willing to put in right now. If Fancy Suit didn’t bring up their shared shame, neither would Cut.

“A vodka soda, please. Hint of lime.” So much for ignoring that things had changed. Things were different down to his order.

Cut set about making the drink. Going through the motions cleared his head a bit.

Coaster, drink, bowl of bar mix. He didn’t forget the twist of lime and even threw in a cherry. This was top shelf service he was getting despite the status of their professional relationship.

Fancy Suit took a sip, and frowned down at the cherry bobbing in his drink. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about the other day.”

A wet spot on the lacquered composite called for Cut’s attention. He wiped at it, his gaze fixed there. “You’ll have to refresh my memory.”

If this visit was meant to intimidate him into silence or threaten him with litigation, wouldn’t he have gotten that out of the way first? Maybe he was here to offer a bribe in exchange for Cut’s silence. He wouldn’t say no to ICD thrown his way.

Fancy Suit set down the glass and leaned some of his weight onto the counter, trying to close the gap between them. “When we ran into each other the other day, and you, uh, you said there was something you could do for me?”

Cut’s stomach knotted up. He’d said that in the heat of the moment and it slipped his mind until now. He sort of hoped it had been the same for this guy, too. “I might have said something like that.”

“I want to take you up on it.”

Cut bit his cheek to keep his expression in check, but his brows twitched slightly. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“That thing you offered.” He dropped his voice. “I want it. No trial period, no questions asked. I want to make an arrangement where we…” He dropped his voice and rose from his seat to creep closer to Cut. Cut closed the gap on his side of the bar. “We would do things like what happened in that alley.”

This had to be a dream, or a hallucination brought on by the lingering effects of the dazzler. It was nice to dream, but even then Cut was realistic about it.

If he was looking to get slapped around and have his clothes ripped off, he could talk to someone else. “I’m not sure about that…”

“I’ll pay whatever you want.”

Cut pinched his own arm so hard it started to turn red. It hurt like hell. So not a dream, then.

Then, this was a joke or a prank. These sorts of things didn’t just happen.

Cut leaned an elbow on the bar, keeping his voice low as well.

“You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?” Of all the ways to play off being caught in a sticky situation, Cut thought he preferred this. They’d both laugh at this later after he shot Cut down. But the way Fancy Suits gaze bored into him said this was no prank. His face was even a little flushed. He might actually be serious about this. Cut sighed. He’d take it seriously until proven otherwise.

“How about we take a step back and talk about this at length somewhere else? Like at a cafe or a bar where I don’t work.”

Fancy Suit nodded, easing himself down into his seat. “Whatever you like.” He pulled a card from his wallet, placed it on the counter, and slid it across to Cut. “That’s my private line. Obviously, I want to keep this discreet. When you’re ready to set something up, please, call me.”

He hadn’t been discreet when he was in that alley, but he probably hadn’t expected to run afoul of someone who knew his face. Cut quickly slipped the card off the counter and into his jeans pocket to ponder later, or more hopefully, to forget.

Fancy Suit paid for his drink and left a tip worth three times the bottle of vodka it had come from. Before Cut could protest, he was out the door. The rest of the night was uneventful and Cut closed up on time without issue.

But more problems were waiting for him at home.

There was a note stuck to his door and the door of every other apartment on his floor. A physical note rather than a pod message sounded serious. He tore his off and started to read.

To all Dakota Residents,

This is a notice of the property management company OOO LLC’s intent to increase the rent of all residents within all OOO LLC holdings. As things in the dome grow and adjust, so too must we adapt. The increase in development of Izanami means an increase in shuttles bringing new potential residents. Housing is going to become more competitive. We will do what we can to keep prices manageable, and we strive to be mindful of our current residents, but know that we don’t establish any changes consideration for our established residents and much.

The new rental fee was a full 200 ICD a month more than what he was already paying. It might not seem like a lot to them, but he’d be feeling the crunch soon. That was money that couldn’t go towards groceries, not that he bought much of those to begin with, but this wasn’t going to help his eating habits improve.

He lay in bed for hours, turning over Fancy Suit’s card. Did he reach out or not? Fancy Suit was expecting something he was capable of, and he should straighten the whole thing out, but forgetting the whole thing was much easier.

Then again, what would it hurt to check it out and see who he really was? It’d give Cut a name to put to the suits. He grabbed his pod from among the sheets and scanned it.

Samson Ba

That was it. No company name or designation. And there was only one pod address and one email.  It was so normal—too normal for someone who wore suits that cost as much as Cut’s whole wardrobe three times over. Was it even real?

If Cut didn’t reach out, there was a chance Samson (if that was his real name) would go back to his old ways. Most people in Cut’s shoes would mind their own business, but ignoring him didn’t seem like an option. There was no telling the true extent of what Samson was into, or if Cut really could help him, but he’d never know unless he reached out.

Samson? This is Cut From the bar.