My hands stumbled gracelessly over the piano keys.
This wasn't working. I leaned over the keyboard to check the sheet music again, fingers ghosting along the keys as I read. The first eight bars on the page showed an insane counterpoint in both lines and chords, together with a crotchet pulse[1]. A few bars into the piece and my hands plain gave up listening to my brain, stopping abruptly and hanging in mid-air above the keys in protest. Maybe it got easier later.
I turned the pages, skipping to the second movement, and burst into laughter when I saw it. A third staff had appeared on the page which needed me to do octave jumps across the keyboard with both hands.
Seriously, fuck that.
Peering across the jumble of notes and staves covering the book, I could kinda see why someone would choose to play this; it demanded stamina from a pianist, and I'd need to practice hard all week to play the entire piece proficiently. I was usually a total sucker for brutal technical pieces, but this composition was nothing but a fuck-ton of unmemorable melodies which bored even me. I pushed the music stand away just as a knock came at my bedroom door.
"You busy?" Raheem's head craned around the door before he slid into the room, freshly showered and smelling like too much soap.
"Just practicing." My eyes drifted past Raheem, through my bedroom doorway and into the TV room to check for the millionth time if Miles was around. But he hadn't left his room all day. "What's going on?"
Raheem navigated the slim gap between the door and the keyboard. He began to tap keys restlessly. "Why are you laughing alone?"
I dragged the book from the music stand with a snort and tossed it onto the bed. "This piece is just way too hard to play."
"You? Finding a composition too hard?" Raheem picked up the sheet music and ran his thumb across the pages like a flip-book. "I don't believe that for a second. The new client gave you this?"
"Yeah. He's already given me two opera libretti to read before I see him again. He's so fucking annoying." So close to launching into a rant about my new client's peculiarities, I stopped myself in time. I had it easy compared to Raheem and Miles; I didn't need to whine to them. "How was your client, man?"
Raheem carried on walking his fingers in a dissonant circuit along the keyboard.
"Was he one of Miles's regulars?" I asked cautiously.
"No. Just some new guy who was put on Miles's account last week." Raheem pressed a key over and over, like the toll of a bell. "Miles is...having a tough day...so I told Cal I'd take the client. He...wasn't into me."
"Shibal[2]." I patted my mattress next to me. "Did the client complain to Cal?"
Raheem slumped onto the mattress and tucked his long legs under the keyboard. "He told me he'd call Cal tomorrow to express his disappointment," he replied in a mock haughty tone. "Dude wasn't happy with me, but he still went through with the booking."
What a fucking shibal-seki[3] client. He'd gotten his money's worth but had still taken the trouble to drop Raheem into the shit with Cal.
"What do you think Cal's gonna do?" I asked, trying but failing to hide the fear in my voice.
"I don't know, man. Last time it happened, the doctor from Central said that Miles was fine. Cal was so pissed, he said that...that..."
"What did he say, bro?"
Raheem slid tired hands down his face. "He said that he'd get rid of Miles if it happened again."
This was the third morning in a month that Miles hadn't been able to get outta bed. He'd just lain there, all glazed eyes and shallow breath, not in any state to move, let alone take client bookings. Raheem had been frantic. He'd stepped in to take Miles's clients but, as handsome as Raheem was, Miles's clients didn't want an asset that looked like Raheem.
"Get rid of Miles, as in...?"
We both knew what Cal meant: the easiest way to get rid of under-performing assets. Cal had done it before with all kinds of Sigma employees who were too disobedient, or too much of a liability, or just because they had seen too much. Now that Miles was beginning to under-perform, Cal could take the simplest option. Nobody else knew if we were alive or dead anyways. There'd be no repercussions for Cal if he just...
Don't go there, Zeph.
My brain refused to process the thought any further, skirting around its horror before pushing it away into a corner of my mind. Raheem folded trembling hands deep into his lap.
You're scaring him, idiot.
I reset my face into as relaxed an expression as I could. "Get rid of him, meaning that Cal will sell Miles's contract to El Nube, or to Stella Maris, right?" I rambled, pulling back on our thoughts before they took even darker turns. "Or some other gang, so you could probably ask to go too, right?"
Raheem sat silently for the longest moment, as if debating whether to humor me or to put me outta my misery. "Cal always says that he'll get rid of Miles. Whenever I act up, he threatens me with it. I can't tell if he's lying to scare me. Or if I'm gonna wake up one day and Miles will be gone, and..."
"Cal would never do that," I said, unsure why Raheem would suddenly trust that I, or anyone else, would have the faintest idea about any of Cal's intentions. "We'll figure something out, bro. It'll be OK," I added, way more confidently than I felt.
Raheem picked up the sheet music again and turned the pages slowly.
"Hey." A small voice from the doorway made me jump. Miles stood there, wobbly and sleepy-eyed.
Raheem pushed off the bed and ran to him. "You OK, baby?" He fussed over Miles who blinked around the room, still getting used to the lights after a long sleep.
"Yeah. I feel better." He took both of Raheem's hands in his own. "I'm so sorry about today."
"Shh, don't," Raheem said, brushing stray hairs from Miles's face. "Wanna watch a movie tonight?"
Miles nodded, and Raheem led him gently outta my room.
"You wanna join us, Zeph?" Raheem called back through the doorway. He was probably expecting that Miles would fall asleep in the middle of the movie, giving us a chance to rant and fret until the small hours.
"Yeah, brother. Let's do it." I hopped up from the bed and followed them into the TV room, determined for the three of us to forget the day's shitty worries, or at least get high enough that the day's shitty worries wouldn't invade our dreams. "Let's get Luke too, if he doesn't have a client."
Raheem groaned into Miles's shoulder. "Man, do we have to? He'll just sit there talking about The One."
"He'll shut up once he gets a little baked." I bounded across the TV room and yelled through the thin wood of Luke's bedroom door. "Luke! You wanna watch a movie with us?"
"Out in a minute," a muffled reply came.
I fished THC wax and vape pens outta the fruit bowl and settled down to find something to watch. Raheem tucked Miles under their blanket and both got busy loading vape pens while I flicked channels, settling on an anime so that Miles wouldn't miss out on a whole movie if he fell asleep.
Eventually, Luke strode out of his room and came to a stop in front of the TV. He was wearing a black dressing gown, similar to the ones that we were made to wear with clients, but Luke's looked bespoke and was made of silk, not the off-the-shelf synthetic fabric that Raheem, Miles and I had.
"I got a booking tonight," Luke announced, but he didn't make any attempt to hurry away. "So sorry, guys."
Raheem meticulously re-tucked Miles under the sofa blanket. "Another time, then."
"Nice dressing gown, man," I couldn't help saying. It didn't take much to guess who Luke's Friday night client was.
Luke picked non-existent lint from the expanse of black silk. "He gave it to me."
"The One gave it to you?" I whistled. "Damn, he's booked you almost every night for three weeks."
Luke laughed elegantly at that, as if having practiced in front of his closet mirror all evening. "I'm actually getting kinda used to that nickname for him, Zeph."
"You're the one who named him that," said Raheem through gritted teeth from across the room.
Luke leaned down toward me where I sat reloading my vape pen. "I can't wait for you to meet him Zeph," he said breathlessly. "He has a grand piano in one of his houses, and he owns a recording studio in Huertas."
Luke's proud mask had lasted a full three seconds before slipping off to reveal quite how much all this shit meant to him. He may have wanted to give The One the impression that he was an alluring courtesan, but standing there nervously clutching the edge of his new silk dressing gown, Luke looked like what he truly was: an utterly charmed, and quite possibly doomed, young man.
"Miles already met him," Raheem said slyly, reloading his vape pen with pearls of THC wax like a marksman loading a pistol.
Luke turned toward Miles, eyes wild with alarm. "When?"
"Relax! He saw him in the lobby last week," Raheem nudged Miles gently, "didn't you, baby?"
Miles stopped vaping to smile up at Luke.
"So, what did you think of The One, Miles?" I asked, hoping that I sounded merely curious, and not ever so slightly vindictive.
Miles snuggled under the blanket until only his glazed eyes peeped out. "Nice face, nice suit, nice Porsche. Very polite to Security."
Luke turned to Raheem, his eyes glittering with triumph, as if Miles's vague-ass statement had confirmed three weeks of Luke endlessly regaling us about The One's stupendous looks, wallet, and sexual prowess. "He's gonna get me out of Sigma."
Raheem smirked into the mouthpiece of his vape pen. "Congratulations, bro. Don't forget to invite us to the wedding."
"Fuck you." Luke stalked out of the TV room, slamming the door.
"See what I mean?" Raheem shook his head and slid down into the sofa cushions, groping clumsily for Miles's hand. "Totally besotted, the fucking idiot."
"Even if the music producer stuff turns out to be total bullshit, The One is rich enough to book Luke every night," I said, feeling just a little too high to arrange my thoughts into an argument. "Maybe he can buy Luke out of Sigma."
Raheem was still sharp though. "Even if this guy is rich enough to compensate Sigma and run away with Luke into the sunset," he said between loud clicks of his vape pen, "he won't."
I was too baked to follow him. "Why not?"
"Zeph, a rich music industry guy like The One could have any actor or singer in Huertas that he wanted, right?" Raheem spoke with care, as if explaining to a child. "So why would he choose to come to a shitty neighborhood like Este just to fuck a rental asset from a criminal organization, instead of the hundreds of normal guys available to him?"
I knew the answer but it pained me to say it out loud. I took a massive hit of ganja before answering. "Because The One is either a criminal himself, or because he only wants sex."
That realization had dawned on me very soon after I'd arrived in Sigma over two years earlier, but it still stung to be reminded. All the inane nothings that my regular clients told me, about being in love with me, or not being able to live without me, or that they thought about me all the time when we were apart, were obviously total bullshit. If they cared at all, they'd have called the police months earlier, not cheerfully kept on booking me until further notice.
But, I still held onto the tiny probability that a person with a conscience might stumble into my life and take me away from Sigma. It was nice for Luke to have a little hope for a few weeks, even though he was too inexperienced to see The One for what he truly was.
The anime was two episodes in and I hadn't paid any attention to the plot. Miles was already dozing, his head tipped at a weird angle against the back of the sofa.
"Why are you so pissed about The One, bro?" I asked Raheem. "At least Luke is happy, for a change."
"I don't know." Raheem squirmed, tucking tight fists into his hoodie pocket. "It's just been a bad day, and I'm worried about Miles, and there's Luke acting like none of this shit applies to him." Raheem closed his eyes. "He's gonna get so badly hurt with this client that he'll start some shit with Cal that's gonna affect us all, I just know it."
I wished so fucking hard that Raheem and Miles could just run, and keep running, far enough away that nobody in Sigma would ever bother to find them. Maybe Raheem would have run away months earlier if he didn't have Miles to take care of.
"Anyways," Raheem chuckled, "Why the fuck are we talking about clients when we're supposed to be relaxing?" He leaned forward and turned up the TV volume.
"Yeah, man. We can't let these perverts ruin our nights off too." I laughed along with him, restarting the anime at the first episode and throwing my fuzzy thoughts onto a shelf somewhere at the back of my mind.
It was nearly midnight when Ollie poked his head into the TV room with a last-minute booking from a client. His voice startled me, jerking me outta my doze and the warm cocoon of the armchair. Miles and Raheem had gone to bed, their blanket still unfurled on the sofa like an abandoned nest.
I blinked sleep away from dried-out eyes. "What's up, man?"
"I said you have a client."
"Shibal." My heart sank. I was fully-baked and desperate to go to bed. Besides, it had been five days, and I was secretly hoping to make it through a whole week without a client booking.
Your own fault for hoping, idiot.
"Shut up, Jun-su," I whispered.
Dog-tired and hazy from the ganja, I hauled myself up from the armchair and trudged outta the TV room in the direction of Ollie's office.
I hazarded a guess that the client was Mr Sullivan moving his monthly booking forward by a week. I was kinda relieved that it was probably him; Sullivan hadn't been feeling too well last time and had fallen asleep in the middle of things, leaving me in peace for most of the night. Perhaps the terrifically ancient bastard would do the same this month.
I craned my neck around Ollie's office door. "Who's the client?"
"You look like shit." Ollie was sat at his desk, his eyes flicking between his laptop screen and a tablet screen as he spoke. "You have fifteen minutes to get into shape."
"Yeah, yeah."
I pushed further into the cluttered office, snaking between stacks of computer hardware and boxes toward Ollie's desk, catching a brief glimpse of my reflection in the dark window as I passed. I looked pretty damned high.
"Which suite is it?" I asked, my vision tilting slightly.
Steadying myself on the back of an office chair, I sent a little prayer to Santa Maria that I'd have the motor skills to navigate this booking. The chair rotated about its axis, almost taking me with it.
Ollie's eyes tracked down the screen of yet another tablet that had appeared outta his desk drawer. "Oh, and Zeph? This booking was made by Jones himself, so work hard on this one, OK?"
Interesting.
Jones rarely booked jobs on behalf of clients, and never last-minute. Perhaps I'd been booked as a gift to a new business partner to sweeten one of Jones's deals.
"Am I part of a business deal?" I ventured, hoping that I might get a client who was under sixty for once.
The phone on Ollie's desk started ringing. He swiveled his chair toward it with a sigh. "Suite 306. Get moving, Zeph."
"So, who's the client?"
"Fuck knows, man." Phone to his ear, Ollie swiped quick fingers across his phone screen with manic energy. "Jones didn't say."
"But he asked for me in particular?"
"Yes, Zeph." Ollie grimaced into his phone screen. "Just get the fuck over there."
I left before he got more pissed.
Clad in synthetic slippers and gown, I crept up the stairs wondering who the client might be. If Jones had made the booking personally, it was definitely someone important. But Suite 306 was small, the furniture was shitty, and the air conditioning barely worked. Jones would never have allowed a booking in one of the lower quality suites as part of a Sigma business transaction with an important partner.
What if the client was just one of Jones's lunatic bodyguards who'd earned a freebie for a good job? But that didn't make sense either. Sigma employees weren't allowed to book Sigma's own rental assets. And if Jones felt the need to break his own rules to reward one of his bodyguards, weapons-dealers, counterfeiters, or any of the assortment of assholes he hired, he'd offer a night with one of the women rental assets, not one of us.
Unless it was a new employee I'd not heard about. An employee who was gay. Most of Sigma's higher-ranking managers were scary bastards, and even though I knew that they wouldn't hurt me, or any rental assets, I was still too high for a booking with someone who actually knew what they were doing. But Jones had asked for me in particular, meaning that the client already liked the sound of me. Maybe I could get a new manager on my side. And if this manager was high-ranking enough, maybe he could convince Cal to give me a different job somewhere else in Sigma.
As I closed the door of Suite 306 behind me, the familiar yellowed ceiling tiles and faded fabric on the armchair reminded me that I was being a wishful fucking idiot.
How brutal Raheem and I had been about Luke's stupid obsession with one of his clients only two hours earlier. When had I entered Luke's magical universe full of kind and attractive gay men who were inexplicably unable to find anyone normal to have sex with, and would resort to booking a rental asset? Who was I kidding?
My mystery client was probably another sad old pervert, just like the rest of them.
☆
Author's Notes:
[1] Zephyr uses international music terminology, viz. semibreve, minim, crotchet, quaver, semiquaver, cf. equivalent USA music terminology: note, half-note, quarter-note, eighth-note, sixteenth-note.
[2] shibal: Korean, fuck
[3] shibal-seki: Korean, motherfucker/son of a bitch
n.b. Non-Korean speakers: all Korean translations are at the end of each chapter. Most of the Korean in this work is highly informal slang, and is very offensive unless used with close friends. Please do not use this story to learn wholesome Korean phrases!