1.
Iris Morgan did not want to betray her lover, but as she powdered her face – the first of many unnecessary coats applied in the thirty minutes between make-up call and curtain up – Iris was not certain she had the choice anymore.
It was delicious when she had been the closest link between La Masque and her father. When an Intersectoral Police Chief had a daughter who was the most popular lounge singer in a night club he was desperate to shut down, the irony was sweet. Iris had enjoyed the taste more than anyone.
Leave it to Jack to decide to have a personal crisis and become a police informant. Jack sabotaged a very promising career as a computer hacker after just one arrest, and that arrest was only for speeding. Iris remembered the night when Jack had returned to their second-story apartment breathless, slightly panicked, and glowing with redemption. It took a moment for Iris to make sense of the southern woman’s quick prattle, when Jack said, “They brought me to the Bitton Isles. I had an assignment to hack into this long distance… never mind. I thought your father was in a surgery, but he wasn’t. He was sittin’ right there at his desk. I walked into his office and he just smiles and says to me, ‘why, my dear, shouldn’t you be at home compromising a long distance surgery.’ And I had to help him them, Iris. He didn’t arrest me or hold me on any charges and I just had to help him then, Iris.”
Iris hadn’t argued. She didn’t mind either way. If destroying corporations illegally wasn’t noble enough for Jack, it meant very little to Iris. One less thing to worry about really. But then suddenly Jack needed to do things the right way and she had decided to kill La Masque. Jack neglected to think about what that particular good deed would mean to Iris.
Iris slammed the pink puff down into her foundation tray and exhaled an angry sigh. The woman at the vanity next to her leaned closer and asked, “Monique is well?”
“Oh, of course, Panya.” Iris smiled at the Amazon and her childish softness. “Jack has caused me a little distress tonight, that’s all.”
Panya nodded sternly, trying to read between the lines of a text that she probably couldn’t read to begin with. She said at length, “Monique tell Panya her trouble. Panya listen good.”
Chuckling, Iris gently petted the other woman’s cheek, “It’s not quite that simple, darling.”
2.
Just a few months before, Jack was completely unapologetic about her life. She fervently rejected the idea that she was a criminal.
“Well, it just ain’t that way, Iris. It ain’t.” Jack took her coffee black and scalding, while Iris sat across the table from her sipping a cin-vanillia cappuccino. Jack barely hesitated to gulp the coffee, ranting on. “It ain’t even criminal. It’s more like stealing what they ain’t got no use for, if you asks me. Why my daddy, for years, reads the obituaries with the kind of passion other men in my sector read the help wanteds. No one in the Dockside can keep a job. They ain’t fuckin’ allowed.”
Iris giggled into the froth of her cappuccino. “Jack, calm down. People are looking.”
“They can keep fuckin’ looking.” Jack replied, her volume unrelenting. “My daddy reads the obits everyday and every night, after he fishes all day to make half of what it takes to run a well-fed heated house, he goes out to them fancy cemeteries and he digs up them fancy graves and he takes anything he can from them fancy stiffs.”
“Jack!” Iris leaned across the table to grasp her lover’s elbow, laughing. “Jack, please. You’re such an embarrassment.”
“And there ain’t nothin’ wrong with that neither. Them corpses ain’t gonna need what they got. They weren’t born with no gold rings. God don’t expect to see ‘em in heaven with no gold rings.” Jack lowered her voice now. “An’ what I do ain’t so different anyways. I just steal. Climb up into their systems while the big bosses are sittin’ back in their beach resorts and environmentally-protected dome sectors, which us poor folk ain’t allowed inside, and I steal whatever I can that they don’t need, and there ain’t nothing wrong with it.”
Iris clucked her tongue. “My father would disagree.”
“Your father ‘s probably just as bad as them rich assholes.” Jack smiled, purposefully challenging Iris’ devotion to her father.
“My father probably is one of those rich -” Iris blushed a deep red and giggled, “assholes.”
Jack sat back and laughed at the rosy color filling her lover’s cheeks, “Naw, Walter Morgan ain’t so bad. He goes after real criminals.”
“Like you?” Iris asked, the flirtation in her voice as irresistible as it was unmistakable.
“I ain’t no criminal.” Jack smirked. “I’m an opportunist.”
3.
Later that same evening, they lay together in their apartment. The awkwardness of inexperience that had troubled the beginning of their relationship had given way to a comfortable intimacy, and Iris lay more easily in Jack’s arms than she did alone.
Iris thought Jack was sleeping until her soft twang broke the silence. “You know, I have to admire your father. What he tries to do for ever’body.”
“And what’s that?” Iris lifted her head from Jack’s shoulder to look at her lover’s tanned face. “Enforce the social order that keeps the poor penniless and the rich wealthy?”
“Tryin’ to keep people safe.” Jack corrected and lifted her hand to Iris’ pale hair. Her fingers tangled through her curls and got stuck. “I mean, it don’t help me none. But I’m an honest kind of criminal. I don’t generally take from no one that needs it.”
Iris dropped her head back to Jack’s shoulder, staring down at Jack’s rough body. The cage of her binding left long red lines across her small breasts. She remembered seeing dark red lines on her stepsisters’ backs and she remembered being slapped for implying that the pain of the corset was not worth the appearance. Jack’s cuts were smaller and deeper, but when Iris’ drifting fingers wanted to trace the bars, she felt they were just as forbidden.
She said, curling her hands away. “I thought you weren’t a criminal. Just an opportunist?”
Jack laughed and placed a sloppy kiss on Iris’ forehead. “I meant something else. Other people. Other criminals take away things that can’t be given back. Things people need.”
“Andrew Cunningham asked you to hack into a long distance surgery again, didn’t he?” Iris felt her stomach curl away from the idea and she tried to keep her body from stiffening.
Jack noticed anyway and sat up. Her voice was soft when she spoke, a sudden reminder of Jack’s femininity. “It ain’t… yeah. He did.”
Iris jolted when Jack suddenly punched the mattress and huffed a loud and angry breath.
“Why do these stupid idiots still do long distance surgeries anyways?” Jack demanded to no one in particular. “‘Specially, when someone wants you dead. Don’t no one have ‘nough sense to know that their life depends on a computer not fuckin’ up. I don’t want no doctor half a world away cuttin’ my throat inside out ‘cause of a computer glitch. Forget ‘bout hackers. The computer’s dangerous enough.”
Iris whispered, “In some parts of the world, long distance surgeries are the only way people can receive the medical help they need. They’re much cheaper than traveling to another sector for a surgery.”
“You sound like a text book, Iris.” Jack scowled. “It’s some doctor playin’ video games.”
Iris twisted the small ring Jack had given her, “Did you take the assignment?”
“Hell no.” Jack replied, shrilly. “I ain’t that kinda hacker.”
“Andrew Cunningham must by furious.” Iris felt her stomach twirl in the other direction and she wrapped her arms around Jack with protective worry. “He’s not too furious, is he, Jack?”
Jack shrugged and reached up her hand to clasp Iris’ fingers. “Well, he ain’t got a hit on me yet. I’m gonna keep my distance from the world for a couple days. Head back to Dockside for a bit. Will you come see me?”
“Oh, every day.” Iris promised.
“Not every day.” Jack chuckled. “Just make sure you ain’t followed, all right?”
Iris answered quietly, “I understand.”
4.
“Something bad happened to Cunningham and his computers.” Panya said suddenly, interrupting the quiet of the dressing room. She was painting green and blue streaks on her face.
Iris glanced over at her and traced the streaks with her eyes. She could never tell if the make-up was meant to be tribal. Panya’s skin was dark but the light colors created a more airy effect on an already mysterious face, more like a magical creature than a primitive being. “What did you say, darling?”
“Andrew Cunningham. Something bad happened to his computers.” Panya repeated.
Iris nodded. “I’ve heard. Someone tampered with some of his files and he doesn’t know who.”
Panya agreed, sliding a sky blue line from her right eye to her chin. “Monsieur Ice is asking people questions. But he did not ask Panya anything. Did he ask Monique anything?”
Iris glanced at the floor and shook her head. “No.”
“Monsieur Ice will not ask Panya anything because he knows that I have no computers. But Jack.” Panya set down her paintbrush and looked directly at Iris. “Jack has computers.”
Iris shifted in her chair, briefly reminded that Panya was a thinking person. She heard and understood things that her limited language prevented her from expressing. Still, she was not as perceptive as Ice. Iris laughed, preparing her lie for Ice. “Of course, Jack knows about computers. But Jack’s as loyal as a dog to anyone who gives him more than a few paychecks. Jack wouldn’t trifle with a man as ruthless as Andrew Cunningham. He’d have no reason.”
Panya nodded and stood to find her costume. The other girls had begun to sag into the dressing room. Soon it would be too noisy to speak to the low-voiced Panya. Iris stood and followed her. “Why? Did Ice say something about suspecting Jack?”
The Amazon may have been a foot and a half taller than Iris. The way her clothes fit reminded her of Jack’s clothing. Jack wore men’s clothes too big and rolled up the sleeves, something that a small man would do. Panya did what a big woman would do and wore men’s shirts that fit the length of her arms and the girth of her bust. The shoulders sagged at her biceps, creating a disassembled look. Panya shrugged and didn’t look at Iris as she said, “Monsieur Ice say nothing to Panya.”
Iris felt oddly overpowered by the tall woman’s silence and turned back to her mirror to powder her face again. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t.”
Panya kissed Iris’ cheek, her way of saying goodbye. “He did say to Maloup to watch Jack. Be safe, Monique.”
Iris nodded and looked at the floor. She waited for Ice.
5.
Iris could not remember the occasion, but she did remember that there were fireworks in the sky and she and Jack were watching from the outside deck of the volex. Jack had lowered the windows and landed on a wide river and they lay on their backs to watch fire paint the heavens. That was the night Jack first told Iris about how Ice, as seductive as any woman, had lured her into La Masque.
Jack lay on the deck with one arm behind her head and Iris leaned on Jack, her head supported by Jack’s steadily rising chest. Iris’ hands lay daintily in her lap as if she didn’t feel Jack’s fingers inching up beneath her dress.
“Did I ever tell you about the witch that lived across the street from my house?” Jack asked.
Iris watched the blue and white stream launch from the center of the river. “No. I don’t think you ever did.”
Jack chuckled. “Well, right across the street was smack dab in the middle of the Mississippi – the real one. Not that man-made piece of shit up North. Anyways, this witch had a house floating in the middle of the river, and I mean, if a witch wanted to build a house in the middle of a river, I sure wasn’t gonna stop her.”
“Sounds more like a floating foundation than magic.” Iris said.
“Could be,” Jack hummed considering. “It felt different than a floating foundation. When my dad kicked me out, she let me in her house for a little while.”
Iris sat up. “Oh how dreadful, you never told me your father kicked you out?”
Jack shrugged. “I’d left his house a couple months earlier with a woman named Robin. She taught me everything I know about computers. But she was a computer assassin and she was dead by the time I was trying to go back to my dad. He didn’t like nothing about the situation, though my mama always said he didn’t raise me up right to be nothing but what I was.”
Iris turned her face hearing Jack’s hesitation, resting her cheek against Jack’s chest. She could feel the tight binding beneath Jack’s shirt that turned her breasts into a flat plane. “Robin meant a lot to you?”
“She meant enough.” Jack never regained her brazen tone, speaking hushed as her eyes mirrored the red and yellow bursts in the sky. “Anyways, this witch that lived across the lake from me. When she saw my dad turn me out she called me over and gave me a pewter cow. Then she told me that if I sold it to the right person I could live the rest of my life off it.”
“I suppose she meant to an antique seller.” Iris said. “My step-mother collects antiques from pre-sectors eras.”
“That’s what I figured.” Jack replied. “I was out tryin’ to sell the thing and Ice found me.”
“Was he looking all that hard?” Iris laughed.
“He sure was,” Jack said. “ ‘Parently, he employed Robin and knew about me. He wanted to see what I could do for him. Course I wanted no part of it. I seen what happened to Robin and I wasn’t about to get involved with the same people. But Ice ain’t one to take no for an answer. He found a way to sabotage any job I got legitimately. Made sure I knew what he was up to too. Then one day, I went out to try and sell that stupid cow again and there he was. Offered to buy it off me for three beans.”
“Beans?” Iris wondered.
“Huh? Oh, particlized memory storage unit thingys.” Jack was never one for technical names. “They got the files on them about my ‘signments. Tell me what I’m looking for when I hack into a place.”
Iris nodded, understanding enough. “And that was it. He had you then?”
“Yup.” Jack sighed and chuckled, finished with serious subjects. Her hand slipped farther up Iris’ dress. “Personally, I think he was only so persistent because he wanted to add me to his personal collection. You know, of women. He’s got one from just about every sector workin’ for him somewhere. But he don’t have no one like me.”
Iris laughed at the idea, then paused to consider. “You’re right. He does have a girl from every sector there. I mean women that he takes an interest in. Women he asks about. We call them his favorites. I suppose, I’m his girl from the Victorian Sector. How revolting!”
Jack smirked lazily. “He keeps good care of his collection. Keeps us all polished up nice. Like a good collector should.”
“It’s a revolting idea.” Iris said and leaned again on Jack’s stomach, watching the fireworks with a distant worry, until Jack’s slow fingers unsettled her again.
6.
“Monique, you’re already ready for your show!” Ice timed his entrance well, appearing ten minutes before the show when the dressing room fluttered with women and Iris was powdering her face for the last time. The slender man perched on her vanity and smiled at her, his face oddly reminiscent of a porcelain doll. “And how is my Victorian harp this evening?”
Iris narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly disliking the man who pulled off a coy femininity better than Iris’ lover. “I am not a harp, Ice. I’m a human.
The man smiled, a slight disagreeing grin that found her too amusing to challenge.
“You just caught me on my way out.” Iris pushed away from her vanity and headed for the main door. “It’s so hot in here. You really ought to get us an environmental control unit, Ice.”
“I’ll consider it.” Ice slipped off his perch and opened the door for her.
“Such a gentleman.” Iris smiled at his politeness, but her nose crinkled because his slender frame blocked the hall that led towards the main entrance of La Masque. She turned towards the stage, not yet certain he had not thwarted her on purpose.
Ice pursued her down the hallway. “Have you seen Jack lately? I have an assignment for him.”
Iris glanced over her bare shoulder. Ice knew Jack was a woman; he had known before Iris knew. Still Iris shrugged. “I saw Jack earlier this week. Not today.”
The hallway seemed narrower and darker than usual. Iris licked the bitter taste of lipstick and added with a casual wave of her hand. “Have you tried e-mail? Archaic. I know. But always a good way to reach Jack.”
Iris knew she was transparent, even though Ice spoke evenly, without a trace of suspicion. “Jack hasn’t been answering any of our attempts to reach him.”
“Strange.” Iris shrugged again, walking faster towards the dim lights of the stage where she knew Ice would fall silent, either out of superstition or tact. “He must be busy. You know, Jack is one of Andrew Cunningham’s primary… helpers.”
“I do know that, my dear.” Ice answered.
Iris gasped when a tall man suddenly separated from the darkness and stood in her path blocking the light of the stage. Maloup tended to lurk wherever Ice went, but he did not usually show himself unless Ice summoned him.
Ice continued. “That’s exactly why we’re having this conversation, Iris.”
Iris refused to let the men intimidate her, trying to remain casual. She turned to face Ice. “Has Jack done something wrong?”
“She may have broken into Andrew Cunningham’s computers.” Ice dropped his secretiveness about Jack when they left the room, and he leaned against the wall as if offering Iris an escape path if she lost her nerve. “It would be very, very bad for her and for anyone involved with her if the Cunninghams think she’s trying to touch their empire.”
Iris hummed her interest in the remark and forced callousness into her voice. “Does this business threaten La Masque? You may think me wicked, but my future here is probably more important to me than Jack’s life. If there’s anything I can help you find out…”
Ice’s expression only flickered a moment when she spoke. Iris couldn’t tell if he had detected her lie or if he was surprised by her apathy. He only smiled coolly. “La Masque is run by Sorcier. Sorcier is not Cunningham. Just a close associate. This computer business will not affect us. Why? Did Jack tell you that something that might affect us?”
“No, she didn’t.” Iris scoffed. “Obviously, I would tell you if she did.”
Ice tilted his head to one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Cunningham is not a man to play games with, Iris.”
“I know that.” Iris replied. “And Jack knows that too. She wouldn’t put herself in danger that way. She’s not much of a vigilante, and Cunningham pays her well enough.”
Ice hummed and Iris could tell he knew she was hiding something. Iris understood that when he backed away from the subject it was his choice and had nothing to do with her maneuvering. “That’s what I say. I don’t think it was Jack anyway. I think it was the intersectoral police getting smart.”
Iris dropped her eyes to the floor, wondering how much Ice knew about Jack’s change in occupation. Ice didn’t reveal his secrets as easily as she did, “You wouldn’t know anything about the intersectoral police, would you, Iris?”
“Of course not,” Iris shook her head, certain she was more convincing this time. “My father is much too polite to discuss such matters with his daughters. It’s improper for a woman, you know. Besides, I don’t see much of him anymore.”
“Ah, forgive me, Iris.” Ice smiled apologetically. “I’d forgotten your father asked you to leave the sector. Good thing you have La Masque to take care of you.”
Iris didn’t argue and he bowed and walked away. “Have a good show, Monique.”
Iris held her breath, watching Ice and Maloup drift away. When they had faded into the darkness, she leaned against the wall and sighed with a fleeting sense of relief.
As she sang that night, she noticed the two men sitting near the back. The distance between the stage and their table turned Maloup’s dark sunglasses into deep empty sockets, but Ice looked more delicate than ever, his hands folded under his narrow chin and his eyes closed as he listened to her song. Iris tried to imagine the fair man pitying her when Jack failed in her attempt to destroy La Masque. Maybe Ice would be kind enough to kill her himself with the subtleness that accompanied his every move. Instead, she kept picturing the man stepping daintily to one side as the Cunninghams rushed on her, carrying Jack’s head on a pike. For one reason or another, Jack’s face was covered in a tawdry makeup, her lips as red as the blood seeping down from her neck.
