The Zombie Room Read online

  Steiger chuckled. He looked completely at ease. Not a trace of concern marred his cool demeanour.

  ‘I’ll let you play this one out, Eric Lowell,’ he said and folded his own cards.

  The dealer turned the remaining card on the board. It made no difference. The man had made a crazy bet, hoping his opponents would fold, but it had failed. He shook Mangle’s hand in silence and walked to the exit. Another two men made to sit but Steiger held up a hand.

  ‘We’ll play this one out, friends. Choose another table,’ Steiger said, continuing to smile.

  The potential players looked slightly nonplussed but moved away. Tazeem and Sadiq came over from the roulette, their body language suggesting their earlier lack of fortune had not changed.

  ‘Shit, that has to be around a hundred and fifty K,’ Tazeem said as he stood behind Mangle.

  ‘Your friend has done very well,’ Steiger confirmed. ‘Have you played here before?’

  ‘It’s our first time,’ Mangle said. ‘To be honest, we were hoping to get a full membership.’

  If Steiger had heard, he didn’t offer a response. The dealer spun each of their two hole cards across the felt. Mangle looked at his: King of Spades and Four of Diamonds.

  Steiger bet 30 thousand. Mangle called. The dealer turned the flop on the board.

  ‘Queen of Diamonds. Four of Hearts. King of Clubs.’

  Mangle had flopped two pairs and knew he was in a strong position. Steiger bet another 30 thousand. Again Mangle called. He didn’t want to scare his opponent away with a strong bet too early in the hand. The dealer revealed the turn card. Seven of Diamonds. That made no difference to Mangle’s hand or the board at large. Steiger waited and studied him.

  ‘I’m going to play all in, my friend,’ Steiger said, with the air of one revealing the much anticipated punchline of a good joke.

  ‘Holy shit,’ Tazeem exclaimed. ‘If you call, that’ll make it around 300k in play.’

  ‘Three hundred and twenty-eight thousand, I believe,’ Steiger said as if it were nothing.

  ‘Call,’ Mangle said.

  A soft ‘Ohh’ eminated from the burgeoning crowd of spectators. Mangle turned his head. He hadn’t realised the amount of attention their game had gathered.

  ‘Turn your cards please,’ the dealer said. ‘Two pairs, Kings over Fours,’ he announced after Mangle revealed his hand.

  Steiger turned his first card: Queen of Hearts. He turned the second: Queen of Spades.

  ‘Three Queens,’ the dealer said. ‘Mr Steiger has the advantage. The river card still to play.’

  ‘A Four or a King will give us a full house and a win, yeah?’ Sadiq said.

  ‘Only the King. The Four would give that guy a higher full house and we’d still lose,’ Tazeem corrected him. ‘So the other two Kings are the only cards left in the entire pack that can help.’

  The dealer was obviously used to this type of situation and milked every ounce of tension that he could from the crowd. ‘The river card,’ he said, ‘is … the King of Hearts. Mr Lowell wins with a full house, Kings over Fours.’

  Steiger chuckled and again reached for Mangle’s hand. ‘Well played, my friend. And dare I say perhaps a tad fortunate.’

  Mangle shook his hand and thanked him. The dealer counted up and took Mangle’s card to credit with his chip total.

  ‘When will I have the opportunity to win back some of my money?’ Steiger asked, getting up from his seat.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Mangle said to Steiger once they were away from the still chattering crowd at the table. ‘Like I say, my friends and I were hoping for a little more action than just some gambling.’

  Steiger nodded and beckoned to an attendant beside the bar. ‘These gentlemen would like to become full members. I will vouch for them.’

  ‘Very well, Mr Steiger,’ the man said, and retreated.

  ‘Go with this man, he will take care of it for you. Maybe next time the gods will smile on me, Mr Lowell.’

  Mangle, Tazeem and Sadiq followed the attendant through a black door to the side of the bar, and into a waiting room. A black velvet couch, two chairs and a wooden table, with a cushioned lip that matched the upholstery, were the only furniture in the dimly lit room. A large mirror ran the length of the wall opposite.

  ‘I’ll be just a few moments, gentlemen,’ the attendant told them, and disappeared through an identical door to the rear of the room.

  The three sat down and waited uncomfortably for his return. Sadiq began to speak but was silenced by Tazeem before he got out more than a few words. He didn’t want to risk anything being said by his cocaine-laced companion that may jeopardise things now they were so close. After a few moments in the prison-like waiting room, the attendant returned, carrying what looked like some kind of medical device.

  ‘The credit checks have gone through, now I just need to implant your membership chips and you’ll all be signed up.’

  ‘Membership what?’ Tazeem asked.

  ‘Oh, I presumed you would be aware of the procedure, having been vouched for by Mr Steiger. Your credit details and membership identification are stored on the chip, and it is implanted into your forearm. Don’t worry, it is quite painless.’

  ‘Quite painless? So is carrying a card,’ Tazeem said, already rubbing his arm, as if in anticipation of the violation.

  ‘I’m sure you’re aware how exclusive our club here is, sir. No one is issued with a card or any other identification that could fall into the hands of an outsider. The chip is encrypted with a 256 bit algorithm. That simply means it can never be read by anything other than the scanners inside The Club. You never have to carry any identification or payment when you attend The Club. You’re charged directly and it will show up on your bank statement as an innocent business expense, from any of a few dozen companies that in no way trace back to this establishment.’

  ‘Sounds like you have it all worked out,’ Tazeem said, reluctantly rolling up his sleeve to expose his right forearm.

  ‘Not me, sir. I am merely here to carry out my instructions,’ he said.

  The attendant smiled warmly and placed three opaque containers and a box of surgical wipes onto the table. The containers were labelled with their aliases, and each held a small capsule that presumably housed the microchip.

  Tazeem lay his exposed forearm on the table and the man moved the device into position. A transparent suction cup created a vacuum as he slowly pulled back a handle on the barrel of the device. An injection tube tipped with a tiny needle slid down against Tazeem’s skin. The man picked up the relevant box, removed the capsule, and inserted it into a chamber in the barrel.

  ‘Ready, sir?’ he asked Tazeem, who nodded and turned his head away.

  The attendant twisted the handle 90 degrees then depressed the trigger. The barrel was released and the microchip injected into Tazeem with clinical efficiency and a sound like a hand smoothing folded paper.

  ‘That’s it?’ Tazeem asked as he turned to face the man again.

  ‘Yes, sir. I hope it was less traumatic than you perhaps anticipated.’

  Tazeem nodded, and rubbed his arm, which bore a circular indent from the suction cup. He inspected the point where the chip had gone in, using one of the surgical wipes to remove a small spot of blood.

  The attendant changed the injection tube and Sadiq was next, the process quicker this time as the operator had to offer less reassurances. ‘And lastly it is your turn, sir,’ the operator said, again changing the injector and smiling at Mangle.

  Mangle exposed his own forearm. He was less than overjoyed at the prospect of having this company’s technology embedded under his skin. He watched the procedure intently. The man was right, it was relatively painless – although they had drunk a few whiskies over the course of the night. He rubbed the point of injection and was surprised to discover he felt no protrusion.

  ‘So we’re clear to go in now?’ Mangle asked the attendant.

  ‘No, sir, there is a wai
ting period of 24 hours while the membership chips are activated. Return any time after that and you can go right up.’

  13

  ‘How do we know we ain’t gonna be walking into a trap when we turn up there again?’ Sadiq asked when they were back at the house.

  ‘I guess we don’t, but what choice do we have?’ Mangle said.

  ‘If they know who we are they could have taken us tonight,’ Tazeem added.

  ‘But you said you didn’t know if the identities would hold up if they looked deeper, yeah?’

  Mangle said nothing but turned to look at Tazeem.

  ‘I can’t guarantee it, no.’

  ‘But the longer we wait, the greater the chance of being discovered?’ Mangle asked.

  ‘I guess so. It’d take quite a lot of probing for them to be revealed as fakes.’

  ‘Then we have to go back as soon as possible. It’s the only thing that makes sense,’ Mangle said. Sadiq nodded silently.

  None of them got much sleep after the intensity of the night they’d had, so they slept much of the following afternoon in order to be fresh for that night. There’d seemed little point in discussing a plan, as they had no idea what to expect on arrival, or on their admittance to The Zombie Room. Sadiq had been able to supply only rudimentary, hearsay information about the place, and confessed he had never wanted to go in there himself. His trepidation about getting involved with these people had already manifested into dread and regret by the time he’d got close enough to be allowed admittance.

  Tazeem drove, and parked in the same spot as the night before. Mangle checked his watch while they walked to the entrance. It was only 22 hours since the chips were implanted and he hoped the 24-hour thing wasn’t to be taken literally. Hanging around inside for another two hours would be too much to bear. He felt nervous enough already, walking into the lion’s den.

  They were walking towards the entrance when Mangle caught a glint from one of Sadiq’s diamond rings. ‘Sadiq, you’re gonna have to take them off. You look way too conspicuous with that lot on.’

  ‘He’s right, man. What were you thinking?’ Tazeem asked.

  Reluctantly, Sadiq slipped the diamond bracelet and rings into his pants pocket, muttering how he didn’t feel right without them. Despite this, he sauntered past the two men on the door in his usual carefree manner, and Tazeem and Mangle followed. Either Sadiq had perfected the art of exuding confidence, or he was genuinely fearless, or he had taken a big hit from his coke supply before they left the house.

  Mangle thought back to his own days of substance use and abuse, now behind him. Sometimes he missed the numbed, walking-underwater feel that the cocktail of narcotics used to give him. But if a situation went down in here then he was going to need all his wits to get out of it.

  They entered The Club. Despite it only being just after midnight, there were already more customers inside. Mangle scanned the room as Sadiq walked up to the attendant beside the bar who had performed their membership induction the previous night. There was no sign of Dyson Steiger at either the gaming tables or the bar. He was pleased about that; the last thing Mangle wanted was another one-on-one battle that would almost certainly see their funds obliterated.

  ‘We’re clear to go in,’ Sadiq said in a matter-of-fact tone when he returned a few moments later.

  The attendant he’d spoken to was gone.

  ‘So where do we go?’ Tazeem asked.

  ‘He’ll come over and fetch us in a few minutes.’

  Sure enough, shortly afterwards Mangle saw a door open up near the booth they had sat in the night before. The doorway wasn’t evident before opening, just a featureless black wall panel. Mangle took a deep breath and followed Sadiq and Tazeem toward the door.

  The attendant gently took Mangle’s arm as he walked by.

  ‘Mr Lowell,’ he said. Mangle’s heart leapt in his chest. ‘Mr Steiger asked me to pass along a message, if I saw you. He requests the pleasure of your company at the tables later.’ He smiled coolly before releasing his grip.

  Mangle nodded. The attendant lowered his hand and they all continued inside to the bottom of a wide stairway that curled lazily to the left on its ascent. The lighting was the same green tinge as the previous room, and the decor of black floor, walls and ceiling continued throughout.

  ‘Upstairs now, gentlemen,’ the attendant instructed.

  Another doorway stood at the top of the stairs, this one marked with the green triangle logo, with curtained cubicles arranged to either side on the landing.

  ‘If you would each proceed into one of the cubicles, gentlemen. Remove all clothes and leave your belongings inside. There are robes and slippers for you to put on, and let me assure you, all of your things will be perfectly safe until you return.’

  ‘Take our clothes off?’ Tazeem asked, looking slightly bewildered.

  ‘Yes, sir. We have to be absolutely sure that no devices that record either sound or pictures are taken inside. This, I’m sure you appreciate, is to protect the anonymity of both the venue and our clients.’ The same cool smile slid across his face like an ice cube in an empty glass.

  With no option other than to comply, they each went to a vacant cubicle and stripped. The robes and slippers were black terry cloth and adorned with the now familiar logo.

  ‘There’s just one thing I need to take with me,’ Sadiq said, poking his head out to speak to the attendant.

  ‘I’m afraid not, sir. Everything you need can be supplied inside.’

  ‘Everything?’ Sadiq asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. Everything.’

  They congregated back on the landing, wearing their matching robes and slippers. The attendant looked up and nodded at a camera above the doorway. A humming sound was followed by a click and the door was electronically unlocked.

  Inside was a carpeted hallway, lined on either side by rows of booths with large black-tinted windows. Empty booths were brightly illuminated from within. Occupied booths had the lights dimmed for privacy and a spotlight from the hallway shone against the glass, reflecting back the incredulous faces of Mangle, Tazeem and Sadiq as they were led onward by the attendant.

  ‘There are three empty rooms here,’ he said in the manner of an air steward signalling a plane’s emergency exits. ‘If you’d follow me inside this one, I’ll demonstrate the facilities.’

  The room was fairly small and cube-shaped, perhaps a few metres between corners. A sturdy-looking square armchair sat in the centre with a touch screen attached to one side. Black floor tiles gleamed like the reflective bar surface downstairs.

  ‘There is a mini-bar within each room for you to make use of,’ the attendant gestured flamboyantly once they were all inside. ‘The screen here is used to place your orders, whatever your heart desires. Simply follow the on-screen menus and touch whatever you would like.’

  A kaleidoscope of beautiful women cascaded as his fingers danced nimbly over the screen. He then selected ‘Merchandise’ and a vast array of drugs, both prescription and narcotic, awaited selection.

  ‘The small window on the arm of the chair is a scanner, to charge whatever product or service directly to your account. Just hold your arm above it after you have selected on screen,’ he said, and indicated on his forearm roughly where they had had the chips implanted. ‘An attendant will bring to the room whatever you have chosen. A camera in each room ensures the absolute safety of the client at all times. They are monitored but not recorded, and there is no audio transmission. Also, it has been known on occasion that a client may try to elicit a service from one of the girls without paying for it,’ he chuckled. ‘But of course we wouldn’t expect such behaviour from esteemed gentlemen such as yourselves.’

  Mangle and Tazeem shared a look, but neither spoke.

  ‘When you decide to end your session, use the screen to signal an attendant. A shower room is available through the door to the rear for you to freshen up, and a fresh robe and slippers can be found in there if you require them. Unless you h
ave any questions I will retire and allow you to enjoy your night.’

  He waited for a moment and when no questions were forthcoming he withdrew from the room. ‘One of you remain in here, the other two can take the rooms on either side. And just to reassure you, the rooms are soundproofed and very strong,’ he said, tapping his knuckles against the wall. ‘Nothing will get through here.’

  Mangle walked to the mini-bar and poured himself a large glass of bourbon. Tazeem and Sadiq took that as their cue to leave with the attendant. The door was closed after them and the lighting dimmed suitably to ensure client privacy. Mangle laughed at the notion. Some privacy when there’s a camera over your shoulder at all times.

  He sat in the chair and swivelled the screen around to face him. ‘Please select a partner’ it said, in bold lettering. A green triangle steadily revolved in one corner. He touched the screen and three categories appeared: ‘Pristine’, ‘Exercised’ and ‘Impaired’. Mangle selected the first and a multitude of headshots of beautiful women filled the screen. He tapped one at random. A complete body shot of the women standing naked appeared. The figure on screen began to move around, a five-second loop of her twisting and turning in a sultry manner. Her eyes looked hazy and she didn’t attempt a smile. A price for the girl to be summoned to your room headed a list outlining some of the acts she could perform and the additional prices for them. There were more option buttons to go into greater depth of possibilities.

  He pressed the ‘Back’ button twice, and this time selected ‘Exercised’ from the menu. Another deluge of faces lined up across the monitor. The others had looked fresh, not happy but detached. These girls had clearly experienced more of what The Club had to offer, and a faraway yet hunted look haunted their eyes. Scanning over the images, Mangle recognised the face of Tatiana, from the file they had taken from the clinic. He tapped the headshot and her naked figure filled the screen and began to move. It was the same girl. She was undoubtedly beautiful but her performance lacked fluency or grace. She appeared like a marionette, her movements forced and controlled by another. Patches of her skin shimmered slightly as she moved, as if the image had been altered after it had been recorded.