It turned out there was more to the dinner club than dinner. A whole lot more.
There was a “spa” area on the second floor where members could sit in saunas, obtain massages and facials, and more. There was also a very special area in the very back of the spa that partook of a bordello, as it turned out, and should the member wish, he or she could make a selection and have the same escort – male or female, as the member desired – for the entire evening, performing the massage, the facial, and more intimate functions. The escort could even dress up and join the member for dinner. And on the third floor, there was also a small gambling casino where members could enjoy themselves; some were placing very high-stakes bets against the house. And, the investigators decided after watching for a while, winning with the proper frequency to demonstrate the house was not crooked.
“Which is something, I guess,” Ames decided.
“Yeah. Considering the only legal part for a dinner club is the restaurant area,” Compton noted. “The spa area is legal, but not in conjunction with an eating establishment, and the brothel and casino are right out.”
“Well, the casino would be legal if it were in a different zone,” Weaver said.
“True,” Compton agreed.
“Surprise, surprise,” Ames murmured to the others in a disgusted tone, as they finally located their target. “Where else would Bronze be?”
“In the back, getting a massage from a scantily-clad prostitute,” Compton observed.
“At least she’s easy on the eyes, I guess,” Weaver noted.
Just then, they watched as another person, a handsome young male, entered the massage room and joined the female. He was as scantily clad, and just as easy on the eyes, depending upon one’s preferences.
“This is gonna get damn embarrassing, damn fast,” Ames noted in a very quiet voice.
“Um, yeah,” Compton agreed as the male prostitute pulled the drape completely off Bronze’s naked body.
“Hoo boy,” Ashton said, eyes widening as the female prostitute grinned and reached for certain parts of Bronze’s anatomy. “Yeah, we’re not voyeurs, just cops. Okay, hang on a sec, guys.” He went into the hacking app’s controls and set up a particular sequence, then promptly decreased the image resolution until all that could be seen were general bipedal forms. Then he placed colored markers on the heads of each – red for Bronze, blue for the female prostitute, and green for the male. “We’ll see about busting the establishment once we’re finished with surveillance.”
“That’s…better,” Ames decided.
“Yeah,” Compton and Weaver agreed. “We can see where they are, and get the gist of what they’re likely doing, without having to see details,” Compton added.
“Thank God,” Ames declared.
Bronze spent several hours with his companions, apparently massaging and being massaged, as well as engaging in quite a few sessions of intercourse of various sorts. The massage room opened up to a private sauna on one side, and a bedroom on the other, and the trio made copious use of all three rooms.
Along about seven in the evening, the Imperial City investigators noted the amorous activity slacked off, and within a quarter of an hour, all three were getting dressed. Ashton gingerly increased the resolution of the three-dimensional simulacrum, and they watched as Bronze offered each “escort” an arm, and they walked down a private escalator into the dining room together, taking an exclusive table in the corner.
The club’s dinner menu for the evening – most such dinner clubs varied their offerings nightly, at least in Imperial City – was a Catalonian churrascaria, a rodizio barbacoa as the Catalonians termed it, or all-you-could-eat barbecue. Grilled meats of every kind were offered, along with suitable vegetable and starch sides common to the upper-class barrios on Catalonia. Legs, loins, chops, filets, and ribs of every conceivable animal – cow, pig, sheep, goat, chicken, tilapia, lobster, and several that were rather more exotic, including rattlesnake, kangaroo, and swan – were available from rare to medium well.
“Damnation!” Ashton exclaimed as he watched. “The dinner plates are the size of platters!”
“And they’re filling ‘em about as full,” Weaver observed.
“Plus wine,” Ames noted. “Two bottles already for just the three of ‘em.”
“Okay, so obviously Bronze is a hedonist,” Compton decided. “But I don’t get it. How does…playboy…factor into assassin?”
The others turned to Ashton, who gazed back, surprised.
“Well?” Ames demanded. “We’re waiting, Nick. You’re the guy who’s studied this jerk.”
“I’ve never interviewed him, or even met him,” Ashton protested.
“You still know more about him than anybody else,” Ames pointed out.
“Okay, okay, I’ll do my best to explain, as best I understand – or think I understand,” he tried. “Josip Bronsky grew up on Wollaston, and came from a broken family. His mom abandoned him and his dad for a boyfriend – they weren’t married to begin with, according to records – and his dad was a con man. So Bronsky grew up in one of the poorer neighborhoods, being trained how to run cons. He got good at it.”
“Okay…” Ames murmured. “Not a great start.”
“No. Near as I can tell, on one of his bigger cons, he inadvertently got caught up in some of the inter-system politics that they have on Wollaston, and ended up playing one side against the other to get out of a con gone wrong. The side who helped him apparently taught him a few things about how to make a person disappear – the target of the con was killed, and the murder was never solved; the girl who helped him on that con-gone-wrong has never been found, either – and…” Ashton shrugged. “Apparently he liked it.”
“What, you mean he liked the money?” Ames asked, eyes wide. The other men just listened, likewise interested, but silent, listening to the byplay between the couple.
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Ashton said. “But no. I mean he
