The Power of Ten Book Four: Dynamo

“Dealer, huh.” He looked at me, I looked back at him and said nothing. This was Hill’s play, not mine. “She do fieldwork?”

Hill showed his teeth. “Yes. You run it through me. She won’t even look at it otherwise. If I choose to bring her on something, I’ll let you know.”

“Huh.” The mobster looked between the two of us. “Truth be told, Hill, all you did is make the bosses nervous coming here without being asked. They didn’t have anything they wanted to use you for yet, and are wondering if you are asking for protection money.”

Hill just shrugged. “I got bills, and I’ll be visiting other places. The old men want to put me on retainer so I don’t do a job against them, that’s fine, I’ll take it. If they want to turn up their noses, I got no problems with it, either. New York’s a big pond, plenty of fish here.”

Maxie thought about that for a long moment, looking between the two of us, and settling something in his head. “How about an introduction?” he asked.

“I’m listening,” said Mr. Hill.

“I know debt-collecting is normally a bit below you, but there’s some people what owe money that you can’t just send out a couple boys to collect on. The casinos, they share a lot of information, see? Having someone around who can shake up the stiffs at the top will pay better than most jobs I can send ya.

“Might do double-duty with your girl there. If ya wanna hold games with yourself on security, they’d probably be willing to sponsor you a room, just for the draw.”

“That’s not a bad idea. You do that, and I’ll owe you a favor, Maxie.”

The mention of a favor made all the tension drain right out of the fixer. Business was now good! “I’ll get right on that, then. You got a local number?”

“Haven’t fixed myself up one yet, no.”

Maxie opened up a drawer, drew out a simple cell phone, and tossed it to him. I made an effort not to arch an eyebrow at the small keys, but Mr. Hill just caught it and very carefully flipped it back to me. I caught and stowed it into my vest without blinking. Having it on Mr. Hill in a fight would be most counter-productive and quite vulnerable, as it were. Magic collar radios that could share his invulnerability would do the trick between us.

“I’ll call and let The Mick know yer coming. You need a ride down there, or sumthin’?” he asked courteously. Naturally, the garage would be a chop shop, and so busy at this hour, too.

“Figure I’d walk down there and breathe in the fine atmosphere,” Mr. Hill replied flatly, drawing a chuckle from Maxie.

“I’ll find a crib for ya soon. When ya get a phone of yer own, just text a reply to me and pitch that one.”

“Got it. ‘preciate your time, Maxie.” Mr. Hill rose to his feet, extended his hand, and swallowed the hasty palm Maxie put out in return. “A solid for a solid,” he promised.

“You got it, Hill,” the fixer promised, trying not to sweat again, but realizing he’d gained something he couldn’t really put a dollar figure on. “I’ll get right on this. Stay for a while if you like, no charge.” He looked at me again, considering.

“She can drink a fifth in under ten seconds and it won’t affect her. I watched her do it.” He had, too. I wanted to get my alcohol immunity all the way up. The toilet time afterwards was annoying, however.

“Oh, right.” Which naturally meant I was of drinking age. “The girls always liked you being around.”

“You got good girls here,” Mr. Hill replied, swinging around and heading for the door. “Think I might do that for a while.” He didn’t glance at me as he said it, and I just shrugged mentally.

He was definitely the boss here.

------

“Doris.” I waved over the waitress, her head turning sharply as my Voice reached her ear precisely.

She wove her way over with experience through the crowd that was starting to hoot and get excited, giving me an assessing eye, as were more than a few of the men around, turned on by my mask and not-topless garb.

“I’m not really into girls, but I can fake it if you want,” she simpered at me, and I just looked her right in the eyes.

“You want to get in good with Mr. Hill?” I asked directly.

She took a glance in the direction of The Mountain, sprawled out in one of the lounges, the round table there quickly removed and replaced with a low stand for his feet. Two of the girls were on each side of him, keeping him company under his arms, but his hands weren’t touching them.

“Sure, honey. Hill pays good, never touches us. What you talking about?” she switched gears quickly.

“You know how to mix drinks?” I inclined my head at the bartender, an older woman, shirted, probably once worked the floor and the pole.

“Sure, we all have to help there if needed,” she nodded.

“You see that Mixer Stick there?” I pointed with my chin at the silver stick the bartender was mixing up some variant of a Mai Thai with. “That’s the key to doing this.”

I pulled four jars out of my vest. They were bulky and filled with stuff, and she blinked as she wondered where they were all coming from as I set them on the bar. They had clear names, and more importantly, labels clipped from popular brands, along with big numbers, 1 through 4, on them.

“Now, Mr. Hill doesn’t eat and drink like normal folks. What you and I call booze he calls flavored water. This here is a fairly cheap and easy drink to make for him, called a Quick ’n’ Dirty. The only thing you need are these four things, in the right ratio, and a Mixer Stick.”

Now she was looking interested, and a bit appalled, because what I was showing her was bleach, turpentine, motor oil, and a popular brand of laundry detergent. “He can drink that?” she had to ask, pointing at the jars of liquids and powder.

“It’ll taste like a fizzy root beer to him. He’ll really appreciate it.”

“Damn!” She glanced at the huge figure watching one of the girls on the pole, occasionally asking something of one of the girls with him. “He tips good. What do I do?”

“The ratio is 1 to 2 to 3 to 4.” I put my fingers on the lid of each, and she blinked. With a flick of my hand, I drew the Mixer stick over to me, and a pitcher with four glasses, while the bartender blinked at me in surprise.

“Hey, Roxy! How about some service here!” one of the men at her tables shouted at her.

Before she could turn around, I flicked over a card, which streaked over and stopped directly in front of his nose, humming dangerously. He decided to shut up as it burst into flame in front of his face. Doris smirked and had one of the other girls check on the lout for her.

“You put in one glass of number one, and stir it once.” I filled up the glass with bleach, poured it in the pitcher normally used for ice water, and stirred it exactly once. “You put in two of number two, and stir it exactly twice.” I measured out two glasses of turpentine, ignoring the very curious looks being sent my way, and stirred twice. “Then you put in the motor oil, stir three times.” I repeated as she watched, fascinated at the way the mixture changed colors and consistency so quickly under the Stick’s influence. “And lastly, pour in the detergent, stir four times.” I measured them out, dumping them in one by one, and only after it was done did I stir the sludgy gunk four times.

The whole mess began to bubble and froth, kind of sparkling inside. If you didn’t know what was in it, it didn’t look that bad.

“If anyone ever asks if they can drink it, tell them they can if they can chug battery acid.” I fetched a clean glass, flicked up a card to Clean off the other four and return them to the rows of ready ones, and pushed the pitcher and glass over to her.

Eyebrows raised, she took the misting, bubbling pitcher and the glass, and made her way over to The Mountain.

He saw her coming, and he hadn’t missed her talking with me, of course. “What’s all this?” he asked with his usual stony face.

“Compliments of the house, a Quick an’ Dirty,” she sang back professionally, as if she knew everything. She poured him a drink, and as the brunette on his left smoothly peeled away, she moved in to hand it to him.

He looked at it, and at me sitting there on the edge of the seat, watching everything and nothing and fighting back the urge to let loose a blast of pheromones and drive this crowd of drunks wild.

Well, I didn’t need them focusing on me, that was certain.

“Hey, this isn’t bad,” he murmured, smacking his lips. “Thanks, Doris.”

“Anything for you, big guy,” she smiled, snuggling in closer.

------

“Hey, Dealer,” Doris said to me softly, coming over after she came off her turn at the pole. I glanced over at her curiously. “Do you and Hill got, like, somethin' going?”

“Sexually? No,” I replied calmly.

She kind of looked at me, I looked back, and she just sighed and screwed up her courage. “Is there any way we can kind of... help him with that?” she danced around the subject.

“Wellll...” I trailed off, leaning my head in closer to her. “Two things here, Doris. One, he can’t really feel you. He’s sort of aware you’re touching him, but he can’t really feel it, he’s so hard. You know there’s no give to him, right? It’s like he’s made of stone.”

“Yeah, but if he’s that hard...” Doris half-smiled.

“Yeah, I get you, but he’s also super-strong. I, uh, accidentally made him up an aphrodisiac when I whipped up a pudding for him. He basically had a spear going for twelve hours and was shooting off every five minutes the whole time... and putting holes in the paneling doing it.”

Doris went white. “Oh...” she managed to say, picturing that.

“Yeah, you want a little fun with him, it’s gonna kill ya,” I said flatly. “Me too, for that matter. There’s maybe half a dozen women on the planet he could get it on with and not really hurt them while doing it.

“Now, I can do this.” I flicked up a Card. “Left hand.” She held hers out hesitantly as the Card crackled and glowed, and I pressed it down on the back of her hand. It shrank down and glowed, a matching nine of spades materializing on her right hand, too. “Now, you rake your nails down him, he’ll feel it, like a soft gossamer caress. But stay away from his privates. If he lets one go here, he could kill someone.”

She wriggled her fingers, staring at the emblem. “What’s this?” she had to ask.

“Magic enhancement to your hands. Oh, don’t hit anybody with this up. You could kill them, too.”

Her eyes got a little wide, and she glanced over the increasingly drunken floor crowd out there. “I could have used this a few times in the past,” she mentioned.

“Drunken men never act like total assholes to attractive women in real life.”

She looked at me, and smiled despite herself. “Thanks,” she whispered, and moved in on Mr. Hill, pulling Jetta, or Melanie as she was really named, off with a shake of her head.

Mr. Hill visibly twitched when she put her hand up under his shirt and pulled down. He looked down at her, saw the card on her other hand as she grinned up at him, and then looked over at me, but I was looking away and not seeing anything, nuh-uh.

A few minutes later his trench coat was off, and she was running her nails down his back as the curtains to the booth closed. He had his eyes closed and was simply sitting there enjoying the sensation of living human contact.