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and their owners."
"Bo-ring, but since we here, we might as well step in."
"That won't be necessary." The bodyguard gave the driver
a nod and a large piece of machinery came to life with a loud
ka-chunk. A whirring noise filled the interior of the long car as
it began to descend smoothly into an underground parking
garage.
"Now this is dope," Shoog drawled, giving the bodyguard a
gem-encrusted grin.
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Moonlight, Tiger, and Smoke
by Connie Bailey
The security agent's face didn't change. It wore the same
impassive expression that it had for the twenty-six hours
Shoog had been acquainted with him. Shoog figured it was an
Eastern thing. Shoog liked Eastern things: Chinese food, kung
fu movies, and geisha lady-boys. He hadn't seen any of these
things since he'd landed at Narita Airport yesterday for the
first concert of his Asian tour, and he was getting a little
peeved, in spite of the excellent selection of booze in the
limo's bar. However, the cloak and dagger entrance to the
club soothed his nerves. It looked as though he was in for an
interesting evening, and that pleased him.
"You done good, Tiger," Shoog said as the guard got out to
hold the door for him. He glanced at the single elevator door
that was flanked by two large men. "That way?"
Tiger bowed slightly. "We're expected," he said and turned
to lead the way.
Shoog hung back a couple of seconds before he followed
the bodyguard. Though Tiger wasn't Shoog's type too tall,
too aggressive Shoog appreciated a handsome man who
moved like a wolf across a clearing. Shoog watched Tiger deal
with the sentries, and then sailed into the open elevator as
though he came here every day. Tiger bowed briefly to the
pair of guards and got into the lift with Shoog and Gilly.
Shoog counted four floors up before the doors opened again.
Tiger stepped out and extended a hand. "Welcome to the
Tea Room," he said without a trace of humor.
Shoog and Gilly got out of the elevator and paused to look
around the intimate-sized lounge. "This is the warehouse
tower, isn't it?" Gilly said.
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Tiger nodded. "Another club is below, but this one is
special."
"Damn sure better be." Shoog took off his sunglasses. "I
like the atmosphere so far, now how about a place to set my
ass down?"
The bodyguard gestured, and a host appeared from behind
a red silk screen to the left of the elevator. Dressed in a tight
black leather version of a military school cadet's uniform and
with a demeanor to match, the host raised an imperious hand
and summoned a waiter. The waiter's short hair was a rich
burgundy color that contrasted nicely with his creamy
Edwardian shirt. Adroitly, the trim man led Shoog's party
through the scattering of low tables and cushions arranged on
tiers around a semi-circular stage.
"Is this to your liking?" the waiter asked as he stopped
beside a black-lacquered table.
Tiger looked around the dimly lit room, gauging the
prominence and the proximity of the other guests. "This will
be fine," he said. "Bring sake, and then we will order drinks."
"You seem to know your way around," Gilly said to the
bodyguard. "Come here often?"
"Not often. It's not every day that I escort someone of Mr.
Six's stature. Only the most famous or infamous are
permitted in the Tea Room."
"Some heavy dudes in here," Shoog said as he arranged
himself on a large red cushion with as much dignity as
possible. "You can smell the gun oil over the expensive
aftershave."
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Gilly nodded, taking a surreptitious look around at the
other tables. "That gent with the tall bird in the red wig looks
like the real deal to me. You reckon he's a Yakuza assassin?"
"He's got the stone-cold killer look to 'im," Shoog said as
the waiter arrived with a pot of sake and three cups.
Tiger turned his cup upside down as the waiter served the
other two men.
"Anyone famous in here tonight, lad?" Gilly asked loudly.
The waiter recoiled slightly and then answered in precise
English. "The man across the room drinking champagne is an
important government official, the mayor of Shinjuku ward."
"Wonder if he's spending the taxpayers' money?" Gilly
elbowed Shoog. "I count five bottles of very expensive
bubbly."
"His date is hot," Shoog said, eyeing the slender young
Asian man seated to the politician's left.
Tiger ran his mild gaze over the politician's companion
again, from the heavy waves of dark hair that shadowed a
pair of depthless bedroom eyes to the handmade boots that
completed the tailored suit. "He's most likely an aide or a
social director, but he's definitely a facilitator of some sort. He
might be having sex with his boss, but I doubt it."
"The mayor of Shinjuku, huh?" Shoog tossed back his cup
of rice wine. "Should that mean somethin' to me?"
"Shinjuku is a very rich ward: lots of skyscrapers, biggest
train station, and largest foreign population in the city," Tiger
said. "Also lots of red-light districts, you know? Clubs with
gambling and strippers. Prostitutes. Drugs."
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"Is that right?" Shoog gave the heavyset politician a long,
speculative look.
"Don't stare," Tiger said. "His bodyguards will notice you.
You don't want that."
"Shit, I ain't afraid," Shoog said. "Anyway, that's what you
here for. Your rep says you hung with the Russian Mafia, so
you should be able to handle some local flavor." He looked up
at the waiter. "Bring me a Seven and Seven," he said.
Gilly took a sip of the sake and ordered a martini.
"When the show start?" Shoog asked, glancing at the
stage.
"Soon," Tiger said.
"Better be good." Shoog crossed his arms over his broad
chest. "I appreciate that you brought me to a place where the
heavy hitters hang out, but I like a little more action, you
dig?"
Gilly chuckled. "What if that Yakuza hit man had a row
with that red-headed tart? Picture her with that bosom
heaving, eh?"
"That man works here as a domestic during the day. He
comes back at night because he gets his drinks at a discount.
The redhead is neither his date nor a woman. That's one of
the performers in the drag show." Tiger rattled off these facts
as if reading them from index cards.
Before anyone could speak again, the lights dimmed
further and the waiter returned with the drinks. As he glided
away, gold-embroidered red curtains pulled back from the
small stage. Soft lights illuminated the half circle with a
silver-white spotlight beaming down on the shrouded figure
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by Connie Bailey
standing like a figurehead on a prow. Head tilted up, face
veiled, body draped in flowing fabric that trailed on the
ground, the performer held the pose as the silence stretched
out.
A few plaintive notes played on a reed flute drifted from
behind the curtain. The figure onstage bowed, and the
translucent silk headscarf drifted down to pool against the
boards. As the performer straightened up, pale, perfect
features framed by glossy, raven-black hair were revealed in
a wash of light that mimicked moonlight. Smooth skin drank
in the fragile radiance, glowing like alabaster. Large eyes
outlined like a pharaoh's gazed tranquilly out into the middle
distance. A pair of full lips poised somewhere between a sulk
and the prelude to a kiss were subtly highlighted by a layer of
clear gloss.
Shoog leaned over the table toward Tiger. "You gonna tell
me that's a dude too?"
Tiger didn't answer right away. His breath caught in his
throat the way it always did, the way it always would, when
he caught sight of this man. "Of course he is," he said when
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