believe this minor may be on the premises. I don’t need to tell you what a shit-storm of trouble your boss could be in if he’s sheltering runaway minors. Or worse.”
Stovak barely even glanced at the picture, his face seemingly puckering in his distaste. He had one of those kinds of faces that looked like he was always smelling something bad anyway, so now he looked really disgusted. “I don’t like your implication, detective . We are law-abiding citizens, and as a place of worship, we are open to all, regardless 46
Andrea
Speed
of age.”
Slimy little uptight weasel. But at least he’d said something Roan could use. “You’re right. Excuse me while I go worship.” He spun on his heels and went deeper inside the “church,” following the thudding bass down a couple of hallways, until it lead to the double doors leading into the “auditorium.” Really it was just a large room with a high roof, but hey, close enough.
Stovak followed him all the way, blustering and spluttering, saying something about “invasion of privacy,” but if he wanted to try and sue him for something, he was free to. After all, what the fuck did he have? A toaster named Terry, an obsolete computer, and a house with a shattered back door. Fuck yeah, he was rolling in shit! Eli would certainly want it.
He shoved open the auditorium doors, and found himself looking at a seething mass of dancing kids, as gel lights swirled and gothic-industrial dance music pounded and thrummed from an undeniably expensive sound system he couldn’t see in this unevenly lit, cavernous room. It didn’t matter that raves were passé; this was probably very close to one, and it had an almost full capacity.
And while the participants were mostly young, some were older than you’d think a crowd like this would attract.
“What the fuck is this?” he growled at Stovak, turning to face him so sharply that the skeletal lawyer actually backed up a couple steps. What, was he afraid of getting some gay on his Prada suit? “Some kind of infected mixer?”
Skeletor’s look was equal parts scolding and arrogant. “I have no idea what you’re implying—”
“Yes, you do. You can light all the fucking incense you want, but I smelled infecteds on my way in here, and I still smell them all over this crowd. If one kid gets infected in this pedophile mash-up of yours—”
“That’s slander!” Stovak snapped, recovering his tattered dignity in indignation. Roan had been aware that Paris had been standing in the auditorium doorway for the last thirty seconds, not so much watching the crowd as watching them. Stovak was unaware of him, or he would have freaked out at having been roughly between two gay men. “And if you persist in bad-mouthing my client, you will find yourself served with a restraining order—”
Infected: Prey
47
“Yeah, bring this to court, asshole! I can’t wait to talk to a judge about this place.”
Paris suddenly let out an exuberant whoop on his way to the dance floor, grabbing the arm of a pretty girl standing near the wall and pulling her out with him onto the floor. Stovak jumped slightly, in spite of the fact that Front Line Assembly had almost completely drowned Paris out. And in spite of the generally crowded floor, Paris was an instant star within less than a minute.
Paris wasn’t the world’s best dancer, but he was graceful, physical, and fearless—in other words, he made up for what he lacked in actual technique with raw passion, and that was more than enough. A small circle of women began forming around him, with him as the eye of the hurricane, and some of the less confident or gifted dancers started to drift off to the sidelines, including men who had been abandoned in favor of Paris. Many teenage boys suddenly remembered to be totally self-conscious.
Stovak sneered at the spectacle. “Your… friend’s the equal opportunity whore, isn’t he?”
One girl snaked her arms under Paris’s shirt as she
Stovak barely even glanced at the picture, his face seemingly puckering in his distaste. He had one of those kinds of faces that looked like he was always smelling something bad anyway, so now he looked really disgusted. “I don’t like your implication, detective . We are law-abiding citizens, and as a place of worship, we are open to all, regardless 46
Andrea
Speed
of age.”
Slimy little uptight weasel. But at least he’d said something Roan could use. “You’re right. Excuse me while I go worship.” He spun on his heels and went deeper inside the “church,” following the thudding bass down a couple of hallways, until it lead to the double doors leading into the “auditorium.” Really it was just a large room with a high roof, but hey, close enough.
Stovak followed him all the way, blustering and spluttering, saying something about “invasion of privacy,” but if he wanted to try and sue him for something, he was free to. After all, what the fuck did he have? A toaster named Terry, an obsolete computer, and a house with a shattered back door. Fuck yeah, he was rolling in shit! Eli would certainly want it.
He shoved open the auditorium doors, and found himself looking at a seething mass of dancing kids, as gel lights swirled and gothic-industrial dance music pounded and thrummed from an undeniably expensive sound system he couldn’t see in this unevenly lit, cavernous room. It didn’t matter that raves were passé; this was probably very close to one, and it had an almost full capacity.
And while the participants were mostly young, some were older than you’d think a crowd like this would attract.
“What the fuck is this?” he growled at Stovak, turning to face him so sharply that the skeletal lawyer actually backed up a couple steps. What, was he afraid of getting some gay on his Prada suit? “Some kind of infected mixer?”
Skeletor’s look was equal parts scolding and arrogant. “I have no idea what you’re implying—”
“Yes, you do. You can light all the fucking incense you want, but I smelled infecteds on my way in here, and I still smell them all over this crowd. If one kid gets infected in this pedophile mash-up of yours—”
“That’s slander!” Stovak snapped, recovering his tattered dignity in indignation. Roan had been aware that Paris had been standing in the auditorium doorway for the last thirty seconds, not so much watching the crowd as watching them. Stovak was unaware of him, or he would have freaked out at having been roughly between two gay men. “And if you persist in bad-mouthing my client, you will find yourself served with a restraining order—”
Infected: Prey
47
“Yeah, bring this to court, asshole! I can’t wait to talk to a judge about this place.”
Paris suddenly let out an exuberant whoop on his way to the dance floor, grabbing the arm of a pretty girl standing near the wall and pulling her out with him onto the floor. Stovak jumped slightly, in spite of the fact that Front Line Assembly had almost completely drowned Paris out. And in spite of the generally crowded floor, Paris was an instant star within less than a minute.
Paris wasn’t the world’s best dancer, but he was graceful, physical, and fearless—in other words, he made up for what he lacked in actual technique with raw passion, and that was more than enough. A small circle of women began forming around him, with him as the eye of the hurricane, and some of the less confident or gifted dancers started to drift off to the sidelines, including men who had been abandoned in favor of Paris. Many teenage boys suddenly remembered to be totally self-conscious.
Stovak sneered at the spectacle. “Your… friend’s the equal opportunity whore, isn’t he?”
One girl snaked her arms under Paris’s shirt as she
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