Wedges
30 Sep 2016Mara Korine
The next few days went by without a change to Mara's vocational problems. She found no funding, no ship, and no answers. She did make progress in recovering from her injuries. After two weeks of exercises and stretches that at first brought her to tears, she was spending hours on her feet at a time. The pins and needles gave way to sensation, the pain subsided. She would have a substantial limp and require a cane for at least a year, but she was feeling much more herself. As her stay at the hospital drew near its end she found herself with a dilemma. Do I book a hotel and wait for a cheap ship to show up on the used market, do I have one delivered from the bubble, or do I charter one? Having one delivered would get her precisely the ship she required, but would take a week to procure the order, and then it would take at least two weeks to travel. The delivery charge would be enormous and she didn't have that much time to waste. The Venture would be publishing preliminary results next month and if she wanted to be noticed she would have to have contributed much more data and have at least a few findings to share. With the station being so far out of civilisation she assumed any ships they might have on the open market would be well suited to deep space exploration. When she was able to visit the shipyards she realized her error. Everyone who made it to Jaques already had an exploration ready ship, and anyone in the market for one had likely just wrecked theirs. The final option was to charter. It could be costly as well but she might be on her way and prices were much more negotiable if the pilot felt like heading out that way.
Mara started up a vid-call with the broker who she'd been talking to, an emaciated man by the name of Eddy. In their last call, he had been wearing a suit of which the cuffs were starting to come undone. Mara assumed his clothing had been bought second hand, like everything else in his establishment. Her suspicions about transportation were confirmed. Eddy still had no ships available that could make the jump range she required. At last, she inquired about pilots who might be interested in chartering their ship.
"It's not unheard of," offered Eddy, "but it's not a regular service. You'll have to ask around. If you're asking me this, I'm sure you don't have any contacts here. Are you sure you don't want this Type 6? It will get you most places the Asp will if you lighten it up. I'll throw in a crate of radios I have on special."
"I've flown a Type 6. They are noisy and uncomfortable and they only have any range if you throw out every amenity to lighten it up, including the kitchen sink. I'll be sure to leave you an excellent review on the bulletin board if you would point me in the direction of someone who might help. Why would I want a crate of radios?"
"Good reviews help, but I need sales lady." Eddy slumped back in his chair with an air of self-importance.
"Well, I'm afraid I can't help you unless you have managed to find me an Asp in the meantime. Goodbye, and thanks."
Eddy lurched upright and interrupted, "Wait, hold on now! Ok, I don't have a ship for you, but I think we can still help each other out. I'm sure I can point you in the right direction."
"What do you mean, and how can I help you?"
Eddy smiled with a sigh, and slumped back in his chair once again, "You wanna buy a crate or two of radios? I got these for an amazing price. But the commodity market here on the station won't buy them from me. You take a couple crates off my hands for say," he paused, rubbing his chin with a hand stained possibly with grease, "five-hundred a crate. That would really help me out. In return, I'll let you know where to take your business."
Mara observed that the clutter in his office, so far as the camera he was using could see, seemed to resolve into piles of large plastic crates and his desk was covered in radios from various manufacturers. "Fine, I'll buy two crates." She offered, sending the transaction request.
Eddy's face lit up, "Hey! You've made a good call. Win-win. You get radios you can sell for at least 800 a crate back home, and I get to mark down a sale. I am a bit sad I won't be seeing the margins on those radios but hey, I gotta move 'em. There's no official chartering company on the station so you'll have to look in at the places that thrive after hours right? For your situation let me tell you, avoid the bigger places. You're not going to find someone you like in there. Try the Owl Five-Five, or Wedges. You're more likely to find someone at one of those."
Mara sent a request for two more crates and thanked Eddy.
"Hey, bonus! You know, if you buy a couple more I might have a name for you."
"Only a couple more? Just how much information do you have that you believe I need and how much is it going to cost me?"
"Just this name ma'am." Eddy put his hand over his heart and presented his most endearing fake smile.
"Alright, two more. The name?"
"Francis. He's a bartender. He works the lower floor at Wedges. It's a quiet place and good for business. His name comes up in deals from time to time. He's well connected. The place should pick up around 11, if I were you I'd show up around then. It will be nice and busy. Oh, and you'll need to spring for a VIP pass. That's a cost of doing business at Wedges."
Mara sent the final transfer request and thanked Eddy again for the final time.
"Pleasure doin' business with you, and hey, if you know anyone that needs radio's you send them my way!" Eddy concluded before Mara ended the call.
Late in the evening and Wedges was as busy as Eddy claimed. The interior capitalised on cliche. The music was loud enough to give a tactile impression. Neon signs highlighted walls decorated with various advertisements for beer and liquor featuring a large number of minimally clothed women and a few men. A smokey haze permeated the atmosphere. It was real smoke. Unlike the places she was used to, bars in Jaques fostered a wilder, freer, and less responsible attitude. It was a frontier establishment and Mara couldn't help feeling a sense of adventure. She couldn't decide if that was in spite of the sticky floor and polluted air, or if they contributed.
Eddy claimed this place was quieter and better for business. Quieter? Really, that must have been a joke. Around the edges of the room, booths were being occupied by those who hadn't joined the party-goers on the dance floor. Several tables filled spaces between the booths and a dance floor which was outlined by an old-fashioned looking wood style fence. A bar was built out of the far wall served several stools, all occupied. A few men sitting at the bar were facing out, watching the dancers and newcomers entering the establishment. One of the men, wearing a sleeveless vest that showed off his detailed tattoos, nudged the man beside him, pointed in the direction of one of the dancers and pantomimed feeling her body. Both men burst into laughter and continued their people watching. The dress code was lax, and people were wearing many different styles from casual to flirtatious. Mara's peach coloured pantsuit did not attract attention from the men at the bar. As far as she was concerned, this was a good thing. She was there for business and planned to communicate that with her attire. The last thing she wanted was to be harassed. She scanned for the way to the lower floor as she walked across the barroom.
The restrooms were down a tight hallway to the right side of the bar. The stairs were on the left, and though none of the adverts and reviews for the place had mentioned VIP access, Eddy must have been telling the truth. A sign above the head of the stairwell confirmed a VIP area was down the stairs in blocked letters, and a rope cordoned off the way down. Two men, both wearing grey suits occupied the booth closest to the stairs. One of the men's suits featured pinstripes and the other's was plain. The pinstriped man was thickly built and shaved his head. The plain suited man had short black hair and was leaner and taller than the pinstriped man. There was a single plate of nachos and a pitcher of water sharing their table. As Mara observed them, she realized that the pinstriped man was watching her and probably had been doing so long before she noticed them. He was talking to the man in the plain suit, who seemed uninterested and who's focus remained fixed on a tablet he had propped up against the plate in the center of the table.
The man in the pinstripe suit watched Mara make her way to the bar. His eyes would follow her, and pause occasionally to speak to the uninterested man in the plain suit or to steal a bite of nachos. When she'd made her way to the bar at the back of the room he turned his attention to a holographic menu he'd pulled up, selected an item, and started back on the plate of nachos.
There was no room at the bar to sit, so Mara had to make room for herself standing at one of the ends. She chose the side closest to the stairs. She didn't choose that side intentionally, she just felt better being nearer her goal. She ordered an orange juice, left a tip in the tip jar, and asked the bartender who's name was Jacob according to his nametag how she might gain access to the VIP area. Jacob nodded in the direction of the two suited men guarding the stairs. but didn't say a word. Mara was taken aback. Usually, if you hadn't been introduced, you would speak to the manager and explain your credentials to them, or in lesser circles simply pay a fee for access. You didn't get directed to the bouncers unless you didn't fit in. How can I be rejected outright? They don't know who I am. They don't know my families connections. Mara decided that it was as simple as that. She would show them how connected she was.
The time difference between Jaques and home was enough that she didn't expect to get a hold of anyone until sometime the next day. She spent some time thinking about what exactly she would be asking for while sipping a potent, sweet drink and snacking on a plate of potato wedges. This wasn't a prestigious place and if there was a record of Mara being here it could look bad in some people's eyes so she would have to form the request carefully. The wedges, which the bar was surely named for, were too salty and not at all crisp. People really must come here for the business.
Mara didn't mean to have too many drinks. She intended to have one, or maybe two drinks and people watch for a while before heading back to her hotel. But one or two drinks turned into one more, and then one more turned into several and soon enough Mara's failure felt like a diversion rather than an event. It was distant and annoying, but not immediate. What was immediate was how much her head was spinning, how her leg was starting to hurt again, and that she should get back to her room before she wholly regretted the evening.