In Death 05 - Ceremony in Death

entrance with forged ID -- to the very mature. But from the wardrobe and jewelry, the tone of faces and bodies that slyly hinted at salon enhancements, the clientele was solidly upper middle-class.
    "Money doesn't look to be a problem here. I've spotted at least five high-credit licensed companions."
    "My count was more like ten."
    She quirked a brow. "Twelve bouncers with low-grade palm zappers."
    "On that count, we agree." He slipped an arm around her waist and walked to the rail. Below, the dance floor was packed, bodies rubbing suggestively against bodies. Wild laughter bounced off the mirrored walls and shot upward.
    The band was into their performance mode. The two female vocalists were being bound to dangling silver chains with leather straps. The music pounded, heavy on the drums. The dancers surged forward, closing in, as eager as a mob at a lynching. Audience participation was realized as a man was brought forward and accepted the invitation to strip the women out of their flimsy robes. Beneath, they were naked but for glittery stars over nipples and pubes.
    The crowd began to chant and howl as he coated them with thick oil, and they writhed and screamed and begged for mercy.
    "That's skirting the line," Eve muttered.
    "Performance art." Roarke watched the man scourge the first vocalist with a velvet cat 'o nine tails. "Still within the law."
    "A simulation of debasement encourages the real thing." She set her teeth as a band member began to lightly slap the second vocalist as their voices soared in fervent duet. "We're supposed to be beyond this kind of female exploitation. But we're not. We never are. What are they looking for?"
    "Thrills. Of the cheaper and meaner variety." His hand soothed the base of her back. She knew what it was to be bound, to be abused. There was nothing artful and nothing entertaining about it. "There's no need to watch this, Eve."
    "What makes them do it?" she wondered. "What makes a woman let herself be used that way, in simulation or in reality? Why doesn't she kick his balls into his throat?"
    "She's not you." He kissed her on the brow and firmly turned her away.
    The railing was thick with people, now straining to see the show.
    As they took a quick tour of the top floor, a woman in a sheer black gown glided up to them. "Welcome to The Master's Level. Do you have a reservation?"
    Enough was enough, Eve thought. She flipped out her badge. "I'm not interested in what you're selling here."
    "Fine food and wine," the hostess said after only a quick hitch at the sight of police identification. "You'll find we're completely within code here, Lieutenant. However, if you wish to speak with the owner -- "
    "I've already done that. I want to see Lobar. Where do I find him?"
    "He doesn't work this level." With the subtlety and discretion that would have made the poshest maitre d' proud, the hostess steered Eve back toward the stairs. "If you will go to the main level, you will be met, and a table provided. I'll contact Lobar and send him to you."
    "Fine." Eve studied her, saw an attractive woman in her mid-twenties. "Why do you do this?" she asked and glanced at one of the screens where a woman screamed and struggled as she was strapped to a raised slab of marble. "How can you do this?"
    The hostess merely glanced down at Eve's badge, then smiled sweetly. "How can you do that?" she countered and drifted away.
    "I'm letting it get to me," Eve admitted as they headed down to the main level. "I know better."
    The band continued to play, the music a frenzy now. But the performance aspect had switched to a huge view screen that filled the wall behind the stage. It took Eve only a glance to see why. The club wasn't licensed for live sex acts, but such minor inconveniences were transcended by video.
    The female vocalists were still bound, still singing their hearts out without missing a beat. But they were behind the stage now, on camera, along with the man from the audience and a second man who wore nothing but an ornate mask of a boar's head.
    "Pigs," was all Eve had to say, then looked into gleaming red eyes.
    "Your table is this way." The young man smiled, revealing gleaming teeth with incisors sharpened to vicious fangs. He turned. His hair streamed down his naked back, black, tipped with red like flames. He opened the rounded door on a privacy tube, stepped in ahead of them.
    "I'm Lobar." He grinned again. "I've been expecting you."
    He might have been pretty without the affectation of