She stepped into the room, gave it a quick study. Apparently "deluxe" meant the room had an actual bed rather than a cot or pallet. The ceiling was mirrored, which was a little intimidating. But there was a menu screen and an order slot, along with a very small table and two chairs.
She looked at the bed, and a long, liquid longing rose up in her. She'd have given up food for the next forty-eight hours for twenty minutes horizontal. Rather than risk it, she went to the menu screen and ordered a pot of coffee, two cups.
It would be hideous. Soy products and chemicals married together to, inexplicably, resemble rancid tar. But there'd be enough caffeine juiced through it to keep her awake.
She sat, tried to focus her mind on the business at hand while she waited. Her eyes drooped, her head nodded. She felt the dream crawling into her, a monster with sharp, slick claws that snatched and bit at her mind.
A white room, blazing white. Dozens upon dozens of glass coffins. She was in all of them, the child she'd been, bloody and bruised from the last beating, weeping and pleading as she tried to fight her way out.
And he stood there, the man who'd made her, grinning.
Made to order, he said, and laughed. Laughed. One doesn't work right, you just throw it away and try the next. Never going to be done with you, little girl. Never going to be finished.
She jolted out, fumbled for her weapon. And saw the pot and cups on the table, with the menu slot still closing.
For a moment, she put her head in her hands, just to get her breath back. It was okay, she'd pulled out. She'd keep pulling out.
She wondered what dreams bit at Avril's mind when they were too tired to beat them off.
When the door opened, she was pouring coffee.
"Thanks, Crack."
"Anytime, sugar tits." He winked, shut the door.
"Lock it," Eve ordered. "Engage privacy mode."
"This better be good." Nadine complied, then dropped into the second chair. "It's past three in the morning."
"And yet you look lovely, and apparently your tits are sugar."
"Give me some of that poison."
"Empty your bag on the bed," Eve said as she poured a second cup.
"Up yours, Dallas."
"I mean it. Empty the bag, then I'm going to scan you for electronics. This is the majors, Nadine."
"You should be able to trust me."
"You wouldn't be here if I didn't. But I've got to go the route."
With obvious ill humor, Nadine opened her enormous handbag, stomped to the bed, and upended it.
Eve rose, passed her a cup of coffee, and began going through the contents. Wallet, ID, credits and debits, two herbal cigarettes in a protective case, two notepads-paper-six pencils, sharpened. One electronic notepad-disengaged-two 'links, one PPC-also disengaged. Two small mirrors, three packs of breath fresheners, a little silver box holding blockers, four tubes of lip dye, brushes-face and hair-and eleven other tubes, pots, sticks, and cakes of facial enhancers.
"Jesus. You carry all this gunk and put it on your face? Is it worth it?"
"I'll point out that it's three in the morning, and I look lovely. You, on the other hand, have shadows under your eyes a pack of psychotic killers could hide in."
"NYPSD. We never sleep."
"Neither do the defenders of the Fourth Estate, apparently. Did you catch my interview with Avril Icove today?"
"No, heard about it."
"Exclusive."