Joy City Blues

Chapter 1- The Party

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JOY CITY BLUES by Grim Flandando

Virgil Wolfe is an expert at getting in everywhere and knowing everyone. As Joy City’s premier Society Columnist, Virgil has broken bread (and beds) with the city’s most elite. But when he’s not living large in Hightop, he’s crashing in the depths of Lowtown with the city’s lost and forgotten.

When one of those elite ends up dead in a dumpster in Lowtown, Virgil will have to move through both worlds, and quickly, to figure out who did it before the city erupts into chaos.

With the help of an anarchist collective and a homeless man known as The Emperor of Joy City, Virgil will find himself in the lowest slums and the tallest penthouses as he desperately tries to avoid an unhinged cop, the Russian mob and more.

Just another day in Joy City.

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Virgil Wolfe stepped off the lift and into the sweeping, baroque foyer. There were a few bodies here and there, lingering. But the real action would be through the massive archway with gold embellishments.

He’d come prepared. He’d cone with the cream-colored suit that ran slim and worked perfectly on his lanky frame. He wore a deep purple shirt, tie, pocket square. He wore his small, wire-rimmed sunglasses that barely covered his eyes. He wore his gold watch and cufflinks. He wore his signature sly grin that let you know wherever he was, that’s exactly where he belonged.

He’d timed the drugs perfectly. The lift had been about to his floor when he felt the first wave coming on. Liquid warmth ran through his veins, reaching every corner and crevice of his body. That would be the Vibe. He tasted electricity, telling him the ampule of Crush was doing its thing. A simmering euphoria fell over him. He looked at the gathered crowds and grinned. This was his scene.

Ravena Anders spotted him from across the room and immediately broke off from the conversation she’d been having and headed his way.

Virgil always liked Ravena. She’d been married to Hod Dwyer, President of Fire Sign Personal Security, the premier defense contractor in the world. It was a sign of his wealth that, when the two divorced, Ravena absolutely took him to the cleaners, becoming the fourth richest person in Joy City, and Hod remained firmly at number two.

She remained eternally in her mid-fifties. Considering the treatments she had access to, that was practically like aging naturally. She was slim, with a mischievous look and sparkling eyes. One look into them, and you knew she was smarter than you, by miles. She wore her honey blonde hair up to show off her delicate neck. There were some streaks of gray within.

The time he’d asked, she’d told him, “Why would I possibly want to be twenty again, darling?  An atrocious time all around. No, my fifties is where I truly lived. You have no idea. Besides, any man who insists I look twenty for him is most definitely not looking for the kinds of things I have to offer.” And she’d laughed in her knowing way, and they’d most likely made love again.

“Virgil, darling,” She gushed as she approached. She leaned in and gave him air-kisses to his cheeks, an act she always called “delightfully pretentious.”

“Ravena, darling,” Virgil replied. The power of her personality was unstoppable, and Virgil always found himself slipping into her speech patterns. “But do I see you standing here without a drink?” He laid the mock horror on thick, enjoying the way he made her giggle. He motioned to a waiter who was immediately at their side with two full glasses of champagne. Virgil nodded and waited until the waiter was gone to hand Ravena her drink.

They sipped for a moment and Virgil’s eyes widened as he felt the slight bite at the back of his throat. “Is this actual champagne?”

Ravena grinned as she slid her free arm through his. “Nothing but the best, darling. You know who’s on the guest list.”

Virgil nodded and took another sip. Alphus Joy, paterfamilias of the Joy dynasty and richest man in the world by many orders of magnitude. The party was in his honor. Or, more to the point, in honor of his family who’d founded the city two and a quarter centuries ago.

“I was beginning to fear you wouldn’t be coming, darling.” Ravena told him.

Virgil looked at her. “How on Earth am I missing this?”

“Oh, darling, you know me, I am forever fretting about such things.” She motioned at the room with the hand holding the champagne. A few drops splashed on the floor, but she didn’t notice. “These people are all so dreadfully dull. What would I do without my little pet?”

“Suffer terribly, one would assume,” Virgil replied. The champagne was a nice addition to the cocktail of substances percolating in his system. He knew it would probably end badly, but he was prepared for whatever was to come.

“That dreadful Ryujin Ito tried to feel me up earlier,” she said, her face twisting into a grimace. “I might have let him go as far as he wanted, but I am certain it would not be worth the trouble.”

Virgil grinned as the image of scrawny Ito trying his best to pump away flashed in his head. He suppressed the strong urge to giggle. Oh, so it was gonna be one of those nights.

Suddenly, Ravena’s eyes widened. “Oh, but I must show you my newest shiny little plaything.”

“A new one? Should I be jealous?”

“Absolutely, darling.” Ravena downed the last of her champagne and set the glass absently on a nearby table. She pulled Virgil along through the throng until they were close to a set of white couches.

She motioned to a young man sitting alone sipping on his own champagne. He was wide-eyed as he stared toward the throng of the world’s most powerful. He looked like a Greek statue given life. His body was lean, perfectly proportioned and well-muscled. His face was perfection. He had a thick mane of black hair, and the brightest blue eyes Virgil had ever seen.

“My god,” Virgil sighed.

“I know,” Ravena laughed. “Such an absolutely perfect specimen. And, the best part, not a single thought in that glorious head of his. Nothing at all that doesn’t involve coming or making me come.”

“So, everything you could ever want,” Virgil said.

Ravena nodded. “I lie, the best part is his cock.”

Virgil perked up. “Nice?”

Ravena leaned in. “Darling, if the worst were to happen and he was to die, I would dedicate my fortune to ensuring it was perfectly preserved to be displayed and studied. Never in human history has a man been so blessed.”

Virgil gave the boy, for he couldn’t be much more than twenty-five, a speculative look.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ravena said. “I don’t think the boy is quite ready for that step, but when he is, of course you may join us.”

“Well, I imagine you’ll have the boy completely corrupted in no time,” Virgil said.

“Oh darling,” Ravena grinned, “you have no idea.”

The party was as dull as was to be expected. There were too many people whose jobs relied too heavily on the opinions of too many other people all clustered in the same room. Mostly there were just scatterings of smaller groups engaged in their own conversations, almost exclusively about money, while their chosen companion looked on and tried desperately not to look bored.

Well, except for the brave, or unimaginative, few who actually brought their spouses. The spouses usually had no problem looking bored.

But Virgil was a professional, and he did his job. He danced from group to group, listening for a moment here or there, adding the occasional comment, usually when he thought of something particularly clever. He’d activated his ocular camera as soon as he’d arrived, and it dutifully recorded everything, just in case.

Ravena had split off from him pretty quickly. She had other things on her plate. No one got out of something like this unscathed. The beast must always be fed.

Virgil took a moment to lean against one of the walls as he felt the Crush starting to peak. The colors in the room were beginning to shift and shimmer and he could feel his eyes begging to follow them.

He saw Tor Vanderspiel heading his way. He spat a curse that he was ninety percent sure he didn’t actually speak out loud and commanded his body to move, to dodge to avoid.

But his body remained slumped against the shimmering wall with the fresco of some ancient Greek temple on it. Trying a different tack, Virgil commanded his body to sink into the scene on the wall.

He imagined it, briefly but clearly. They respected writers back then. He could stand on a rocky crag, overlooking the clear, blue Mediterranean Sea. Not have to wear pants.

Focus, man! his mind screamed. You are about to be savaged by a great, lumbering beast!

There was no denying it. Tor was a hulking monster of a man, some throwback to a more savage time. His shape perfectly matched an upside-down triangle, with inhumanly expansive chest tapering to an almost delicate waist. His pale skin, light eyes and pale hair spoke of his Nordic roots.

Of course, his outfit was impeccable. Vanderspiel Fashions was the luxury clothier in the city. Everyone who could afford it wore Vanderspiel.

A few weeks ago, one of Virgil’s columns had suggested that perhaps Tor was having a torrid affair with two of his designers, both young men from notable, if not exactly prominent, families.

Virgil tried taking a breath. The shimmering of the lights ratcheted up a notch. He told himself this was all part of the gig. He was a professional. Of course he would handle this expertly.

“Wolfe,” Tor growled when he got close.

“My God, man,” Virgil blurted, “how are there enough silkworms left alive in the world for you to make a jacket that size?!? You’re a goddamn bear, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t quite the opening gambit he’d hoped for, but it did seem to confuse Tor enough to keep him from ripping Virgil apart with his shovel-like hands.

“You cause me much trouble, Wolf,” Tor snapped when he’d recovered. His speech was thick with a Scandinavian accent that made no sense considering he was, at least, fourth-generation Joy City.

Virgil gathered himself quickly. “Don’t be ridiculous, man. The people like a bit of scandal, makes you seem interesting, keeps them talking about you. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

“My wife…” Tor said.

“Lovely woman,” Virgil hazarded.

“She is deaconess of her church. She does not take kindly to such things.”

Virgil cursed inwardly. Of course she would be. The Church of the Golden Way had cropped up a few years ago, and it was infecting the city at an alarming rate. It was all about strict, traditional values.

Not long ago, Virgil had attended the same orgy as one of the church’s most prominent elders. The man had seemed like a righteous turd.

“Ah,” Virgil said sagely, “but that’s perfect. They’re all about forgiveness, right?”

“My wife…is perhaps not so familiar with those passages,” Tor replied miserably.

Virgil’s heart went out to the man. As a frequent attendee at people’s rock bottom, Virgil knew well the shocking power of a poor sap replacing fun with the Lord.

He reached out and squeezed Tor’s shoulder. “This, too, shall pass, man. Are we not all sinners in the eyes of the Lord?”

Tor nodded absently. He was lost in his own thoughts, probably wondering where it all went wrong.

With a Herculean effort, Virgil separated himself from his emotional support wall and took Tor by the arm. “Okay, then, let’s get you several drinks.”

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Hopefully if you’re reading this, you got through the entire story. Thank you so much, and also, I admire your fortitude. Want to get a behind the scenes look at this whole thing? Look for the JOY CITY BLUES- BONUS FEATURES.

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