Winnings

When my contract with George ended, I felt a little bit lost. Too young to retire and with too much money in my pockets to need a new job right away, I was traveling from place to place, catching up with old friends and looking for something to do with my life.

I almost never played Arthurian Poker because for someone at my level of skill it wasn't advisable, but when an acquaintance who worked at a casino comped me a room and a few chips, I decided to try a few hands. And what do you know, thanks to a combination of alcohol and improbable luck, I became the owner of a brothel on Zesta, a mid-sized space station and a notorious hotspot of gambling and prostitution.

Unsure what to do with a brothel, I decided to check it out in the morning. Rickie, the guy I won it from, was a shady character to say the least, but the pit boss assured me that the place at least existed and made sure that I had the title and all access codes transferred to me the same night.

Oh well, I thought, at least it’s a line of business I’m very familiar with.

When I woke up in my hotel room the next day with a splitting headache, it was already past noon. It hadn't been a dream, the title to my new property was on the nightstand, next to my blaster and the rest of my winnings – a small pile of coins worth a couple thousand credits.

After popping some painkillers, a quick breakfast, and a shower I felt like a whole new woman. Dressed in cargo pants and a loose t-shirt, blaster strapped to my thigh, blade in my boot, I took the elevator down to deck ninety-seven, a commercial district that consisted of shops and offices.

It wasn't hard to find. The neon sign outside read “The Naughty Nymph” and had a tacky animation of said nymph with cherry-red lips sucking an oversized dick.

The brothel was located in a former cargo hold and had the typical layout that you would often find in cheaper places – one large, windowless room, separated into reception, entertainment, and an administrative area in the back. The main cargo door – six meters wide and four meters high – was closed, you had to enter through a normal-sized door to the right, which was now the main entrance.

The first third of the room was the reception or waiting area where a path made of stanchions with ropes was leading up to the reception desk, over a carpet that had once been red.

Next was the so-called floor, the area where the prostitutes entertained their clients. The main feature were the booths – two dozen cubicles with waist-high walls on three sides, open towards the entrance, all of them arranged in one long row. Anyone standing in line in the waiting area could pass their time by watching the action in front of them. It was a proven system, ensuring that the clients didn’t get bored and were ready when it was their turn. After all, time was money.

There were no clients though – the floor was almost empty – other than the receptionist I could only see three people.

Two of them were naked girls, tethered to the back wall of their respective booths using a steel collar and a chain. I had plenty of first-hand experience with this setup, it was common practice at whorehouses across the galaxy to make sure you didn't wander off during your shift without permission. The pretty blonde on the right seemed to be curious, she was smiling at me, while the other girl and a fat, bald guy in booth one were fast asleep. He was fully clothed and probably passed out drunk, judging by the empty bottle of booze next to him on the bed.

Behind the row of booths, parallel to the back wall, were two old freight containers with cut out doors and windows that seemed to serve administrative purposes. Every brothel needed at least a bathroom for the staff and some kind of office, I guessed they had to be in there.

Less than impressed, I walked up to the hostess.

“We're not hiring,” she said without looking up from whatever she was reading, before I could open my mouth. I decided to stay incognito for now to check out how they handled things here.

“I'm not looking for a job.”

“Ah. Pussy eating is eighteen credits,” she said and pointed at the large display on the wall to my left. It was the menu, the list of services that were offered here and their corresponding prices.

“Is it always this empty?” I asked.

Among other things, Zesta was a trading hub and even though the station had a day and night cycle, it was usually busy around the clock, with at least a dozen ships docking or departing any given hour.

She shrugged and blew a bubble with her chewing gum. “Do you want your snatch eaten or not?”

What the hell, I thought, might as well check out the service. I handed her eighteen credits in coins which she put on the desk next to the cash register.

“Booth three. Enjoy.”