The two of clubs - Get a Piercing.
Monica looked at the card and knew that Harley was behind this. Well, that was the nature of the game that she was playing, the Challenge. Harley was generally fair but he was not above tilting the scales a little.
She knew that and had taken advantage of it. Her plans required her last Challenge before the Summer break to be an easy one. Happily she didn't need to cheat her Members and subs of good content. Harley would arrange for the card picked to correspond with the Challenge to visit a Gloryhole. She already had the video of herself and Charli at Mo's in the Capital all ready to go. They would all love that.
So Harley had done her a favour. Should it surprise her that there was a price to pay?
As soon as her Piercing Challenge was announced the Direct Message had come from Izeye with the address of his place. As if there was ever a chance she would be going anywhere else.
Again it all sort of fitted together, shaping the path of her destiny. She had been feeling increasingly out of place in her exclusive College town. It was so blue-blood New England, so very whitebread. Her supervisor, Professor Solon, had actually suggested the move on one of their zoom chats. However, she had already known that she needed to move on. She needed to be closer to her 'researches', closer to the action.
For about the millionth time in her twenty-four years she was fortunate in that money was no problem. She was currently renting a neat little apartment in a rather nice suburb of the Capital. It was north of the city but still distinctly upmarket. A good address for when she had mail or visitors from her old life, when she had just been the heiress Heather Cameron. A nice relaxing place to live and to write.
It was only ten minutes (twenty at the busiest times) from her planned residence in the long-term, which she was having refitted to her specifications. It was an apartment in a converted warehouse on the waterfront in the Capital's notorious neighbour.
H-Town. Preachers and Moms in Middle America thrilled to the tales of that particular city. So-called because of the heroin epidemic that had fuelled its crime boom and urban disintegration in the eighties and nineties. The city had an official name of course but everybody there just called it H-Town unless they were tourists or the Police.
A city's reputation could be well earned and yet not be uniform. Gentrification had taken over much of the Capital and it had even planted its flag in H-Town, though the residents of the two districts concerned preferred to call it 'North Capital'. There was the College district and the surrounding tech and medical facilities, all much re-developed. Then there was her own new home on the waterfront. Quite apart from its amazing views and restaurants it had easy access to all of the best aspects of living in a big city as regards amenities and music or sporting venues.
None of which accounted for her decision to move there of course. There was almost a cordon sanitaire around these gentrified areas. The politicians, business professionals and celebrities lived there. Heavy police patrols meant that violent crime was rare and both burglaries and street robberies were investigated with ruthless efficiency. When people in these areas committed crime they were strictly white-collar.
It was a good place to set up her new base and studio - a whole floor of one of the wonderfully converted old warehouses. She intended to live pretty quietly there but if anyone had a problem with her renovations or her lifestyle then they could complain to the landlord. Since the landlord was now one Heather Cameron she didn't have too many worries about that!
This gentrified enclave was only a tiny part of the city - as separate from the rest as the old foreign legations that had once existed in Chinese cities. Beyond that line on the map separating 'North Capital' from H-Town there was a whole different world. That was the world that horrified Middle America but it was also the world that intrigued and attracted her.
The address that she had been sent was in H-Town and though she was relatively new she had learned what the neighborhoods signified. This one was OK by H-Town standards, a long way from some of the more dangerous areas or from the infamous dives of the 'Market'.
That didn't mean that you didn't notice the differences of course. An OK area in H-Town was still rather a culture shock. First, nothing seemed to get done. The sidewalks were cracked and sprouting grass. The walls were covered in graffiti, ugly tags and gang signs. Just like the gang sign in the picture Harley had sent her over a year ago when all of this had begun. Some of the old commercial properties were boarded up, the active ones were festooned with shutters and security equipment. There were houses in most streets that seemed to have been abandoned - their doors and windows boarded, or sometimes even bricked up.
There was one other little thing of course. In North Capital Heather did not stand out. It was well over 90% white and the only minorities you saw were the afore-mentioned politicians, celebrities and a sizable proportion of the Metro Police.
Outside that little enclave the real city was very different. Bustling and heaving with a hundred nationalities but mainly, indeed overwhelmingly, African-American. In some parts of the city that rose nearer to 99% than to 90%. Some of those districts were notorious the world over, courtesy of certain TV series and news reports. Their reputations kept them relatively affordable. Populations that the establishment didn't want in their own neigborhoods had long been dumped in the projects out there. Very few might want to live there but at least they could afford to do so if they had to.
She used her trusty Nissan for the journey. Her beloved Continental Speed convertible was left safely garaged. Her Nissan was old enough not to run to a built-in GPS but by the time she went her route was burned into her brain even without the cheap portable version propped on her dashboard.
Her directions led her to a row of two-story buildings. Most were occupied by commercial premises and front and centre was the address she had been given. She parked up - taking care to place easily removable items in a concealed lock-box before she ventured forth.
Whatever was Izeye's business he wasn't too bothered about enticing passing trade. There were no pictures advertising his skills, there was no shop fascia naming it. Instead, there were blanked windows and over the door a simple, small, sign.
'Izeye for Ink Plus.'
Not that Monica noticed it originally. There was something else there far more likely to capture her attention. Leaning on a car, observing all that went on around him, was a man. He was over six-feet tall and very well-built, dressed informally but smartly and with perfect style. Look up 'tall, (very) dark and handsome' and that was this man. At her first glance she knew that when 'alpha males' got together they talked in hushed tones about men like this. He was incredible and her heart went to her throat as she realised that he had noticed her - was looking right at her with a half-smile on his face.
"Hi," she half-gasped.
He gave a little nod and a slightly broader smile. "So you would be Monica." He paused and looked her up and down, from her head to her toes. She knew he was taking all of her in, appraising her as a connoisseur would appraise a fine piece of art or a superior vintage of wine. "Seems your reputation was not exaggerated. One moment please."
