Sir." He pronounced 'Rockefeller' with the slightest inflection of disapproval.
Crane nodded. Marlene Lang was a model he'd been seeing on and off for some time, in between other conquests. She was easily bored and favoured open relationships, so the arrangement suited her enough that she kept in touch. Currently, they were enjoying some time apart, but Crane was certain this meeting was about business rather than pleasure. The mention of the Rockefeller was a signal. It was a tourist spot, quite beyond the pale. The only reason Marlene would go there would be to discuss her 'hobby', as she put it.
Crane was one of the few who knew that Marlene Lang was a member of the Spider's Web.
The Blood-Spider's network of operatives numbered around twenty people, stretching over the whole of New York and reaching into every corner of society. Few knew about the Spider's Web, and those who did spoke of it in hushed, reverential tones, mindful of the importance of secrecy in their great work. Marlene was more open about it than many, but the Blood-Spider was willing to tolerate her idiosyncrasies for the sake of her driving skills.
Her father had been a mechanic, one of the first to combine the raw power of the traction engines and the intricate steam-hydraulics that drove the robots of Europe into a new kind of motor vehicle. The automobile was a young science, but great strides were being made - enough to get the Blood-Spider interested in owning an auto and employing someone to drive it. Having learned to drive the new vehicles almost as soon as they'd been invented, Marlene was a natural choice.
"I'm his personal chauffeur," Marlene had cooed to Crane once, her blonde hair spilling onto his shoulder as they shared a post-coital Gauloises. "It's ever so thrilling. You should see how he makes me dress."
Crane had raised an eyebrow, drawing on the cigarette for a moment before passing it along. "Why on Earth would the Blood-Spider need an auto? They're so unwieldy. They still haven't found a way to fit a decent boiler and furnace into the damned things. You can't get more than five miles in one, and god help you if you're idling at a stop-signal, you'll end up stuck there forever. Autos are a passing fad. Strictly for hobbyists."
"Not this one. The Silver Ghost, I call it. Goes like a bullet - top speed of almost forty miles per hour, once it's warmed up."
Crane had snorted - "Little liar!" - grabbed hold of her wrist and yanked her to the side, spilling her over his lap, her cigarette nearly burning a hole in the silk sheets as he brought the palm of his hand down against her quivering derrière . Afterwards, she'd wiggled coquettishly on his lap, smiling a secret little smile of her own. A smile with a hint of the devil in it.
She was wearing the same smile now as she waited, sipping her espresso, surrounded by the tourists excitedly discussing their visit to the viewing deck. Nobody would be listening to them. She could speak freely.
She pushed a large cappuccino at him as he sat down, which he ignored. "You know my coffee by now, surely?"
"They don't sell it here. I wouldn't even call mine an espresso, frankly." She smirked, enjoying his stiffness in this setting. She was dressed impeccably; a black and white op-art top that hurt the eyes if you looked too long, with a jet black pencil skirt and stilettos to match. Such an outfit should have stuck out like a sore thumb here, among these awful people, but somehow she managed to blend in.
"I have a message for our mutual friend," she breathed, letting the words hang deliciously on her tongue. Crane frowned. She was entirely too much in love with her role, but he was prepared to tolerate it.
"By which you mean the Blood-Spider. Why not tell him directly?"
She pouted. "You know I can't, darling. He contacts me, not the other way around. The only way I know to contact him is through you. The human mail drop." She smirked, taking another sip of the not-quite-espresso. "Do
Crane nodded. Marlene Lang was a model he'd been seeing on and off for some time, in between other conquests. She was easily bored and favoured open relationships, so the arrangement suited her enough that she kept in touch. Currently, they were enjoying some time apart, but Crane was certain this meeting was about business rather than pleasure. The mention of the Rockefeller was a signal. It was a tourist spot, quite beyond the pale. The only reason Marlene would go there would be to discuss her 'hobby', as she put it.
Crane was one of the few who knew that Marlene Lang was a member of the Spider's Web.
The Blood-Spider's network of operatives numbered around twenty people, stretching over the whole of New York and reaching into every corner of society. Few knew about the Spider's Web, and those who did spoke of it in hushed, reverential tones, mindful of the importance of secrecy in their great work. Marlene was more open about it than many, but the Blood-Spider was willing to tolerate her idiosyncrasies for the sake of her driving skills.
Her father had been a mechanic, one of the first to combine the raw power of the traction engines and the intricate steam-hydraulics that drove the robots of Europe into a new kind of motor vehicle. The automobile was a young science, but great strides were being made - enough to get the Blood-Spider interested in owning an auto and employing someone to drive it. Having learned to drive the new vehicles almost as soon as they'd been invented, Marlene was a natural choice.
"I'm his personal chauffeur," Marlene had cooed to Crane once, her blonde hair spilling onto his shoulder as they shared a post-coital Gauloises. "It's ever so thrilling. You should see how he makes me dress."
Crane had raised an eyebrow, drawing on the cigarette for a moment before passing it along. "Why on Earth would the Blood-Spider need an auto? They're so unwieldy. They still haven't found a way to fit a decent boiler and furnace into the damned things. You can't get more than five miles in one, and god help you if you're idling at a stop-signal, you'll end up stuck there forever. Autos are a passing fad. Strictly for hobbyists."
"Not this one. The Silver Ghost, I call it. Goes like a bullet - top speed of almost forty miles per hour, once it's warmed up."
Crane had snorted - "Little liar!" - grabbed hold of her wrist and yanked her to the side, spilling her over his lap, her cigarette nearly burning a hole in the silk sheets as he brought the palm of his hand down against her quivering derrière . Afterwards, she'd wiggled coquettishly on his lap, smiling a secret little smile of her own. A smile with a hint of the devil in it.
She was wearing the same smile now as she waited, sipping her espresso, surrounded by the tourists excitedly discussing their visit to the viewing deck. Nobody would be listening to them. She could speak freely.
She pushed a large cappuccino at him as he sat down, which he ignored. "You know my coffee by now, surely?"
"They don't sell it here. I wouldn't even call mine an espresso, frankly." She smirked, enjoying his stiffness in this setting. She was dressed impeccably; a black and white op-art top that hurt the eyes if you looked too long, with a jet black pencil skirt and stilettos to match. Such an outfit should have stuck out like a sore thumb here, among these awful people, but somehow she managed to blend in.
"I have a message for our mutual friend," she breathed, letting the words hang deliciously on her tongue. Crane frowned. She was entirely too much in love with her role, but he was prepared to tolerate it.
"By which you mean the Blood-Spider. Why not tell him directly?"
She pouted. "You know I can't, darling. He contacts me, not the other way around. The only way I know to contact him is through you. The human mail drop." She smirked, taking another sip of the not-quite-espresso. "Do
Similar Books
