Her eyes catch mine, like the moon catching light off the sun.  Seemingly perfect yet in some way parasitic.  This is the second time she’s locked retinas with me.  My sources never revealed the identity of my contact, but they told me to “follow the blue dragon.”

     This woman, standing near the exit, she’s wearing a blue dress.  One of those chinese embroidered pattern ones.  At first thought, she would seem to be the obvious choice for my contact.  Tall, dark, oriental, she’d be a perfect fit for any number of positions in the Yakuza.

     However, my “blue dragon” is a very different kind of monster.  They would never be so obvious as to dress in blue.  No, we have a system, me and the dragon.  And this system keeps us safe.  Secure.  We’ve never met in person and any contact is done through secret messages and scrambeled phone calls.

     To kill time, I decide to chat it up with my cobalt vixen anyways.  At this vantage point, I can see the whole club.  The Green Room, the Opium Den, the Snow Nook, and the most exclusive section, Azure Rapture.  Each branch of the club sectioned off not by ropes or lists, but by clientelle and demographic.  Each section named for a specific reason.

     In the Green Room, an endless haze of marijuana smoke billows out through the beaded curtain and up through the ventilation system.  The smoke catching the green light, it makes it impossible to see the opposite end of the room.  The stoned, stupid dopers sit their in their plush couches, with their three foot bongs.  Their eyes glazed and unfocused.  Their minds wrapped around themselves.

     The Opium Den is run by the Triad.  Yet, they do it from behind one way glass and thousand dollar suits.  Their bar is littered with trashy, strung out, brain mashed opiate addicts.  The Opium Den is one of two sectors that operate out of a back room.  Since each branch of the club is rented out independently, upper management can claim ignorance when faced with overdose charges.  The policy of the club was “no questions asked.”

     The other back room operation was Snow Nook.  Cluttered with pure with sofas and glass tables with white aluminum frames.  Every now and again you’ll see something accented red so the nose blood doesn’t look so out of place.  The speakers pumped out fast paced techno and rock.  The coke fiends snort and snort.  Lines disappear from the glass like whiskey from the bottle in the hands of a boozer.