Bab 7: WHO DO YOU VOODOO, BITCH
"WELL, NOW, AIN'T this somethin'!" Logan stood out on the balcony of his hotel room, looking at the view. He had showered and changed, and was now ready to have himself a little fun. He swirled his scotch and soda round in his glass, liking the way the ice cubes tinkled and chimed. He had popped some Prozac a while ago and was currently feeling mellow, relaxed. His knee had been throbbing some after the flight, but a couple of Tramadol had taken care of that. He thought about the cute Chinese girl on reception and wondered what time she finished work. Despite her resistance earlier, he still had high hopes of reeling in that particular fish. In his experience, it was often the initially shy and reluctant girls who ended up being the wildest between the sheets.
Ten minutes later Logan was sitting at the hotel bar, his gaze roaming around the room. The place was full of couples and families, all dressed up for dinner. There were no single women here, not even that Purna chick. Maybe he should have knocked on her door on the way down – he, Purna, and that rapper guy, Sam, had been given adjacent rooms, just as they had been given seats together on the plane, almost certainly because of that blood drive bullshit – though something told Logan he wouldn't make much headway in that direction. The woman was stunningly beautiful, sure, but she was also tough and angular and had a don't-fucking-mess-with-me look in her big brown eyes. In Logan's view, women should be docile and vulnerable and sweet if they wanted to attract men, not opinionated ball-breakers.
He had a couple more drinks at the bar and then decided to move on. He knew if he stayed in the hotel he could have free drinks all night, not to mention a free dinner, but he would rather put down a few of his own hard-earned dollars if it meant getting himself a little action.
'Same again, sir?' the bartender asked.
'Maybe later,' replied Logan. He stood up and began to make his way towards the exit, but then something occurred to him, and he turned back. 'Hey, I don't suppose you know what time Sam B is doing his thing, do you?'
'Ten p.m. I believe, sir.'
'Thanks, buddy.'
It wasn't until the fresh air hit him that the world started to spin. He paused a moment, blinking. Must be the jet lag. That and the fact that he hadn't eaten in hours. He began to weave away from the hotel, heading for the bright lights of the main street. It was beginning to get dark now, streaks of lilac cloud appearing in the blue sky.
Every fisherman knows there are days when the fish just don't bite, and such was Logan's luck that night. He trailed the bars of Banoi's main street for over two hours before deciding to head back to the hotel. He had talked to a few likely-looking girls, had even persuaded a couple of them to accept his offer of a drink, but somehow they kept slipping the line before he got the chance to reel them in. By the time he arrived back at the Royal Palm, with nothing to show for his evening but a lighter wallet and a smear of seafood sauce on his shirt from the crayfish sandwich he had eaten in a bar called the Sailing Boat, he was foul-tempered and so drunk that the ground was tilting and yawing beneath him like the deck of a ship.
Noting blearily that the little Chinese girl was no longer on reception, he decided to make for the bar for an on-the-house nightcap or two. Then he heard the thump of music coming from somewhere off to his right and remembered all about Sam and his gig. Moving carefully so as not to trip over his own feet, he changed direction and followed the pulse of the beat. He was going not out of any sense of loyalty to his newfound blood drive buddy, but because if there was any decent and available pussy here in the hotel, then this is where he would be most likely to find it.
The main ballroom, where the gig was taking place, was hotter than a sauna. Logan breathed in the heady scent of sweat and perfume, his head swimming. All around him, people were gyrating or nodding in time to the music. The heavy bass throbbed in his teeth and chest like a second heartbeat. The darkness of the room, combined with the ever-changing light display up on stage and the alcohol in his system, seemed to scramble Logan's senses, to blur individual bodies into a single pulsing mass of humanity. Feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, Logan felt instinctively he should head for the light, and so began to push through the crowd towards the stage, at first muttering 'Excuse me' as he barged his way through, and then, following his ball player's instincts, simply lowering his head and charging forward.
If anyone protested or tried to stop him, Logan wasn't aware of it. He simply kept pushing until there was nothing left to push against. When he finally raised his head, it felt like surfacing from a warm pool. He was drenched in his own and other people's sweat, his shirt sticking to him like another layer of skin. Right in front of him, level with his face, was the edge of the stage. The music was so loud now that his whole body seemed to be convulsing with it. He looked up. And there was Sam B, prowling from one side of the stage to the other like a caged tiger. He was scowling aggressively, jabbing at the audience as he spat out his lyrics. He looked much angrier up on stage than he did in real life. He was bare-chested, a huge, gold 'B' pendant swinging on a chain round his neck. There was more bling round his wrists, and his stomach was imprinted with a tattoo – a black skull above a pair of crossed Uzis.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone