Stephen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as the man buttoned his pants and handed over some money. Now that the deed was done, the man seemed embarrassed, giving Steven a quick nod before walking out of the alley and down the street.
Stephen finally let out the cough he had been holding back, and the alley echoed with his hacking. The thought of trying to find some other way to earn money crossed his mind, but was quickly dismissed. There was no guarantee that anyone would hire him, nor was there any guarantee of decent pay, which meant that Luna might end up out there and doing this instead—and he wouldn’t allow it. He promised to protect her, after all, and what sort of brother would he be if he reneged on that?
His coughing subsided, and Stephen took a moment to look over the money he received, sighing in relief when he counted the amount the man had agreed to.
“You know, you ought to at least ask for half upfront.” came a gravelly voice from deeper in the alley.
Stephen whipped around to see the burning end of a cigarette in the darkness. “Who are you? Show yourself.”
The cigarette was snuffed out on the brick wall that lined the alley, and a man in black slacks and a bright pink dress shirt stepped into the dim light. He was a short man, only a little taller than Stephen, and while his head was cleanly shaved, his pale face held a shadow of black stubble. He was not exactly fat, but the man had enough of a belly that he was not thin. The man held Stephen’s gaze steadily, his hands now in his pockets and seemed content to stay quiet.
“What do you want,” Stephen asked, his voice shaking slightly. He wondered if he was about to be robbed, before it occurred to him that perhaps this man wanted something from him too.
“Easy kid,” the man said, “just passing on some friendly advice.”
The man shrugged as Stephen’s eyes narrowed into a suspicious glare. He stepped closer, and sighed when Stephen mirrored him.
“Hold still, I’m trying to look you over.”
So it was sex that he wanted. Stephen forced himself to relax, barely flinching as the man gripped his chin.
“Good,” the man said, turning Stephen’s head one way, then the other, then dropped his hand and circled Stephen, looking him over carefully.
“Good, very good,” the man said again when he stopped in front of Stephen. “The name’s Bertie. How would you like to come and work for me?”
Stephen blinked. “Pardon?”
“How would you like to come and work for me?” the man—Bertie—asked again. “Your technique seems like it could use some work, but the others can give you some tips. It would also be much safer working for me. Clients are screened for disease before entering, and they’re not allowed to abuse you… Too much, at least. Certainly not like they could if you were trying to work the streets by yourself. Money goes to me first, of course, but I pay my people well. Can you dance?”
“You’re a… brothel owner?” Stephen asked, his mind scrambling to keep up.
Bertie smiled. “Of sorts. Officially I run a cabaret, but sex is also something we deal in. Obviously we don’t exactly advertise that part, but we don’t have to. Our clientele does that for us.
“How would you like to come check it out?” Bertie asked when Stephen was silent. “To get a sense of the place, meet some of my kittens?”
“Kittens?
Bertie nodded. “That’s what the clientele call them. So what do you say, want to come and look around?”
Bertie didn’t wait for an answer, instead stepping past Stephen and only stopping to look back at the mouth of the alley. “Well?”
Stephen hesitated, considering the proposal, but quickly nodded and followed after.
“That’s a good lad,” Bertie smiled, “follow me.”
They walked quickly down the cobbled streets, and the few people around paid them no mind as Bertie turned into another alley and down a litter-strewn staircase deeper into the depths of Tarnstead Row. The road grew narrower, until it would have been nearly impossible for a carriage to pass through the dark streets. This part of town was not particularly well-lit to begin with, and now most of the street lamps were either burnt out or shining weakly through dirty glass.
Slowly, they began to pass more people, and Stephen became aware of the low murmur of a crowd. Bertie turned under a skyway bridge and suddenly the street opened up to the chaos of light and noise that was Tarnstead’s Sin Street.
It couldn't have been more than 8 in the evening, but already it was crowded, and Stephen barely caught Bertie’s command to keep up before melting into the masses. Stephen struggled to keep him in sight. People in clothing far too nice to be residents of the neighborhood jostled Stephen as he tried to make his way through the crowd, clearly too preoccupied with finding their next high to pay any attention to him. Street vendors yelled from the sides, trying to sell pretty trinkets and baubles that had no purpose other than to fill the mantles of the wealthy visitors, every so often a prostitute beckoned from a doorway illuminated by a string of red light bulbs. Further down was a number of restaurants, all of them advertising exotic foods from far off places, all of them wafting out smells and creating an intoxicating aroma that might entice the palate of those who otherwise couldn’t even dream of the tastes.
At last, Bertie stopped in front of a plain, brown building across from a flashy, brightly lit casino and beckoned Stephen to follow him inside.
Beyond the basic brick facade, the building had a set of black double doors, with shiny brass knobs that reflected the light from the casino. The doors were open to the streets, and though it was too dark to see in, faint music tempted passersby to come inside, the sweet and mellow sound aided by the scent of chamomile, citrus, and an undercurrent of something sharp that burned the nose. Above the door neon pink lettering glowed and burned itself into Stephen’s mind, so that even if he hadn’t agreed to Bertie’s proposition later that evening, he would never forget the name of the Black Cat Cabaret.