The band was into their performance mode. The two female vocalists were being bound to dangling silver chains with leather straps. The music pounded, heavy on the drums. The dancers surged forward, closing in, as eager as a mob at a lynching. Audience participation was realized as a man was brought forward and accepted the invitation to strip the women out of their flimsy robes. Beneath, they were naked but for glittery stars over nipples and pubes.

The crowd began to chant and howl as he coated them with thick oil, and they writhed and screamed and begged for mercy.

"That's skirting the line," Eve muttered.

"Performance art." Roarke watched the man scourge the first vocalist with a velvet cat 'o nine tails. "Still within the law."

"A simulation of debasement encourages the real thing." She set her teeth as a band member began to lightly slap the second vocalist as their voices soared in fervent duet. "We're supposed to be beyond this kind of female exploitation. But we're not. We never are. What are they looking for?"

"Thrills. Of the cheaper and meaner variety." His hand soothed the base of her back. She knew what it was to be bound, to be abused. There was nothing artful and nothing entertaining about it. "There's no need to watch this, Eve."

"What makes them do it?" she wondered. "What makes a woman let herself be used that way, in simulation or in reality? Why doesn't she kick his balls into his throat?"

"She's not you." He kissed her on the brow and firmly turned her away.

The railing was thick with people, now straining to see the show.

As they took a quick tour of the top floor, a woman in a sheer black gown glided up to them. "Welcome to The Master's Level. Do you have a reservation?"

Enough was enough, Eve thought. She flipped out her badge. "I'm not interested in what you're selling here."

"Fine food and wine," the hostess said after only a quick hitch at the sight of police identification. "You'll find we're completely within code here, Lieutenant. However, if you wish to speak with the owner – "

"I've already done that. I want to see Lobar. Where do I find him?"

"He doesn't work this level." With the subtlety and discretion that would have made the poshest maitre d' proud, the hostess steered Eve back toward the stairs. "If you will go to the main level, you will be met, and a table provided. I'll contact Lobar and send him to you."

"Fine." Eve studied her, saw an attractive woman in her mid-twenties. "Why do you do this?" she asked and glanced at one of the screens where a woman screamed and struggled as she was strapped to a raised slab of marble. "How can you do this?"

The hostess merely glanced down at Eve's badge, then smiled sweetly. "How can you do that?" she countered and drifted away.

"I'm letting it get to me," Eve admitted as they headed down to the main level. "I know better."

The band continued to play, the music a frenzy now. But the performance aspect had switched to a huge view screen that filled the wall behind the stage. It took Eve only a glance to see why. The club wasn't licensed for live sex acts, but such minor inconveniences were transcended by video.

The female vocalists were still bound, still singing their hearts out without missing a beat. But they were behind the stage now, on camera, along with the man from the audience and a second man who wore nothing but an ornate mask of a boar's head.

"Pigs," was all Eve had to say, then looked into gleaming red eyes.

"Your table is this way." The young man smiled, revealing gleaming teeth with incisors sharpened to vicious fangs. He turned. His hair streamed down his naked back, black, tipped with red like flames. He opened the rounded door on a privacy tube, stepped in ahead of them.

"I'm Lobar." He grinned again. "I've been expecting you."

He might have been pretty without the affectation of vampire fangs and demon eyes. As it was, Eve thought he looked like an overgrown child dressed up for Halloween. If he was of legal age, she deduced it couldn't have been by much. His chest was thin and hairless, his arms slim as a girl's. But she didn't think it was the red tint of his eyes that took away his innocence. It was the look in them.

"Sit down, Lobar."

"Sure." He dropped into a chair. "I'll have a drink. You're buying," he told Eve. "You want my time during work hours, you gotta pay." He punched out a selection on the electronic menu, adjusted his chair so that he could see the view screen. "Great show tonight."

Eve glanced over.

"The script could use work," she said dryly. "You got ID, Lobar?"

He peeled his lips back from his fangs, lifted his hands, palm out. "Not on me. Unless you think I got secret pockets in my skin."

"What's your legal name?"

His smile disappeared, and his eyes were suddenly the sulky eyes of a child. "It's Lobar. That's who I am. I don't have to answer your questions, you know. I'm cooperating."

"You're a real sterling citizen." Eve waited while his drink slid out of the serving slot. Another show, she mused, as the heavy glass chalice smoked with some murky gray brew. "Alice Lingstrom. What do you know about her?"

"Not much, except she was a dumb bitch." He sipped the drink. "She hung around for awhile, then went crying off. It was fine with me. The master doesn't need any weaklings."

"The master."

He sipped again, smiled. "Satan," he said, relishing it.

"You believe in Satan?"

"Sure." He leaned forward, slid his hand with its long, black-painted nails toward Eve. "And he believes in you."

"Careful," Roarke murmured. "You're too young and stupid to loose a hand."

Lobar snorted, but he slid his hand back again. "Your watchdog?" he said to Eve. "Your rich watchdog. We know who you are," he added, fixing his red eyes on Roarke. "Big fucking deal. You don't have any power here. And neither does your cop bitch."

"I'm not his cop bitch," Eve said mildly, shooting a warning glance at Roarke. "I'm my own cop bitch. And as to power…" She leaned back. "Well, I've got the power to take you down to Cop Central and slap you into Interview." She smiled, letting her gaze run over the naked chest and gleaming nipple rings. "The guys would just love to get a load of you. Cute, isn't he, Roarke?"

"In an apprentice demon sort of fashion. You must have a very… interesting dentist." As it was a privacy booth, he took out a cigarette, lighted it.

"I could use one of those," Lobar said.

"Could you?" With a shrug, Roarke slid another cigarette onto the table. When Lobar picked it up, looked at him expectantly, Roarke grinned. "Sorry, you want a light? I assumed you'd shoot flame out of your fingertips."

"I don't do tricks for straights." Lobar leaned forward, sucking on the filter as Roarke flicked his lighter at the tip. "Look, you want to know about Alice, and I can't help you. She wasn't my type. Too inhibited, and always asking questions. Sure I banged her a couple of times, but those were like community fucks, you know? Nothing personal."

"And on the night she was killed?"

He blew out smoke, sucked more in. He hadn't had real tobacco before, and the expensive drug made him lightheaded and relaxed. "Never saw her. I was busy. I had a private ceremony with Selina and Alban. Sexual rites. After, we fucked around most of the night."

He took another deep drag, holding it in as he would a toke from a prime joint, then exhaling lustily through his nostrils. "Selina likes double bangers, and when she's done, she likes to watch and get herself off. Was dawn, easy, before she'd had enough."

"And the three of you were together the entire night. No one left, even for a few minutes."

He moved his bony shoulders. "That's the thing about three people. No waiting." He lowered his gaze suggestively to her breasts. "Want to try it?"