Drinks with the Blackmailer

Susan weighed her options rapidly. She could attempt to flee, but if this Ralph had evidence of her activities – and his knowledge of her identity suggested he might – running would only delay the inevitable. Better to find out what he wanted, what he knew.

"Fine," she said tightly. "Let's talk."

The bar was still busy, but Ralph led her to a booth in the far corner, well away from other patrons. He ordered whiskey for himself and another vodka tonic for her without asking what she wanted, a small power play that wasn't lost on Susan.

"So," he began once their drinks arrived, "I imagine you're wondering what this is about."

She crossed her arms. "What do you want?"

"That depends on how cooperative you're feeling." He leaned forward slightly. "See, I'm in what you might call the entertainment business. I arrange certain... services for clients. Dancers for private parties, companions for lonely businessmen, that sort of thing."

"You're a pimp," Susan translated flatly.

Ralph's smile tightened. "I prefer 'facilitator.' And right now, I have a client who would be very interested in a show from the mysterious latex dancer from Sakura-Mai."

Understanding dawned on Susan. "You want me to dance at a private party."

"Nothing big. Nothing to stress about." Ralph clarified. "A bachelor party for my cousin. Saturday night, just a couple hours of your time. Nothing you haven't already been doing on stage."

"And if I refuse?"

Ralph reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a small stack of photographs, placing them face-up on the table between them. Susan's breath caught as she saw herself – stripped of the perception filter – dancing on stage at Sakura-Mai, collecting tips from men, embracing Alexis outside the bar.

"Then I'm afraid these might find their way to certain media outlets," Ralph said, his tone almost regretful. "Nothing personal, you understand. Just business."

Susan stared at the photos, her mind racing. "How did you even find me? How did you know it was me under the disguise?"

Ralph reached into his jacket again and produced a small device that looked like a modified smartphone. "Quantum field disruptor. Detects and partially negates perception-altering technologies." He pocketed it again. "I acquire interesting gadgets in my line of work. This one's particularly useful for identifying people who don't want to be identified."

"Where did you get that?" Susan demanded, though she could guess. The black market for stolen or reverse-engineered superhero tech was thriving.

Ralph shrugged. "Around. The point is, I have it, and I have these photos. So the question becomes: will you dance at my cousin's party, or not?"

Susan weighed her options rapidly. She could refuse, try to grab the photos and destroy them. But something told her Ralph would have backups. She could try to intimidate him, but that would only escalate the situation.

Or she could agree, buy herself time to figure out a more permanent solution.

"Just dancing?" she clarified. "Nothing else?"

"Just dancing," Ralph confirmed. "The same latex routine you do at the club. The only difference is the venue and the audience."

Susan took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Beneath her anger and fear, she was disturbed to recognize another emotion stirring – a dark thrill at being caught, at being **** to perform. The same part of her that enjoyed the tawdry exchange of dollars for glimpses of her body now whispered that there was something excitingly taboo about being blackmailed into dancing for strangers.