He wasn't interested in drinking, though. He wasn't interested in socializing either. The only reason he would even be caught dead in this 'paradise' was that business had lured him here. Business that might potentially be very profitable to him. Money was his drug, and coincidentally drugs would be the market for his income. It was a nice little cycle. His eyes roamed the confinement of the booth as the doors shut behind him. The computer did its trick, and within seconds the doors would spring open again.
The bar district; fully oufitted with a nice atmosphere of infidelity, half-truths, and tacky club music. He grinned to himself, taking in a nice whiff of the fresh air that reeked with a nice mixture of big-ticket cologne, exotic spices, and booze. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he slowly began down the stretch that housed the many establishments, each decorated with their own synthetic facade of neon lights and 'unique' patrons. There were usually only three types who frequented such places: the suits looking to drink away the fact that they led a plebeian existence, the coquettes looking to suck their rent money out of the suits, and people like Grev.
People like that were the smugglers, peddlers, mercenaries, and yard birds looking for work. Places like this were the offices for people like that. It was a bulletin board for every two-bit scoundrel that couldn't make it in a legit profession, or just didn't have the patience for one. Grev just happened to be job searching, and luckily for him he had lined up an interview. Unfortunately he forgot his suit and tie.
He retrieved a wrinkled piece of notebook paper from his pocket and read the scribbled handwriting: "The Red Escape - 20:00". Looking down at his watch the time was 20:00, and sure enough a few yards away a vivid glow read "The Red Escape" on a sign in bright, crimson letters. He neared the door, carefully perusing the club goers gathered outside. It was another chic lounge, attempting to bring in the young 'swank' crowd, which for no better word could only be described as pretentious.
It wasn't exactly his idea of a night out, but he wasn't here for entertainment.
After passing the outside screening he slipped inside, his ears immediately adjusting to the loud thumping of a heavy bassline, drums, and keyboard melodies. He waded through the seemingly overcrowded mass of people, finding an empty booth that lined the decorated wall. The room was dark, only lit by a dim glow of rubescent light. An alien girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen in standard human years, approached the table.
"Need somethin' to drink?" she smiled.
"I'm good." He opted to wait for his associate; his late associate.
The server scurried off and Grev pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inner-pocket of his coat. He didn't consider himself a heavy smoker, but if he was going to spend a considerable amount of time in this place he needed a slight buzz. His head tilted back against the booth, his eyes staring directly at the ceiling.
He'd now wait to be found.