chapter six

At 18:00hrs Harlib’s screen flashed: he had set an alarm in the morning. He finished the call he was on, tapped his screen a few times to log out and removed his headset. He held the headset for a few seconds, pulling at the foam earpiece, then abruptly dropped it on the desk and stood up. He turned around, knelt one knee on the seat of his chair and drummed a short tattoo on the back, raising a little dust.

“Friday night, and I just got paid.” he said to Yoder’s back.

Yoder was talking on his telephone and ignored him.

Harlib listened to a sentence, glanced at Yoder’s screen and concluded that his friend would be busy for a while yet. He dismounted his chair and walked off. Harlib paused as he left the room, catching Yoder’s eye. He waved and Yoder waved back without interrupting his conversation.

When Yoder next noticed the time it was 18:30hrs. He decided to call it a week. He logged out, dumped his headset and left in a hurry. Yoder lived on Oxford Plaza, the name the planners had given to Single Quarters Accommodation Area 6 to make people feel more at home. It was about a ten minute walk from TradeAdmin to Oxford Plaza. Yoder ran and made it in seven. His employee ID opened the outside door, and the door to his three-room apartment.

Yoder closed his door behind him with his left hand as his right tugged at his tie to loosen it, then undid the top button on his shirt. The run across the complex had left him a little sweaty and short of breath. He breathed deeply, freed of the restriction of his collar, shrugging his jacket off as he took two steps to the sofa (currently configured as a bed). He dropped himself and the jacket on the sofa. Yoder’s dangling tie got in the way of his hands as he bent down to undo his shoelaces and he pulled it off angrily. As his feet shuffled out of his shoes, Yoder undid one more button on his shirt, then pulled it and his vest off over his head. He struggled with the still-fastened cuffs for a moment before dropping the shirt on top of the shoes. Yoder flopped his torso back onto the bed, leaving his feet on the floor. He undid his trousers and rocked back to lift his legs in the air, then removed trousers, underpants and socks in one two-handed movement. He dropped the garments between his bare feet, on top of the shirt, undershirt, tie and shoes as he rocked forward again. Yoder continued the rocking forward motion into a stand, then a walk and took two steps into his bathroom. His right hand picked up the towel from the radiator on the wall just outside the door as his left twisted a knob, bringing a spray of water from his shower. As Yoder brought his right arm inside the cubicle, to join the rest of his body, the heel of his right hand pressed the switch by the door to turn on the bathroom light.

The bathroom/lavatory was obviously a slot-in module. The main room was a module, but not as obvious. Like most of the Mann HQ complex, Oxford Plaza had not been built for its present purpose. When it had been built it had been an office. Like many such buildings it had been deserted at some point during the wars. It had remained so until a few years before Yoder’s shower when Mann Estates had selected the disused building to fulfil an expansion requirement. Mann Defence had been involved to establish occupance (shoot any people who might already be living there) and had co-operated with Estates to extend HQ Perimeter (stop anybody else getting in). Estates had completed their work by structural integrity improvement (stop the thing from falling down), property renewal (re-plumb, supply electricity, and plug in as many pre-fabricated modules as would fit), social placement (name it “Oxford Plaza”) and finally, inhabitance (move some employees in).

Yoder finished a quick shower, towelled a little, then pulled his grimy shower curtain aside to step out. He wiped condensation off the bathroom mirror and decided he could get by without a shave (he had no time). Yoder returned to his main room patting himself with the towel. He came to a stop in front of his open wardrobe, drying himself between the legs. Once satisfied that he was dry, he dropped the towel. He donned underpants and socks from a drawer within the wardrobe, a soft white shirt and a silky loose fitting black suit from the same hanger, and a pair of smart casual shoes from the wardrobe floor. He checked himself once in the mirror on the inside of the left wardrobe door, rolled his shoulders to settle the lapels, and left the room.

He came back in almost immediately as he realised that all his stuff was in his work jacket.

Next to the HQ warehouses there was a large shop, named “E.D.’s”, where Mann employees could spend their company credit. Shad Harlib went there straight from TradeAdmin.

E.D.’s had five floors and stocked a wide range of produce and goods. Harlib went straight to menswear on the third floor, and then straight to casual. He looked at the leather jackets on display for a short while, examining price tags and feeling for the quality. He had just about made up his mind when a voice behind him said “Can I help you?” He turned to find a young shop assistant smiling at him.

“Yes. I like this one.” Harlib said, not smiling back, indicating a safely fashioned black leather jacket.

“OK.” The assistant reached past him to take the jacket off the rail. “There’s a mirror just over here-”

“Oh I don’t want to try it on thank you. I’ll just take a medium.”

The assistant was holding the jacket’s shoulders, one in each hand, ready for Harlib to try. “A medium?” the assistant said, eyes flicking left to right, assessing Harlib’s shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to try it on just to be sure?”

“No thank you.” Harlib thought how he could explain. He settled on “It’s not for me, you see.” rather than go for the whole story about how he was going out that night. Not just out but Out out. Out where they didn’t take Mann employee credit. Out where a person had to barter. In a way he was fortunate. Mann had a good reputation and their stuff, stuff that he could buy with his credit, was quite widely accepted.

“OK. If you’d like to follow me to the till - unless there was something else you wanted?”

Harlib smiled at the last remark; at least some bit of whatever training course the assistant had been on had made an impression.

“No that’ll be all.” At Harlib’s reply the assistant turned to go to the till, with the jacket. “Excuse me, sorry, no I don’t want that one.”

The assistant glanced at the jacket “I thought you said medium?”

“Yes but I would like one out of stores.”

“They’re just the same as this one.” The assistant looked perplexed.

“Is there some problem?” A manager’s attention had been drawn by the conversation.

“Not at all.” Harlib was faster than the assistant. “I just want a jacket like that one, but from stores. Still in its sealed bag.”

“Very good sir.” The manager turned to the assistant. “Just rack that one would you. I’ll serve this gentleman.”

Mann Entertainment’s alcohol outlets came in three sizes. Smallest was the Mobile, of which they maintained up to fifty. A location became a fashionable hang-out, an Entertainment Mobile would start parking there, until the fashion changed. Every Mobile had a van and a handcart. If the spot was outside the handcart served as an extension of the van. If inside however, the hand cart would be taken to the location, and the van served as a store room. The Mobiles each had a staff of four and they moved fast. For example, there was the time when a nearby building collapsed and there was a new view across the Capital from the seventh floor corner of a staircase in Leominster Plaza. After a two days it became a place to hang out. People brought beer and sandwiches, watched the sunset, held hands and so forth. On the third day Mobile27, “Golden Bell”, parked their van by the entrance closest to the staircase, left the driver there, and took the handcart in the lift. They sold beer and sandwiches, and coffee, soft drinks, fruit juice and more besides every day for a few weeks as the place’s popularity grew and then waned. Then they went to park by the South corner of Warehousing where somebody had seen some foxes or badgers or something.

Next up from the Mobile was the Room Bar. There were ten of these. One in every Accommodation Area and a few more. They each had their regular clientele, their own bar manager, and therefore their own style. From “Iron Men” where traders went to swear at each other and imbibe vastly (and expensively) to “The Cleveland” where the few retired Mann employees who did not choose to leave the Capital would go for a quiet drink.

Finally there were the three Clubs. Each occupied at least three floors and provided food, several bars, and dancefloors with DJ’s or live bands.

Club Venice was one of the Clubs. It was sited in what had once been a factory. The harsh industrial architecture contributed to Yoder’s anxiety as he arrived ten minutes late for his meeting with Deena and found that she was not there.

Had she gone in? Met somebody else? Left angrily?

“Bakaff!” Yoder looked at the waving, smiling young woman calling his first name. After a moment he realised it was Deena and his anxiety was dispelled. He had not recognised her at first, in fact he must have looked past her when he had arrived.

“Hi Deena.” Yoder replied after a moment, when his surprise had worn off enough for him to speak.

Deena smiled again, at her own success as much as to Bakaff Yoder. Like him, she had gone home and changed. To enhance the effect of her change she had contrived some reason to go to TradeAdmin earlier that afternoon. She had asked Yoder to point out somebody to her. Then Deena had been wearing her office clothes, she had been Deena Office. Now, with make-up, taller heels, shorter skirt and stylish jacket, she was somebody else. Bakaff had certainly, visibly, noticed the change - which is why Deena smiled.

This being their second meeting, and only their first date, Deena and Yoder did not kiss when they met. It would have been ridiculous for them to shake hands and so, in the absence of physical contact, a slight awkwardness arose after they had verbally greeted each other.

“Shall we go straight in?” Deena pushed past the awkward moment.

They moved towards the door, reaching for their employee ID’s to pass the doorman.

Sun Tzu said that every fortress should have one weak spot. Mark Twain said “Keep all your eggs in one basket, and watch that basket.” Hence there was only one good, wide road through Mann HQ. Too many roads would have given intruders too much mobility. When a new area was annexed Mann Defence made sure that the serviceable width of any roads enclosed was reduced to the point were a car could not use them. Equally they made sure that the one proper road was well defended along its entire length. The point where the road left the complex was the most fortified area of HQ. Known as Main Gate, it was the local command centre of Mann Defence and, on the night Deena and Bakaff met outside Club Venice, was also Jo and Shad’s rendezvous.

When she arrived at Main Gate the first thing Jo noticed was the gate itself. She had been driven through it before, but not often. The three metre square grey steel doors took her attention and made her feel a little nervous. Or that might have been the armed Mann Defence troops standing around, or the gun emplacements on top of the gatehouse. A soldier sitting in the back of a jeep looked at her then looked away and resumed a conversation. Jo looked around, feeling out of place. She and Shad had arranged to meet in the Departure Office here, but where was it? She suddenly didn’t want to ask directions from those soldiers in the jeep. Then she noticed the sign. Next to the main gate were the personnel gates, heavy security doors with armed guards. Next to them was the sign. “Main Gate Departure Office” in large black letters in the centre of the white board, “Mann Defence” in small red letters in the bottom right hand corner. Next to the sign was a door. Jo hurried towards it, hoping Shad would be early and be there already. The door was closed and had no window in it or next to it to show where it might lead. Jo stopped herself from turning around to look for confirmation or advice, grasped the handle, turned it and pushed. Then she pulled, the door opened and she went through.

On the other side of the door was a lit corridor. On the wall on Jo’s right were a sign “Departure Office”, a man and a woman, not armed or carrying any equipment, and a door. The man and woman were talking about, and looking at, a bruise on the inside of the woman’s right forearm. She had unbuttoned her shirtsleeve to show it.

“Sorry” Jo muttered, walking past them and through the door.

“Good evening.” A uniformed man behind a counter greeted her.

“Oh.” Jo started. “Hello.”

“Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m meeting someone. Here. Actually I’m a bit early.” Jo said, nervously.

The man smiled and nodded. “That’s OK. Have a seat.” He made a gesture. This prompted Jo to look at the room she found herself in. Like a reception but more Spartan, military, less welcoming. There were no decorations, no windows, no pot plants, nothing to soften the atmosphere. The five chairs, lined up along the length of the wall opposite the counter were uncomfortable looking. Jo sat, noting that the man paid her no more attention as he took a sip from a cup concealed on his side of the counter. On top of the counter there were two display cards, with leaflet pockets. One was entitled “Do” at the top and then again “Don’t” lower down. The bullet points in between were too small for Jo to read from where she sat. The other was entitled “GuardPager” and had an enlarged photograph of some pocket gadget and some text, again too small to be read. On the wall next to Jo was a map of Mann HQ complex and the surrounding area. Three perimeters were marked on the map. The smallest, labelled “Secured”, enclosed the HQ complex itself. The next was labelled “Patrolled”, and the largest labelled “Attended”. There were notices pinned on the map, explaining Mann Defence commitment in each of these areas. Jo read these notices for a few minutes until Shad turned up, on time.

“Good evening.” the guard behind the counter greeted Shad as he walked through the door. At the same time Jo said “Hi”, stood and walked over to him.

“Yes. We’d like a couple of GuardPagers please.”

“Of course. Employee ID please.” The guard reached for a cardswiper.

Shad took his card from his jacket and handed it to the guard. Jo had reached the counter, by then and picked her ID from her handbag. She placed it on the counter with a plastic click, a little put out by the fact that Shad had ignored her and answered the guard.

The guard passed Shad’s card through the swipe, waited a few seconds for the screen display to show OK, then bent down to unlock and open a drawer on his side of the counter. While the guard’s attention was directed away from them, Shad took Jo’s arm lightly and kissed her on the cheek. “Hi” he whispered in her ear, leaving his face close so that they could kiss on the lips as she turned to look at him.

From the drawer the guard took out what Jo supposed was a GuardPager. He unscrewed part of the unit, plugged it into the side of the cardswiper machine and waited a few seconds for the machine to beep. Then he passed the other part, which was small enough to be held in the hand, to Shad. He followed the same swipe, unscrew, beep sequence with Jo’s card and another GuardPager. Jo looked at the unit in her hand. The GuardPager was not too heavy, cased in sturdy black plastic, and had a single rotating switch on one side.

The guard picked up a telephone and dialled a number.

“Hello Response? Departure here. I’ve just released a couple of GuardPagers, I’d like to do a test. Thanks.” He looked up at Shad. “Would you like to try that one?” Shad clicked the switch. “Yes? What was the number. OK check. And I’ve got another one.” The guard looked at Jo, who clicked the switch easily. “Number? Check. Thanks. That’s all.” The guard replaced his telephone. Jo noticed Shad clicking his GuardPager switch back and followed suit.

“You know about the response zones and so on?” The guard asked.

“Yes thanks, I’ve been out a few times.” Shad answered for himself and Jo.

“OK then, have a nice evening.”

“Thanks.” Shad held the door for Jo, who said “Bye.” as she walked out. The woman with the bruise and her companion were gone.

As they walked to the personnel gates Jo wondered whether to ask Shad about what the guard had said about response zones and so on. The armed guards there inspected their ID and pagers and allowed them to pass. There were troops outside too. Shad took Jo’s arm and lead the way along the side of the road. They passed a few temporary buildings and bunkers. Jo also became curious about the E.D.’s bag Shad was carrying. He wasn’t the type to give presents without reason or occasion. A combination of nerves and curiosity forced Jo to speak.

“What’s in the bag Shad?”

“Money.” He smiled to himself at the joke.

When a Mann employee wanted something, they went to a Mann Retail outlet and took their Mann ID card with them. The shop would swipe their card in order to charge them. And this was generally the easiest way for them to spend. In certain specific circumstances, however, this was not the easiest way.

Every table waiter and waitress who wanted a tip could not be expected to carry a cardswiper with them all the time. Neither could every opportunist selling you a flower for your girlfriend. In recognition of this, places like Club Venice had cash dispensers, and depositories. The cash dispensed was specific to the place; lira in Club Venice; and useless elsewhere. In addition to their dispensers, Club Venice also issued you some lira as part of their entrance fee.

Consequently, having paid “in”, Deena and Bakaff had both had lira just after entering Club Venice, and consequently had been able to split the price of their tray of food and beer. Deena had dropped a few lira at a counter with Bakaff before going off to scout for a table. By the time the snack food had been presented, Deena returned and beckoned to Bakaff to follow her. Which he did, with many a “Sorry” and “Excuse me” to get the tray through the crowd around the serving area.

Deena was particular about where she sat to eat and drink. It mustn’t be too loud, nor too well lit, nor too busy. She was familiar with Club Venice and knew a few spots that fit her criteria. Bakaff was less particular about where he sat. As he was the one carrying the tray he favoured somewhere close to the serving counter from which they had bought their stuff.

“Look there’s a couple of places. Deena. Over there.” Both Bakaff’s hands being occupied with the tray, he tried to gesture with his head.

Deena turned around and frowned, pretending not to be able to comprehend Bakaff’s head jerk. “There’ll be a place this way.” she said, turning back and continuing.

When they finally sat down, Bakaff had been lead from the bright lights of the serving counter, past several dark corners, along a wall by one of the strobe-lit dancefloors and finally up a luminescently painted back stairway to an obscure cul-de-sac gallery. The open side offered a view over the dancefloor they had passed. The wall had a painted mural. Also there were comfortable tables and chairs, all but three unoccupied.

Bakaff put the tray on a table and sat down opposite Deena. He picked up one of the small plastic bottles of beer and took a generous swig. He sighed loudly as he replaced the bottle, and paused to relax for a moment before investigating the food.

“That went down well.” Deena said.

“Mm. One of those days at the end of one of those weeks.” Bakaff had heard the line somewhere.

The food consisted of two piles of dippers surrounded by twelve small tubs of different dips. One of the piles of dippers was a pile of grilled bread pieces, the other was a pile of fried and salted potato shapes. The dip tubs were either red, indicating meaty content, or white indicating veggy content. There was enough for two people who didn’t want to get too full.

The beer consisted of four pairs of small plastic bottles. The contents of each pair had been brewed in a different country: England, Italy, Africa, India. There was enough for two people who didn’t wish to get too drunk.

Deena and Bakaff ate and drank and didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then they slowed their eating and talked about work for a while, then about music. By this time the dips had nearly been eradicated. Only one blob of one meaty dip remained.

Bakaff held the dip tub in one hand and a piece of bread in the other. Lightly squashing the pointy end of the bread, he ran it around the inside base of the tub, scouring it clean. After a quick check that no dip remained, Bakaff popped the whole piece of bread into his mouth. Deena had been discussing the relative quality of the first and second collections of some musician Bakaff had heard of only vaguely. Suddenly she reached over the table and held the hand with which Bakaff had just finished off the dips (and the bread).

“Did you have the last of that one?” she enquired.

Bakaff chewed quickly, waggling his head from side to side with his eyebrows raised to say “Well? What if I did?”

“I didn’t have any.” She spoke quieter, and leaned across the table to be heard.

“I though you didn’t like it.”

“A taste might have been nice.” Deena paused, still holding Bakaff’s hand, her face now even closer to his. “Don’t you want to give me a taste now?” She extended the longest finger of her grasping hand and touched Bakaff’s chin. He got the message.

As Bakaff twisted his head one way, Deena leaned forward and twisted hers the other way. The wet inside of Deena’s lips brushed Bakaff’s closed mouth then withdrew slightly. He opened his mouth as hers approached again. Their lips met, but did not join, as their tongues touched and moved against each other. The kiss made a sound like eating.

The two men and one woman who had also been occupying the gallery walked past them, not looking. Deena, and then Bakaff, started giggling. They parted and sat back in their chairs, Bakaff automatically reaching for a beer bottle.

Deena picked up another beer bottle, got up and went to stand and look at the mural. Bakaff followed her. He stood next to her, looking where she was looking.

The mural covered the wall; it was 5 metres across by 3 high. It depicted a number of grey figures playing or gesturing or dancing amongst several abstract black buildings set on a smooth white surface. The figures were androgynous, naked humans, but with no faces, hair, or other features.

The blankness of the front of one of a figure’s head “stared” directly at Deena. The figure had its right arm raised level, its right hand open, indicating the rest of the picture. Deena turned her head to follow where the hand pointed. This caused her weight to shift towards Bakaff. Their arms touched. She let her hand find his. Bakaff’s hand held a beer bottle. Deena took his hand and raised it in front of her face.

“Not much beer left.” she said. Taking the bottle with his other hand, Bakaff brought it to his lips and drained the contents. As he did so he lowered the hand which Deena still held.

“None at all now.” he answered, pleased with the response.

Deena put her own half empty bottle down on the nearest table, stretching to avoid having to release her and Bakaff’s now entwined fingers. “Shall we go and shuffle our feet a bit then?” She swung her hips to and fro as she said it, her hand and therefore Bakaff’s swung in counterbalance.

“Yeah.” Bakaff shrugged and was led away by the hand back to the luminescent stairs.

A few minutes walk from the Main Gate floodlights Shad took a small torch from his pocket. At this distance Mann Defence thought it prudent to keep the area free of rubble and potholes (hard cover). Therefore, with the aid of the torch, Jo and Shad had no difficulty walking along what had been a road, between what had been inhabited buildings.

The torch cast only a small patch of light, which meant that Jo had to walk close by Shad. Or it would have, had they not already been walking arm in arm. Jo was not about to let go of Shad. For somebody used to living in the close environment of Mann HQ, which is constantly bustling with noise and people, the dark and quiet of the Capital at Night was more than a little agoraphobic. Who knew where the nearest person was? Apart from Shad. And who knew who they were?

Shad felt Jo’s grip on his arm and said nothing. The sensation of risk was all part of the Out out experience and he would do nothing to reduce it. Like talking.

Five minutes later, the darkness and quiet was disrupted by a passing Mann Defence patrol. Jo and Shad were civilly asked for ID and wished a nice evening by one of the soldiers. Jo was torn between a feeling of comfort that the other members of the patrol maintained attitudes of ready vigilance, and a feeling of fear of whatever it was that they were being vigilant at. Shad led her further from Mann HQ and into the night.

It was only a couple of minutes later that Shad said “We’re nearly there now.” and pointed out a bright white light on the side of a building.

The building looked as if it had once been tall - twenty storeys maybe. Now only three and a half stood; the top storey having no ceiling over half its floor. Some of the nearby buildings were taller, but none looked as structurally sound. As she approached, Jo noticed a second light on another wall of the building. The lights were obviously late additions to the building. Jo guessed that there was probably a light mounted on each wall to attract attention The lights certainly weren’t there to illuminate the building’s exterior: its walls and surrounding piles of rubble were wreathed in darkness. The entrance to the building was a metal staircase up to the first floor. A little way from the foot of the stairs was a crude metal brazier full of burning rubbish.

Shad switched off his torch and pocketed it as they got to the brazier. A man emerged from the shadows. He wore sturdy boots, heavy denim jeans and a long bulky hooded coat which could have concealed anything. He called a neutral greeting to Jo and Shad.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Can we get in?” Shad stopped walking, so did Jo.

“What’ve you got?”

Shad held out the E.D.’s bag, turning the side towards the brazier to illuminate the logo printed there.

“Let’s see it.” the man said, coming closer.

In plain view, Shad opened the bag and took out the jacket in its sealed transparent bag. Shad held it in front of him in both hands. The man came right up to him and leaned over the bag, scrutinising, but without taking his hands from his pockets. After ten seconds’ inspection he straightened and looked at Jo and then at Shad.

“OK.” The man jerked his head and turned to walk to the metal staircase.

Jo waited as Shad hurriedly put the jacket back in the bag, then followed him as he followed the man now clanging up the stairs. At the top of the stairs a metal door with a glass window was barely discernible against the wall. The door and the window had been painted the same deep dark green. The man made a few glove-muffled poundings on the door and called his name.

“Chas.”

After a short delay, the door opened a crack, and then fully. The corridor behind the door was not lit, but a faint glow was cast against its walls from somewhere within the building. Barely a silhouette as he pressed himself against the wall by the hinges of the outswung door was a man, one arm outstretched holding the door open. Chas, followed by Shad then Jo walked past him into the corridor. He released the door behind them and it swung closed with a click.

A few steps inside, the corridor (once a fire escape) made a T junction with a second corridor. Chas stood to the right to let Shad and Jo pass to the left. The doorman gestured them on saying “Go through”. Behind her, Jo heard a brief muttered exchange of words, then the sound of the door opening and closing. Then she was in what appeared to be the main room of whatever establishment they were in.

The room still resembled an office, which indeed it once had been. The proprietors had not made any time-consuming alterations to the room. A number of small rugs had been scattered on the floor. It was lit by candles, and from a hearth in which some brick shaped pieces of fuel were burning. Wiped tables and desks were placed around the room, and surrounded by a selection of chairs. Only three tables were occupied. At one a middle-aged man sat flanked by two burly younger men, a jug of red wine sat on the table in front of them, but they touched it infrequently. At another sat several clean, brightly dressed young women who picked at a plate of salty snacks placed in their midst and sipped water from small plastic tumblers. At the third occupied table sat two tired looking big men eating slowly but surely from well-filled plates of meat and vegetables, and drinking from large beer bottles. These two were in fact the only customers in the room, apart from Jo and Shad.

Shad seemed to know what to do so Jo just tagged after him.

He went to the table at which the three men sat. They stopped their conversation.

“Evening” said the middle-aged man.

“Evening” returned Shad, as he took the wrapped jacket out of the E.D.’s bag and placed it on the table. One of the young women walked over to the table and stood ready.

The man nodded as he picked up the jacket. He made a careful inspection of the seal and the Mann logo with his eyes and fingers. “What you after?”

“Fresh food and wine for us and some spare.”

The man said “Yes” and nodded to the young woman, evidently a waitress of some sort.

The waitress smiled at them and led them to a table. “There’s new chairs over here.”

Jo sat and felt a little self-conscious. Shad sat and was at his ease. After enjoying Jo’s self-consciousness for a minute he decided to move to phase two. To help her to relax a little, Shad chatted to Jo about his previous trips out. It transpired that Shad had been out to this place and to one or two others. Shad had an easy manner with his areas of expertise which Jo found attractive. By the time the food arrived, on enamel plates with metal cutlery, Jo was not at all tense - the chatting, and half a glass of wine, had seen to that.

When Jo asked what the meat was, Shad said “city-meat” before the waitress could answer her. Then he explained that this meant the flesh of an animal or animals that had been hunted locally.

Jo found surprising the difference in taste and texture of fresh food, as compared to what she usually ate. She and Shad talked about this, and then about differences in other aspects of that evening compared to her usual evenings out. By the time she had finished her food, and another couple of glasses of the wine, Jo was holding forth with passion, and perhaps some bitterness about the controlled quality of life within the Mann HQ complex. By this time more people had arrived in the place.

As Shad and Jo were debating starting their second bottle of wine, three men came up to their table.

“Can we sit here please?” one of them asked.

A quick look around told Shad that there were no unoccupied tables in the room. He could think of no reason the men should not share their table, except for a vague uneasiness. It was not wise to trust too quickly in the Capital.

“Sure. Here, I’ll move my coat.”

The men sat down and exchanged smiles and “good evening”s. Jo moved her chair a little closer to Shad.

The men talked amongst themselves, but loud enough to be heard easily by Jo and Shad. Their conversation started with a free exchange of opinions on the beer they were drinking. This progressed onto opinions about what they had drunk the previous week, then to what they had drunk somewhere else, when that drink had taken place and who had been there - it was argued whether or not all three of them had been there. This blossomed into a discussion of their mutual acquaintances and their relationship to one another, commercial, familial or just social.

Meanwhile Shad was introducing Jo to the pastime of people-spotting. This involved looking at a person in the room and guessing their background. Some were obviously company employees just by their clothes - Jo and Shad fell into this category. Others were obviously not - Shad pointed out a couple dressed in clothes so old as to be shapeless. Some could have been either - the three men sharing their table fell into this category.

Their clothes were clean and they had shaved and washed properly before coming out: most non-employee Capital dwellers did not have access to hot and cold running water and tended to look more unkempt. On the other hand, from their conversation, they spent a fair amount of their leisure time out in different places: most employees restricted themselves to their company’s provided entertainment, and although people like Shad (and Jo, since this evening) did venture out, they certainly did not do it every week. Their conversation on commercial topics was ambiguous: they talked of people being “with” other people, or in somebody’s “group”; it could have meant department, then again it could have meant raiding party.

People-spotting requires discussion between the spotters. Such discussion should be discreet, for obvious reasons. When Jo and Shad began their spotting that night, they had observed the rule strictly. But as they progressed through their second bottle of wine they, and the rule, became somewhat relaxed. Consequently the men sharing their table overheard themselves being discussed.

“No. We’re drivers. We’ve got a couple of terrain vans. We move stuff.” One of the men summarised.

“I’m not sure what category that puts you in.” Jo said, smiling and feeling witty. “Who do you work for?”

“For ourselves.” The same man replied.

“Where do you live then?”

“In the vans mostly. We travel around”

“Always in this area though.” Another of the men joined the conversation. “What’re you laughing at?” This was directed at Jo who had started to snigger.

“Nothing. It’s just that you don’t look as though you just stepped out of a van.”

“Oh yeah. Usually we look a bit rougher.” The first man caught the line quicker than his companion.

“A lot.” His companion tried to get back in.

“But tonight’s special, you know. We’re going out. Not here, I mean after this.”

A conversation started between Jo and the two men, who turned out to be named Jack and Polit. Then Shad joined in. Jack and Polit’s companion followed the conversation but remained silent except for the occasional laugh or monosyllable. In the man’s absence at the lavatory Polit explained that this was usual for their mate Coll, but that he would be all right later on. Time passed and the wine was finished.

“You having another?” Polit asked Jo and Shad. “Because our beer’s about finished and we’ll be moving on just now. So if you want to come with us…..”

“Oh I don’t know.” Jo looked at Shad for an answer.

“Come on. It’ll be good. They have music and stuff. It’s not far, we’ll drive you.” Jack encouraged, looking at them both.

“Yeah, why not?”

“Are you sure Shad?” Jo spoke quietly, trying to look him in the eyes to let him know that the question carried something hidden.

“It’ll be OK.” Shad met here gaze. It sounded to him like the place was not far. If they did seem to be going any distance, he could simply activate his GuardPager. That was what it was for after all. And anyway, these guys seemed sound. He had been out plenty of times and counted himself a pretty good judge of who was who by now. “I’ll just go to the loo and we’ll be off.”

“Yeah, good idea.” Jack followed Shad. As he left the room, Jack paused. He and Coll exchanged a meaningful glance which nobody else noticed.

There were smiles all round as Jo, Coll and Polit stood and put their coats on. Coll and Polit started to leave the room straight away but Jo hesitated. She wanted to wait for Shad.

“Come on. Jack’ll bring him in the other van.” Polit twitched his head towards the door and looked at Jo. Coll was already half-way across the room and did not look back. Jo took a quick look at the door Shad had gone through, hoping he would come back now and break her indecision. He did not and Jo had to make up her own mind. Shad had already said it was OK; she could feel the switch on the GuardPager in her jacket pocket; Jack and Polit seemed like friendly enough people; Jo was fairly drunk. She started walking, Polit fell into step behind her.

At that moment, Shad Harlib was on the open top floor of the building. The men’s lavatories were located there. They were the portable chemical kind, surmounted by a canvas tent for privacy. Jack had politely let him go first. Shad finished, shook and squeezed, and then zipped himself up.

As he came out of the cubicle he was surprised to receive a heavy punch in the stomach. Before he could recover, Jack grabbed his hair from behind to straighten him up for a hard fist across his nose and cheek. Shad just had time to double up and stagger, and to taste blood in his mouth, before Jack kicked the side of his head hard enough to knock him unconscious.

There was a little lighting on the roof, so Jack dragged Shad’s inert form off to one side quickly before kicking it a couple more times to make sure. Jack noticed that he was on the top of a steep slope of rubble piled against the side of the building. Just to make sure nobody would find Shad, Jack rolled him down the slope. Before leaving, Jack dusted himself down and urinated in the lavatory.

Because of the music, Deena had to shout her questions about Bakaff’s whereabouts, and answers had to be shouted back to her. Following the directions thus given, Deena picked up her handbag and went from the flashing lights of the dancefloor, through a doorway, into a palely lit room.

The room was populated by people sitting on upholstered settees. Deena scanned them, looking for Bakaff, but found nothing except a few smiles. In an alcove was a kiosk where water was sold in bottles. Deena described Bakaff and what he had been wearing to the man serving there but he was unhelpful. Bakaff was no longer in the room. Or he had never been there: observations made and also passed on whilst dancing on a dancefloor are not the most reliable. Deena checked the room’s exits to be sure. She saw Bakaff in a corridor leading from the room.

The corridor had no lighting of its own; it was illuminated by faint light from the night sky coming in through a series of long windows on one side. Bakaff was standing by the second window, looking out. There was a soft flash of moonlight caught on the surface of liquid as he lowered a transparent bottle from his lips.

“What are you doing over here?” Deena called, her tone betraying annoyance.

Bakaff turned at the sound of Deena’s voice. As he watched her approach Bakaff listened to the sharp clicking of her heels as it mixed with the beat of the nearby music. The grey light shaded the clothing-cloaked curves of her chest and thighs. Beyond the hem of her skirt, and above the collar of her jacket, the dimness of the corridor made her skin appear perfect and smooth. The dream of the overall image was spoilt, however, by the cross straightness of Deena’s mouth.

“Having a drink of water.” Bakaff replied when Deena reached him. “Would you like some?” Bakaff did not proffer the bottle, he turned back to the window.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were going off?” Deena ignored Bakaff’s offer.

“I was just checking if you were still interested in me and my whereabouts.” Bakaff spoke his answer to Deena’s reflection in the window.

Deena restrained the angry rhetorical question which rose to her lips. She took the bottle of water from Bakaff’s hand and took a swig to give herself time to think. She had a plan for this Friday evening: moderate drinking, a little eating, lots of dancing, and some sex back at her place to finish. Deena felt that it had been proceeding well until now. Actually her plan had gone awry following a chance encounter with friends on the dancefloor.

Deena loved to dance. Therefore when she danced with somebody, it had no significance. Bakaff, on the other hand, did not love to dance. To him dancing had social, and perhaps intimate, significance. When Deena and Bakaff had encountered some of Deena’s friends dancing, she had naturally started dancing with them, and had taken Bakaff with her. Sometimes she danced close to Bakaff, but sometimes further away, as the individuals within the group moved around.

Bakaff had seen that Deena enjoyed dancing and had found himself wondering. Had Deena come out primarily to dance? Would Deena now continue her evening with her friends who, unlike Bakaff, enjoyed dancing as much as her? In his insecurity Bakaff had left, rather than risk failure. He had bought a bottle of water, which he had needed anyway, and gone to stand in the semidarkness and feel sorry for himself.

Deena was not aware of all the details of how her evening had gone off course. Even so, after two swigs of water, and a pause staring at Bakaff’s left ear, she had reached a mostly correct conclusion. “Bakaff got pissed off at me spending time dancing with my friends.” The corrective action was obvious to her.

“Bakaff of course I’m interested in you and your whereabouts.” Deena stood close to Bakaff and put one hand on his shoulder. He turned from the window and looked at her. Dropping the water bottle, Deena put her other hand on Bakaff’s other shoulder. Deena stretched upwards as Bakaff bent forwards. Her arms encircled his neck, whilst his hands came to rest on her hips. Water from the bottle glugged quietly as it formed an unnoticed puddle around their shoes. They kissed.

Not just a kiss, though. More like an over-kiss, with many sub-kisses. All parts of their bodies participated in the kiss. One of Deena’s hands played in Bakaff’s hair, whilst the other clung to his shoulders. One of his hands slipped under her jacket and roved across her shirt-covered back, whilst the other felt the roundness of Deena’s buttocks through her skirt. Both their mouths snatched only the occasional breath between the licking, tasting and twining of their tongues and lips.

As their passion rose, Deena shifted sideways against Bakaff, pressing the joining of her legs to his thigh. She could feel his erection hardening against her hip. Suddenly, Bakaff took his hand from her behind and replaced it on the back of her thighs. From there it was quickly slid up under her skirt right to the top of her tights. Bakaff hooked a thumb over the elastic and pulled down. His fingers stroked the few inches of skin thus exposed briefly. Next, Bakaff tucked his hand inside Deena’s knickers and spread his fingers against her bare skin.

The touch excited and aroused Deena further, but she realised that this was too far to go in a public place like Club Venice. She broke off kissing Bakaff and moved her mouth close to his ear.

“I think we’d better go back to my place about now.” Deena loosened her hold on Bakaff.

“OK.” Bakaff extricated his hand from Deena’s underwear, pausing to smooth it down before releasing her completely.

“Thank you.” said Deena, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Removing her hands from Bakaff and placing them on her own hips, Deena finished settling her underwear with a quick wriggle.

Deena said “There’s an exit this way.” pointing down the corridor, away from the dancefloor, and they started walking. At first they just held hands, but they soon moved closer, to the point where each had an arm around the other’s waist, with fingers tucked in the other’s waistband.

On their way out they passed three other couples who had also chosen the corridor as the location for their Friday night snog and get off. It was a fifteen minute walk across Mann HQ from Club Venice to Salisbury Towers (Single Quarters Accommodation Area 3) where Deena lived. No words passed between Deena and Bakaff during the journey, although they did laugh from time to time as they enjoyed the difficulties presented by walking hip to hip. They did not separate until they reached the outside door of the block, where Deena had to get her ID card out of her handbag. They joined again only briefly as they kissed in the lift on the way to her apartment.

After getting changed earlier that evening Deena had set the dial next to the switch for the lights in her main room. Thus, after she had opened the door and switched on the light, she and Bakaff walked into an environment suffused with the soft light Deena felt most suitable for romantic encounters.

As she closed the door, Deena directed Bakaff to the sofa (which could also be configured as a bed). She joined him there after depositing her jacket and handbag on a table by the entrance.

“Would you like some music on?” Deena said quietly, turning her face towards Bakaff.

“OK.”

Deena leaned forward and picked up a remote control unit from a small table. Pointing it at a black box in one corner of the room she pressed a button. LED’s lit on the box and the room filled with soft instrumental music. Deena replaced the remote control on the table. As she leaned back she found that Bakaff had extended his left arm so she shifted to lean and sit against him. As Deena rested her head on Bakaff’s chest, his arm dropped to lie across her shoulders. After a few moments of stillness to allow the music to permeate the mood, Deena lifted her head. Feeling the change in pressure on his chest, Bakaff turned his head slightly. He found himself looking into Deena’s raised face. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted. He leaned forward and they kissed.

The kiss was not like the previous one. In the moonlit corridor, they had been anxious to convince each other of their desire. Consequently, their passion had risen in a hurry. Here there was nothing to make happen: both Deena and Bakaff knew that they were going to have sex now. They took their time and kissed comfortably and luxuriously. Shallow licking of tongues and lips gradually became probing towards the teeth, which gradually became deep exploration, which in turn became shallow licking to allow for breath to be taken, and for the cycle to begin again.

The kissing continued as Deena reached her left arm across Bakaff. Taking purchase on the far side of his chest, she swung her legs up and rested them across his lap. She found that she needed both arms around Bakaff’s neck to keep herself upright and close enough to kiss. Whilst his left still supported Deena’s shoulders, Bakaff’s other arm descended to let his right hand find her legs. One knee held his interest for a while, then he spread his hands across both.

Deena broke off the kissing to say “Take my shoes off.”

The slip-on court shoes were easily removed and dropped to the floor. Deena bent her legs and pulled herself up to a position sitting crossways on Bakaff’s lap. They started kissing again. With a slow nylon sigh Bakaff began to slide his right hand up the outside of Deena’s left leg. Deena pressed her thighs together and dampened herself with tight gluteal rotations as she enjoyed Bakaff’s gradual traversal.

The caress started from a manacle grip on the ankle. From there the hand passed over the swell of the calf. It lingered on the crown of the bent knee, before descending. Halfway down the hand came to rest. The fingers were spread and moving, either stroking or squeezing the thigh.

After a while in this position, Deena moved things to the next stage. Picking a convenient moment, she slipped from Bakaff’s lap to a standing position. Looking up at the ceiling, she felt behind her for the fastening on her skirt. Deena located the button and zip, but had to smooth down the ridden up folds of her skirt before she could undo them. The garment slide to the floor, Deena stepped out of it, then flicked it to one side with her foot. Lifting her shirt, Deena put her fingers inside her tights and knickers and slid them down to her knees. She turned and sat her bare fesses on Bakaff’s lap.

Immediately, Bakaff’s hands found the skin around the top of her thighs and his warm breath found her right ear.

“Stop it, you’re distracting me. Nice distraction.”

Bakaff’s breath and hands moved away and Deena was able to complete the removal of her pantihose. This done, she crooked one leg and swivelled around to face Bakaff. As Deena settled her now unclad legs into a comfortable straddle, he replaced his hands on her, this time holding the bare cheeks of her arse one in each hand, and leaned forward to kiss her again. Deena kissed only briefly, before moving her mouth sideways to his neck.

Bakaff twitched away as her tongue tickled him, then again as Deena pressed forward more forcefully. His head bent to one side to make his neck inaccessible. “Ticklish?” she asked.

“Yes.” he replied, giving an extra squeeze to her buttocks.

“Oh dear.” Without warning, she grabbed his head and shoulder firmly and drove her face between them. There Deena nibbled, kissed and licked Bakaff into a frenzy. She did not stop until his breath was coming in deep vocalised gasps through his open mouth and his hands were clawing her back and clutching her buttocks. After a few seconds his breathing returned to normal and his hands relaxed.

Deena took one of Bakaff’s hands in hers. She slid it from her back, across her groin, and through her pubic hair, until his fingers rested on her vulva.

“Press.” Deena directed, then, as Bakaff complied only tentatively, “Press lover, go on.” Bakaff pressed more firmly and Deena was able to rub herself against him. “That’s it.....That’s it.....Fuck.” she gasped brokenly before returning her attentions to his neck.

Bakaff was still too ticklish. This time she grabbed his head and went for his ear. First she filled it with hot air from her lungs, then she let her tongue approach slowly, finally driving the point right in. After doing his ear, Deena stopped frigging herself on Bakaff’s hand and sat up straight.

“Take your clothes off lover. I’ll pull the bed out.” She stood up by easing herself backwards.

Bakaff stood up and moved away from the sofa.

The small table on which the remote control lay had to be moved from in front of the sofa to make space for the bed to be opened. After placing the table by the side of the sofa, Deena turned it so that a small drawer in one side could be reached by somebody lying where the bed would be. Deena quickly moved cushions, tugged on the strap to produce the bed, and dropped a duvet on top. She took her shirt and bra off and dropped them on the floor, then got on the bed and used various limbs to push the duvet flat. The stage set, she lay, naked, on her side, on top of the duvet, and waited for Bakaff to finish undressing.

Bakaff climbed onto the bed from Deena’s left. After a light push from her, he lay on his back. As he had approached, Deena had noticed that Bakaff had lost his erection whilst undressing. Now, leaning over him slightly and smiling, she took his tumescent penis in her right hand and gave a couple of pulls.

There was a good response. Deena withdrew her hand and held it under her chin. She stopped smiling to work her lips so that saliva gathered. She dipped her head and parted her lips to let a blob of spittle fall into the palm of her hand. Estimating two blobs were necessary, Deena repeated the process.

Moving carefully, Deena ladled the liquid onto the head of Bakaff’s circumcised penis. Before it could drip off, she quickly worked her hand up and down the shaft, spreading a glistening wet layer over the whole member. Bakaff’s cock hardened quickly and after a sharp intake of breath he murmured “That’s good”. After a few tugs, Deena let go, not wishing to masturbate him all the way.

“One second lover.” she said, turning to reach for the drawer in the table. Inside, Deena kept sealed condoms, loose for easy picking. Moving to a kneeling posture, she opened and discarded the seal on the one she had taken out and proceeded to apply it to the top of Bakaff’s knob.

Bakaff smiled and lifted his head so he could watch. With an expert combination of stroking of his shaft, cuddling of his balls, and massage around the root, Deena kept him hard as she unrolled the prophylactic over his penis.

“Shift over to the middle.” Deena said, shuffling back a little to allow Bakaff to slide his body across the bed. As soon as he had, she climbed on top of him.

Leaning forwards, supporting her weight on her elbows, Deena gave Bakaff a tonguey kiss. He could feel her breasts against his chest, her stomach against his stomach and her legs spread across his middle. As they kissed, Deena shifted her weight to her left arm and reached her right arm behind her.

Bakaff’s hard-on was not difficult to find, nor was Deena’s own moist opening. She rubbed the rubber-clad tip of his glans against her clitoris a few times before pushing it inside her. Releasing Bakaff’s member, Deena eased back to take him a little further into her wetness. They finally had to quit kissing as she unbent her arm and straightened her torso to slide her vagina the rest of the way over his penis. Deena paused a few seconds to appreciate the simple pleasure of holding a piece of mansmeat inside her before beginning the fuck proper.

That first coupling of Deena and Bakaff lasted about one hour. An observer might have detected no changes in position, but Deena knew enough ways to vary the sensation that the time just flew by. Most of the time she made sex friction by rocking her body forwards and back to slide Bakaff’s fat stiffness in and out of the cloying slickness of her cunt. Sometimes she would add a small left or right swing, either when the shaft was completely encased, or when just about to commence in the passage of her pleasure. Sometimes Deena would reduce her movement and urge Bakaff to hook his hands around her shoulders to pull her down over his thrusting cock. At the peaks of her excitement, however, Deena would change to a more energetic up-and-down bouncing action to plunge Bakaff’s hot piece into the frothing chamber of her love engine.

Deena felt the onset of the first bursting of Bakaff’s pleasure as his movement changed from smooth thrusting to a strained jerking inside her. The change of his breathing and the sudden urgency of his body compelled her to her own high frenzy. Deena’s mouth demanded immediate deep merging with Bakaff’s, forcing her body down to allow the union. His arms wrapped their electric torsos together. To preserve Bakaff’s shoulders, Deena drove her hands into the duvet they lay on where she could grasp and squeeze as hard as she needed to express her ecstasy. Bakaff’s moment froze his arched frame for three muffled but still palpable spurts. With just a few more strokes Deena brought herself to rain a reply over his still twitching organ.

They lay panting, enjoying their consumption. Bakaff slid his hands around on Deena’s sweaty back. They kissed again and Deena said “Hold the end then.” Bakaff reached around her spread arse and gripped the collar of the condom. His penis had shrivelled quickly and was easy to withdraw.

Deena rolled of Bakaff and told him where to dispose of his semen. He would have found the lavatory quickly anyway - there being only two doors off her main room. When he returned, heralded by a quiet flushing, Bakaff found that Deena had already slipped under the duvet. He slid into bed behind her and reached one arm across her supine form. They fell asleep hand in hand.

“There’s Jack now.” It was not more than five minutes after Coll had driven off in the large terrain van. His passengers turned to look behind them. Jo, who sat next to Coll, had a better view than Polit, who sat behind on what was obviously an extra seat bolted in to the cargo area. She could tell the location of the second terrain van only by virtue of its headlamps which cast a wide pool of white in front of the vehicle. Jo could not see any of the van itself, much less its occupants which was what interested her most.

The vans, true to their name, seemed able to traverse any terrain, no matter how uneven or unstable. They were not fast, however, and Jo thought it was not yet necessary to worry about setting off her GuardPager. She looked at her watch, just visible in the van’s gloomy interior, and decided that she would allow another five minutes. Before that time was up though Coll brought the van to a stop.

“Are we here?” Jo directed her question to the Polit as he seemed the more talkative.

It was Coll who replied. By roughly grabbing her slim wrists one in each hand. It took a moment for Jo to realise what was happening, then she started shouting at him to let go.

“Grab her mouth!” Coll shouted to Polit, who did so, pulling Jo’s head back against her chair. With Jo silenced, he spoke his remaining orders quieter.

“Use one hand on her mouth! Take her hands!” Jo saw and felt her uselessly struggling arms passed one at a time to Polit’s hand waiting just above her head. No matter how much she twisted, Jo found Polit was strong enough to restrain both her hands in just one of his. Polit’s other hand remained where it was, holding her mouth shut and her head back.

“Right. Now where is it?” Coll started to pat Jo down. Misunderstanding his intention, Jo twisted her body from side to side to hinder his groping.

“Fuck’s sake.” Coll put his face close to Jo’s. “Stop struggling!” Jo felt a tiny drop of saliva fall on the tip of her nose.

For a moment the force of Coll’s voice made Jo do just that. Then she considered. In her position, there seemed to be no advantage in struggling. Maybe later. And in that case, there was no point in exhausting herself now. Jo sat still and relaxed her arms, letting them hang from Polit’s grip, which did not relax.

Coll resumed his patting.

“It’s in her right jacket pocket.”

“How d’you know?”

“I saw her feeling it in the place, didn’t I.”

“Clever boy.” Coll put the fingers of his right hand, but not the thumb, in the outside pocket on the right hand side of Jo’s jacket. Once his fingers touched the seam at the bottom of the pocket he closed his hand and ripped. The pocket and its contents came away in his large hand.

“Bingo” he murmured, scrutinising what he held in his hand. Having found what he wanted, Coll emptied his hand behind the back of his chair. From the corner of one eye Jo saw a clean tissue, a lipstick, a piece of paper, the material that had once been her jacket pocket, and, of course, her GuardPager, fall to the floor of the van. She’d have to get that back later. Somehow.

“Keep hold of her till Jack gets here.” Coll ordered, sitting back in his chair. “You can go with him. I’ll keep this one and see you later.”

“Going to be long?”

Coll looked Jo up and down. “Might be a little while. What’re you like then?” The question was directed at Jo, who could not answer. Through the revulsion, she found herself thinking - one of the men would be leaving. Which would mean only having to fight one.

A change in the ambient illumination announced the second van’s appearance. Then its lights were switched off, then flicked on and off. For a moment Jo worried about Shad.

“I’d best park before you let go.” Coll got out of the van and left the door open. Jo watched him in the beam of the van’s headlamps. He walked over to where some long planks of wood were leaned against a nearby wall. After a quick look around to check nobody was watching, he started to lay the planks on the ground.

Jo saw her chance. She took a deep breath and pulled her arms free.

“No no no no no.” Polit admonished, easily gathering her arms and holding her against the door. “Don’t be naughty now.”

Now that Polit had to use both hands to hold her still, Jo’s mouth was free. Free for screaming. “Help! Rape! Mann employee in danger!”

Polit laughed at that and, for one moment, Jo also found it amusing. Then she bit his hand.

Polit breathed in sharply but did not release Jo’s wrist. Through her teeth, Jo felt a new tensing in his hand. Aware that she had not yet broken skin, Jo clamped her jaw down harder. Polit’s breath made more noises, then she heard him murmuring “Yes. Go on. I’m harder.” Jo redoubled her efforts, feeling some pain in her wrists now as Polit’s grip tightened. “No” Polit strained, as Jo’s teeth finally started to sink in.

Coll got back in the van and immediately assessed the situation. Resting the palm of his left hand on Jo’s forehead, he extended the fingers and hooked index and middle inside her nostrils. He pulled back slowly. The pain was too much and Jo had to release her jaws. Abruptly she felt her mouth clamped shut. Jo realised that she had closed her eyes in the struggle. On opening them, she found Coll looking at Polit’s hand where she had bitten it.

“You’re getting there, mate.” Apart from holding her head down and her mouth shut Coll was ignoring Jo and talking to Polit.

“I can feel it.” There was a new clenched intensity in Polit’s voice. “Next time. Next fucking time. It’s close.” Suddenly Jo felt very scared of Polit.

A few breaths later, Polit’s grip relaxed to what it had been before Jo had bitten him. Coll released her head and put the van into gear. If there had been anybody to hear her screaming before, they would have come by now Jo reasoned. Now that the van door was closed she did not bother screaming again.

Where the planks had been leaning against the wall, there was now a wide square opening. Wide enough for the van to enter. The headlamps illuminated a room large enough to be a bay for several of the vans. Coll drove the van in and all the way to the far wall, then killed the engine. The headlamps went out.

In the darkness, Jo felt a strong hand take hold of her hair and tug her in the direction of the driver’s seat. Her hands had been released, but now she needed them to scramble across the seat and out of the van at the pace dictated by the pulling at the roots of her hair. Once out of the van, her hair was held low and Jo bent over to minimise the pain. Without pause she was pulled, and found herself having to walk at a brisk echoing pace across the dark uneven floor of the indoor garage. Jo dared not stumble. She heard Coll, very near and Polit, further away, saying their goodbyes:

“See you later. Put the planks back, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jo reached for where she knew the hand holding her hair had to be. She felt an arm and grasped it with both of her hands, to reduce the tension in her hair. It helped a little, but Coll kept on leading her at the same pace. It was dark, but Coll obviously knew where he was going and navigated easily. Jo’s leg hit a doorway she couldn’t see. Then the echoing stopped as they entered another room. The fact that Coll was letting her hold his arm made her think that maybe he was finally letting his guard down.

“If you let my hair go -”

Coll paused to shut Jo up with a quick slap in the face from his free hand. He resumed his dragging, free hand outstretched now to feel for the metal edge of the spiral staircase. Coll clanged up the stairs, ignoring Jo’s pleas for him to slow down. He enjoyed the sound of her yelping in pain as she ascended clumsily.

At the top of the stairs Coll extended his hand again, this time feeling for the curtain across the doorway to the visitors’ room. He found it, pushed it aside and stepped inside the room. Using both hands, he swung Jo around, released her hair and shoved her towards the far wall. He heard her trip on something and fall. Reaching to the floor just to the left of the inside of the doorway, Coll found a battery lantern. He picked it up, felt for the switch and twisted the fader until soft light filled the room.

The room was around 3 metres by 6. The walls and low ceiling were dirty, but otherwise bare, concrete. There were no windows. The floor was the same concrete as the walls, but had a few stained rugs piled on it. It was on one of these that Jo had tripped, and now sat.

Her office clothes were scuffed and torn in places and dusty all over. Her mouth was slightly swollen and had bled a little. After all that pulling, her hair was in urgent need of treatment with a more than average conditioner .

Coll stooped to put the lantern on the floor. With a powerful shrugging motion he took off his light polymer jacket. Turning and taking his eyes off Jo for a moment he put his hand past the curtain to drop the jacket outside the room.

He stood for a moment, staring impassively at Jo. Unwilling to meet his gaze, Jo found herself looking at his clothes. Removing the jacket had revealed a small designer label (the word “KEY”, with the letters worked into the shape of a key, in dark blue) on the left upper arm of his high neck white pullover. Another small logo (a green disc with the words “stack lager” in white letters) adorned the simple buckle on the belt which held up his smart, dark blue, three-pleat trousers. The turn-ups of the trousers broke across the instep of a pair of black leather zipped ankle boots.

Three steps forward, and then a fourth as she vainly scuttled back against the wall behind her, brought Coll within reach of Jo. He undid his belt and slipped his hand inside his trousers and shorts to adjust his swelling penis.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Jo asked, still hoping to forestall the final part of the assault. Now she made eye contact, and regretted it. The expression on Coll’s face had changed. What had previously been an impassive mask was now tightening with hostility.

Silent and still staring, Coll took his hand out of his trousers but did not refasten his belt. He bent down and took hold of her knees, one in each hand, and made to drag Jo away from the wall against which she was huddled.

“No. Don’t do this to me.” she pleaded, struggling.

Coll released Jo’s legs and straightened up so that he could kick her. A cry of pain escaped her lips as his foot landed high on her left thigh, just below the hip. Now his face was a taut frown and his teeth were just visible past his parted, whitened lips.

Coll bent down and took her knees again. This time Jo did not struggle. Once he had pulled her back nearer the middle of the room, he knelt down at her feet. Leaning forward and using his elbows to force her legs apart, he grabbed at the crotch of Jo’s suit trousers with both hands.

“At least let me undo it!”

Coll’s only reply was to rip the trousers wide open. The object of Coll’s desire was now almost in sight. Only one rather flimsy obstacle remained. Intent on its speedy destruction, he took a fistful of Jo’s light blue knickers, including the elastic at the top, and pulled. The garment stretched, but did not quite break.

“Ow!” Jo yelped as the taut elastic cut into her sides and back. “It won’t break like that. At least let me take it off.”

Coll said nothing. The knickers were now so out of shape that he could easily have left them as they were and still been able to commit the rape he intended. But he enjoyed the feeling of the stretched elastic on his hand. So much so that he took hold of another section in his other hand, wound his fingers into it and pulled until it snapped. The wire-stretched material did not bite into his fingers. It did not even hurt him.

Nothing had hurt since he had pulled Jo up the spiral staircase. At that point he had started to harden, just like Polit’s hand had hardened when Jo had bit it. Only more so and all over. By the time he came to ripping his way into Jo’s pants his whole body was hard, even his face.

With the feeling of air on her pubic region Jo realised the last moment had arrived.

“Why don’t you say something?” She made a final appeal.

Why not? thought Coll. Pressing one finger between her unspread labia he said something: “Feels like it’s going to be a bit of a dry ride. Not very moist are you? Never mind, you’ll bleed soon.”

“Not before you do.” Jo muttered. Without warning both her hands struck at his face. Coll got his eyes and mouth closed in time and Jo’s fingernails did nothing but scrape harmlessly over his hard skin. Unable to believe what she saw, Jo clawed again, but still with no effect.

“How can .....” Jo’s voice trailed off, stunned. “Oh fuck” she swore slowly.

“Just what I was thinking.” Coll said, throwing his weight forward. He landed squarely on Jo’s upper body, knocking the breath out of her. Immediately, he secured both her hands in one of his, leaving his other hand free to undo his trousers. Jo was just about getting her breath back as Coll clumsily pushed his trousers and shorts down.

In his totally hardened state, Coll was irresistible. Jo could only flinch and gasp as he held her down and worked his stiff penis in and out of her. She pleaded for him to stop several times, but he was determined to get all his cock in her before he came. Jo felt no weakening in Coll, even after he ejaculated.

“Ahh” Coll made a satisfied noise as he stood up. “Fun fuck over and the night is yet young.”

Jo let her legs relax to a more comfortable and less spread position. Reflexively, her hands moved to cover her injured and hurting pudendum. Noticing blood on Coll’s now flaccid penis she lifted one of her own hands to check. The sight of the sticky redness made her cry.

“What’s the surprise? That stuff comes out of there every month doesn’t it?” Coll joked, cruelly. “I’m going to wash it off me. You stay here.” He left the room holding his open trousers up with one hand.

As the sound of his footsteps receded, Jo noticed that Coll had not taken the lantern with him. He probably expected her to just lie there crying, she thought. Almost shocked at herself for being capable of it, Jo found herself wondering what was going to happen next. Was Coll going to kill her? Keep her prisoner? Or something else? She had no way of knowing. What she did have was a chance to escape now. She could take the light, get back to the van and set off her GuardPager.

Ignoring the pain as best she could, Jo gradually stood up. She took the lantern and tried to remember the way back to the van. It wasn’t difficult and within a few minutes Jo had quietly, although painfully, reached the bay.

The rear door on the driver’s side was the nearest to where the GuardPager had been dropped and Jo tried it first. It opened and she put the light on the floor inside.

“What are you looking for?” Coll called out as he walked across the bay.

Her only hope was to find the pager. Jo began to search frantically. In the short time before Coll reached her, she found her pocket and all its contents, apart from the GuardPager. Despair filled her as she realised that Polit or Coll must have taken the unit at some time just after the parking the van.

Jo started to cry again and did not even bother to turn as Coll ran into her. Dazed from the impact, Jo felt herself thrown across the back seat of the van, where she lay face down. Coll climbed in and lay on top of her.

“That was a bit silly. Thinking you could get away and call the redcoats like that.” Coll said quietly in Jo’s ear. As he lay on her soft body, he felt his cock stiffening again. “Hang on. I think I could go for some seconds.”

Jo just lay there crying with her legs together. She was aware of Coll’s hand feeling his erection and then undoing his trousers. “Right, spread ’em and give or it’ll be a buggering.” Jo obeyed and was subjected to the second rape of her life.

When he had finished, Coll got out of the van and did up his trousers. He closed the door on a shivering, curled up, and whimpering Jo and went to move the planks from the exit.

Later, a few minutes drive from his place, Coll stopped the van and dumped Jo.

“My calling card.“ He said, tossing a thin, light blue card from the driver’s seat before driving off.

Jo picked it up and turned it over in her hands. A message was poorly printed in red letters on one side. In the receding tail lights of the van she could just manage to read “You have been serviced by The Lager Bastards”.