Chapter 2 -- Going Down
"There is not much out here for an agent on the run. So I have
been laying low trying to stay one step ahead of the firm, the
syndicate and everyone else who wants a piece of me. Trying to
stay clean. I flew out here to meet some one. A special friend."
I answered.
Pointing to a late model car. "There, that one. That is the right
model. Five seconds on the trunk lock. Reach in, as if getting
the spare, a sharp push and the back seat collapses. See, less
obvious than a slim Jim on the door."
Roxanne nods her head in admiration, "Very convenient."
"It all feels so comfortable. Not safe, not especially appealing,
but somehow a feeling of knowing what will happen." she says,
talking as if to the windshield.
We are driving, doubling back, not quite lost, talking with an
honesty of old lovers. "Do you feel it too, Joe? I could have
been killed dozens of times over there. If that is what that
bitch or that fat bastard or even if you wanted, it would have
happened already. No one would speak of it, but it was there. An
understanding. A pact, as clear as any written contract. Simple,
but so bloody devastating in it's purity. Surrender everything,
no questions, never resist and that final line is never crossed.
But the price is high, so very high." She was quiet for a moment,
then added, "It's being outside that is scary."
I was left standing outside in the light rain. Rain drops beaded
on the pair of coffins. The honor guard gave me the folded flag.
The last few family members drifted off without saying a word to
me.
"The Director offers his condolences, Joe."
"He couldn't even pay his respects in person. So he sends his
clean-up man. Fuck it Bill. This never should have happened.
Christ, my wife and daughter. How?"
"You did not hear this from me. There was a fuck up in the field
office. They broke your cover and hit your family. The operation
was blown wide open. They are looking for a scape goat, Joe. The
Director is going to pin it on you. That way if you talk, they
can deny everything that the traitor says. Monday they seal your
bank account, even your pension."
"Then tell him to kiss, my ass. If he can find it."
"Joe, if you run, you will be on the outside forever. You can
never come in."
"JOE! Watch out! That bloke almost hit us. You should get some
sleep, you look tired."
Shit. Way too close. "I am going to pull in here." She was right.
I did not survive this long, to buy it in some fucking car crash.
"I will get a room." The vacancy sign flashed, red neon in the
cool night air.
A giant tongue licking in red neon. Lollipops. Lollipops.
Lollipops. But it is only my head playing tricks on me. Again.
*Focus, Joe. Get your shit together.*
The motel is a dump. The hot car parked well off the street. The
interstate passes over the dimly lit parking lot. A scroungy
looking German shepherd runs across the lot, his tail between his
legs. Probably scared shitless to be out after dark in this
neighborhood.
"Looks like you have a lot of vacancies, Gramps." The owner is an
old man, watching television on an ancient black and white set
with rabbit ear antennas.
"Yeah, since they completed the freeway, nobody comes here no
more. Not even the pimps. Ain't no business doing down here.
Gonna give it up soon. Soon as we get some money, the old lady
and I are packing up and heading south."
"Well buddy, it's your lucky day. I want that far room, the one
with a kitchen. For a week. Give us some extra towels, because I
don't want any maid service. No nothing. You understand me,
Gramps? I pay cash, in advance."
"You got it, mister." He scooped the bills up. The television
ignored. "Do not disturb. Got it."
+++++
Standing at the foot of the king sized bed, turning around,
absorbing it all, the desk and lamp, comfortable but worn chairs,
the tiny kitchen area, one look and she can find her way in total
darkness. A motel room, like so many others.
"I should call in. I owe them. The airline hired me when no one
else would. I was starting to rebuild my life, now I will never
fly again." Her gaze darted from me to the phone, to the bed, to
the door and back to me again. "Flying has always been my life.
My daughter and flying."
She watched silently, as I snatched the phone wire from the wall,
and then with a growing understanding as the door lock was
reversed. A dead bolt kept strangers out, the reversed lock
keeping the familiar in. "Once I lock it, that's it." After all
that she had been through, I owed her that much. My fat boss back
in Joy Town would have said that I was going soft. Perhaps, but
for him, none are hard enough. "Last chance." I cautioned.
Her eyes were on mine, clear and green as the China sea. Her
answer was to hold her purse straight out. I took the leather bag
from a steady hand. She reached up, fingers wrapped together
behind her neck, her breast thrust out proudly, as she undid the
few buttons. Her arms crossed and the blouse slipped past her
face. A nice chin, proud yet graceful, cheek bones high, giving
her a timeless beauty. A shake of her head straightened her hair,
a glance in my direction and she wriggled her hips free of the
blue skirt. Her underwear was modest, cut for comfort, for a day
of work. She pulled the strap from her shoulder, slipping an arm
through, freeing her breasts the bra. She slid it to the front
and unhooked it. Raising each foot through, she stepped from her
panties, leaving them on the floor. Head raising, she sought my
approval. "Pardon the heels. I recall that you prefer them
higher."
"The necklace too."
"Yes. Everything. Now I am completely bare."
She remembered. My eyes regained her beauty. A tall slender
frame. Oh how the locals loved her. At first, the big man
reserved her for his best clients. The business men from
Malaysia, Hong Kong. Tokyo. A western beauty, in their eyes, with
her long legs, and a wave, in her natural blonde hair, she could
be a model or a princess. For a few lousy baht, they could see
her orgasm or put fear in her eyes. But the big boss was not
satisfied, he had a sense for money. Like any good business man,
he knew what the traffic would bear. So he put her on the local
market. For the price of a cover charge and two drink minimum,
any street vendor or taxi driver in Joy Town could experience
British royalty. Fat man Vopat, wasn't above embellishing the
truth. Promotion, the big man called it.
Others broke. Succumbed. Gave in to Tam's whip. They let
themselves go. Started to mimic Tam's broken English. Spoke in
short simple sentences. Mostly, "You want Fuckee?" It didn't
matter who. They preferred the dogs for they would do their
business and get off. The men would want to play. To string them
up, play with them, see how it felt to swing a whip. Oh, they did
the same with Roxanne too. It was just that she never waved that
white flag.
I was captivated with her, wanted her for my own pet. So I bought
her and her daughter. Cost me dearly too. Did some research on
her background. Her father, it turned out, was an honest to God,
British war hero. Military Medal and everything. He was in some
jungle conflict, a counter insurgency they called it. The whole
sordid affair hushed up by Whitehall. Parachuted in the jungle,
his squad betrayed by a bar girl. The guerrillas held him.
Tortured and executed his squad, one by one, then turned on him.
But he never talked, he held on until the foreign office arranged
his ransom. He would have been proud of his cute daughter,
Roxanne.
"Where is Sarah? She must be, what, 25 now?"
"Full grown. A beautiful woman. She errr. She works."
I can see in her face, that now was not the time to pursue it.
Anyway, I was ready for something else. Roxanne saw it growing
too.
She laid back on the bed. Navy two inch heels drawn up tight to a
curvy rump. Slowly, Roxanne let her knees fall apart revealing
her sex. Fluffy in natural blonde, trimmed and neat. I have not
seen her with pussy hair since the day I took her from the
airport. She wet two fingers on her tongue, and reaching between
her legs, pokes them into her bottom, pauses, then slides them up
over and into her pussy. Then higher still she rubs, giving
herself a little reward.
Damn. It is her greeting. I trained her to do that and she
remembered.
It worked. I am all over her, tasting her, struggling from
clothing reacquainting myself with each curve, each nerve of her
lucious body. Her face tastes of makeup, her lips of red desire,
her nipples hard as rocks, sweet and so sensitive, a promise of
what lays below. She responds, her body trained to mine, her mind
racing to catch up, reflexing into an orgasm under my hand. Mine
nearly exploding on her tongue, she pleases me as she was
prepared to do, during weeks of schooling. She quivers around me
as I enter. Fucking her hard and fast, feeling another quake as
she comes. And another as I come deep against her, deep inside.
"May I tell you something? Back then, it was cruel to keep that
shock collar on me when you fucked me. I can't be silent during
sex."