New Order, New Opportunity Pt. 02

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It had been a pig of a day for Kath. The air con had failed on the seventh floor and that stupid bunch of men hadn't been able to fix if for three hours, by which time she'd had dozens of complaining phone calls.. She hadn't been able to get out of the building for a smoke all afternoon and that always made her scratchy.

Geoff hadn't been very enthusiastic when she'd told him that he'd be coming over this evening and he'd been even less keen when she sent him out into the kitchen to deal with the last couple of day's washing up.

Kath sat back and flicked on her video screen. It was the usual political stuff on the news. Some New Order party hack was wittering on about the latest agenda of reforms. She didn't take much notice. There were reports of subversive groups active in the North. It sounded like they'd given up in London now and were looking for somewhere that might prove a bit easier. The Chief of Police for the northern district was being reassuring. Kath didn't trust her but if things were getting better in London, she wasn't worried anyway.

A resounding crash from the kitchen brought her attention back to the flat. She got to the kitchen to find an embarrassed Geoff standing with shattered crockery around his feet. "It slipped, I'm sorry," he said.

"You bloody well will be," Kath snapped back looking at the remains of the broken bowl. With one hand she gripped him by the collar of his shirt and pushed him forward, bending him over the sink. She started to fumble for his trouser belt, Geoff started to struggle. "Keep fucking still," Kath snapped, pushing Geoff forward so that he was half drowning with his face in the washing up. She wrested the belt from his trousers, pulled the trousers and underpants down and started to lay into Geoff's buttocks with the belt.

After half a down strokes his backside was already red and his gasped cries of pain were spluttering through the soapy water as he bucked down and then up with each stroke. By the time Kath had delivered twelve strokes, Geoff was yelping with each one; his arse red raw and bruised.

Kath let go of his collar and Geoff slid to the floor amongst the shards of pottery. Kath stood back from the sobbing Geoff, her hands on her hips, the belt hanging loosely by her side.. "Well," she thought I mightn't be able to afford any of these fancy punishment instruments they show off in the Sunday supplements, but at least I can keep him in order."

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"Barry!!" Barry Haste knew he was in trouble as soon as he heard Margery's voice. He should have been waiting for her by the door but she was a few minutes later than usual, he'd taken the opportunity for a quiet few minutes with the video screen and he hadn't heard her car pull up. He scurried out of the living room to where Margery was taking off her uniform overcoat.

"Lazing about again?" Margery asked with raised eyebrows. She looked towards the door of the living room, hearing the sound from the video system. "You'd better not have been watching anything you shouldn't have been. I'll check you know."

Barry knew all right. He had only made the mistake of using the video to watch one of the women's programmes once when Valerie had left her ident card in the slot. The bruises on his backside from the beating she'd given him had taken weeks to heal.

Margery didn't bother to wait for an answer but tossed her overcoat and uniform cap at Barry. "I need a drink," she said, meaning that Barry had better bring her one and quickly, "and make it a large one." She pushed passed him into the living room.

By the time Barry had hung up her coat, put away her cap and poured the large whiskey that he knew she wanted, Margery was sprawled back on the couch, flicking through channels on the video screen. Barry passed her the whiskey and was about to leave when she stopped him. "Don't go," she said, "I've got something for you to do. Get these shoes off, I've been on my feet all day."

Barry knelt down by Margery's feet. He was sure that Margery's choice of footwear wasn't entirely regulation police uniform, but she seemed to get away with it. Her shoes were black and laced up, pretty much like the standard issue, but the three inch spike heels that helped compensate for her short height, certainly weren't. Barry unlaced each of the shoes in turn, easing them from her feet and standing them neatly beside the couch.

The telephone rang and Margery picked it up. She clicked the fingers of her other hand impatiently at Barry waving towards her feet. He knew what she wanted and bent his head to her feet as she began her conversation.

"Hi, it's Margie."..... "Oh, hi. Mmm, sure.. Yes." Margery gestured impatiently at Barry. He started by stroking her feet, knowing that, after a day's work, a foot massage would be the very least that she would want. His fingers ran across the silky feeling nylon of her black stockings. These didn't look like regulation issue either to Barry, they were far too sheer but, again, Margery seemed to get away with it and what did it matter to him? He pressed with his thumbs on the underside of her left foot, hoping to relieve some of the tension that he could feel. "Oh, you know not so bad. Mind you a couple of days ago we had a strange one in! Val and I had one of those dissident suspects set up for a nice chat. Val was just getting started on him. Should have got something out of him for sure. Then the word comes down to... Hang on." Margery put her hand over the receiver and turned towards Barry. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you ham fisted dickhead" she snapped, pulling her foot away. "Get your mouth on it, perhaps that will be a bit gentler."

She didn't wait for Barry's response but went back to her phone call. "Sorry about that," she said. "Where was I? .... Oh yes, it was really odd We'd just got started on softening him up and it looked like we'd get a least a few names out of him but then the word comes down from upstairs to lay off and let him go. Just like that. No explanations. Nothing."

Barry hated having to take Margery's feet in his mouth, especially after she'd done a hard day's work. As he lowered his face towards her foot he smelled the pungent whiff of her sweat but he knew that he had better not hesitate. He started, as she had told him to, by running his tongue across her toes, the slippery, luxurious feeling of the nylon contrasting with the heavy smell of sweat, being careful not to drool on her feet by making sure that he swallowed back his saliva as soon as he felt it forming.

Margery finished her phone call but paid Barry no more attention, letting him continue with his work. Barry took that as a good sign, if she had been unhappy with what he was doing she'd have pushed him over backwards with her foot.

She lifted her other leg up and tapped her foot against Barry's head indicating that he should give that one some attention. He did as she indicated just as he heard the front door open and Valerie calling, "Hi, Margie, I'm back."

"In here," Margie called and Barry saw Valerie's stocking clad legs as she walked past him.

"Mmm." Valerie reacted with pleasure at her lover's deep kiss. "That is a good welcome home." Barry felt Margery's position change as Valerie leant forward against her and heard her giggling response as she pulled her foot away from Barry's mouth. Valerie fell forward against her, knocking Barry to one side as she did so. As Barry sat back on his heels and looked up Valerie had her hands on Margery's shirt, pulling it open without much regard for the buttons. She buried her face in Margery's cleavage as her lover pulled her closer to her and pushed her thigh up between Margery's legs bringing a grunt of pleasure from her lips.

Barry looked on at the tangle of flesh; remembering when as his wife Valerie had let him do much as she was doing to Margery now. Margery's skirt was pushed up around her waist with Valerie's thigh wedged between her stockings. The two women were giggling and grunting in equal part. At a pause in the proceedings, Valerie toppled over onto the couch beside Margery. The two women looked across at Barry and burst out laughing at his wistful look. "You sorry shit!" Valerie laughed. "You're thinking that one day you might be allowed to do this. Well don't get your hopes up. In fact, go and find the dildos and the other toys. I think Margie and I are having a quiet evening in."

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The Paradiso was packed as it usually was on Friday nights. Janice French was enjoying the evening. It had been a dull week at work. There weren't many challenges in the Personnel office at the moment. Laying off the solitaries had been the only thing she'd really had to worry about, and that had hardly been much effort. They'd all almost expected it, except that last one, Leonard -- he'd seemed almost dazed. Still that was better than the abuse she'd had from a couple of them. She'd had to call security to throw them out in the end. Why had they shouted at her? It wasn't as though it was her fault that the Government had changed the regulations.

Two of her friends, Nadine and Celia, joined her on the couch. James might have recognised them as the two girls heading for the gym that had laughed at him on his last day in the office. A row of shot glasses displayed the main achievements of the girls so far that evening.

"Did you get that new house boy, Janice?" Nadine asked.

"Are we going to get to see him?" Celia chipped in eagerly.

"He's nothing special," Janice responded defensively. She knew she was lucky. Her mother, had married twice before New Order came to power and had enjoyed the wealth that had brought her as a result of the confiscation of her husbands' assets. Then she had died a year ago and left Janice the lot. Sure anyone could have a house boy but you needed accommodation that was big enough and even with the tax breaks it wasn't a cheap hobby. Janice knew Celia and Nadine would be hard pushed to have live in house boys of their own on what they were earning.

"Still, it must be better than having the cleaning services in, mustn't it? I mean laundry and all the rest on hand, any time you want."

"Especially the all the rest!" Nadine smirked. "Or is he just good in the kitchen?"

"Let's just say," Janice leaned forward conspiratorially, "that if you two were coming round I'd be sure to have him wear his Hannibal Lecter mask -- I'd hate you to find out what he can do with his tongue!"

Celia and Nadine laughed uproariously and grabbed another Vodka shot each. Janice joined them.

"Oh all right," she said. "Come and eat tomorrow night. You can see him then."

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The Prime Minister's 'fixer' and confidante was being characteristically blunt. The Scottish burr on her voice took the edge from her words sometimes but most that spoke to her were in no doubt as to what needed to happen, and happen it usually did. She was still thought to have been very much the power behind transforming New Order from no-hope extremists into an electable political party. "No, of course not," she said. "I don't think we need bother the PM with this. She's happy to leave party political matters to me. She's got enough to worry about, running the country."

Her dinner companion, a woman whose girth was a testament to her adherence to Oscar Wilde's philosophy of resisting anything except temptation, sat back and inhaled from her cigar, unfastening just one of the buttons of her waistcoat in recognition of the quality of the meal. "Of course, I just thought..."

"Look, this little project needs discretion. There are those in the Party that think she isn't moving fast enough or far enough."

"Well, even the last government had it's 'hang-em & flog-em' brigade."

"Yes, but they only wanted to do that to criminals, not half the population."

The two women laughed but they both knew that was an accurate picture for some of the New Order party members. Making sure that all party members, and especially members of parliament, stayed 'on side' was essential if the extremists were to be kept from taking things too far.

"We both know," the PM's fixer went on, "that there are a few leaving themselves open to the suggestion that they might not be fully on-board with the New Order programme. That's what this is about."

"I know. There are those whose pleasures are probably best not known by the public at large or even the party faithful."

"Especially the party faithful."

"All right," another puff of the cigar was followed by a draft from the balloon of brandy she was holding. She shifted her weight on the chair. It creaked. "And that's why we've set up the Fetter Lane facility. It's more or less operational."

"Staffing?"

"Largely done, although you'd be surprised how difficult it is to find people that won't be missed by both sides."

"You know I had to intervene for one of your recruits?"

"You can't blame me for over enthusiastic policing. They're under pressure to get results."

"I don't like having to get involved!"

"I understand." Another considered sip of brandy punctuated the discussion.

"Still, you have what you need now?"

"What I need? Yes. And we're getting the first results. I should be able to provide you with some insights into the predilections of one of the judiciary."

The fixer stared straight at her dinner guest. "I don't want insights; I want leverage."

Chapter 6 : Step By Step

It had been a bad day. James had been to the Opportunity Centre. There had been about twenty of them standing around in the big room where they handed out appointments. The two appointment windows that opened through the security screens remained closed.

On the far side James could see half a dozen Opportunity Centre staff doing something. It wasn't terribly clear what it might be and they didn't seem to be in any hurry to open the appointment windows.

James took the time to look at the cards on the displays around the room. "Opportunities" was the word but he wasn't eligible for most of them. "Only privately sponsored applicants considered," or "No Sponsor? Don't Even Ask!" most of them said.

The ones that he could apply for either sounded like they were beyond his physical abilities (most of the manual jobs involved harder work than he had ever had to do -- there were a few cards for "Farm Workers" and James knew that would mean hard work in the fields and sleeping in a barn) or needed skills that he didn't possess. He couldn't see anything that looked like office or clerical work that didn't involve him needing a sponsor.

The clatter of a grille being raised announced that someone at least had deigned to open one of the appointment windows. James joined the line and shuffled forward as one after the other of the waiting group made their way to the window.

As he reached the front of the queue the girl on the other side of the window, looked up. She was barely twenty years old looked up but she looked as though she had already inherited the jaded and misanthropic manner of long serving OC staff. "Ident Card," she said without blinking.

"Oh, yes, of course," said James, fumbling in his coat pocket for the plastic card. The girl sighed with impatience. He pushed it into the slot in front of him.

The girl's attention went to her computer screen. James realised he was staring at her, noticing how the white of her bra straps showed through her crisp white blouse and how the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck escaped over her collar. She turned round suddenly. He almost fell over backwards. "Police interview last night, eh?" she said. "Anything we should know about?"

"No, no," said James. "It was some sort of mistake. They just interviewed me." James shouldn't have been surprised. It was routine knowledge that all state departments shared their computer files these days.

"No smoke, I say," the girl responded. "Still it doesn't make much difference. You aren't sponsored. I don't have anything for an un-sponsored applicant."

"Could I get an interview for a sponsorship?"

"Dunno," the girl said. "Police investigation won't help. Neither will you staring at my tits."

"I didn't, I wasn't," James protested but the girl just laughed.

"Come back tomorrow," the girl said. "Who knows, you might get lucky."

James nodded. He wasn't getting his hopes up. He knew she was only talking about an interview at the very best and he wasn't expecting much to come of that.

Outside the OC, he turned back towards his flat. It was late and starting to get dark. There was a black and white across the road. There seemed to be a lot them about these days. Or maybe he was just attracting attention in some way. A group of four women, arm in arm, talking animatedly were heading towards him, taking up most of the pavement. He had to step into the road to let them pass. There was a blast from the horn of the black and white as it swerved around him. The girls turned to look as if it had all been his fault.

The walk back was dogged by one instance after another of those things that demonstrated the things that had changed since New Order came to power. There were the "No Males" signs on the subway that meant he had to cross the road, edging his way through the traffic and the same signs on some of the foodways forcing him to walk on one side of the road or the other. There were posters promoting the latest campaign by the Ministry of Justice to suppress dissident groups; encouraging the public to denounce (although that wasn't the word they used) suspected members of subversive groups.

Each of his steps back towards the apartment were like the little steps that had chipped away at his freedoms until, suddenly, he saw he had few, if any, left. Sponsorship had been the main way that the State had done its work. If you weren't sponsored you couldn't do that, then you couldn't do this, and then, and then... Needing a sponsor to counter sign a passport application had been one of the first things. Then his passport had expired and he couldn't renew it and now he couldn't leave the country even if he wanted to. Needing a sponsor for a private bank account had been the next thing, so he'd ended up with an account with the state bank. That had been a hangover from the financial crisis but now New Order used it to make sure that those without sponsors had 'help' in managing the little money they had left after their taxes. They didn't offer credit cards of course and although he'd heard there were such things as overdrafts and loans available he didn't know anyone that had one.

James's route took him around the edge of the main shopping district. Even if he had money to spend he'd be hard pushed to spend it here. The shops catered, as shop always do, to those with money. And that didn't include him. Or anyone like him. This street was all clothes shops; clothes and shoes and they weren't for him. The red signs took him to the far side of the road as he watched the girls across the street, clustered around the brightly lit windows of D&G and Jimmy Choo. He tripped, stubbing his toe on the raised edge of a paving stone. He suddenly realised that this side of the road wasn't maintained. He'd never thought about it before. The street lamp over his head flickered and he saw that the next one was out. A pool of gloom shadowed the doorways in this side of the street. Nothing had been done to make things any easier on the men's side of the street.

He got to the end of the road. There was a short cut that he sometimes took past the food shops. He crossed over but then saw he couldn't go that way any more Another sign had appeared; a red circle, at the top, the inverted Venus sign, beneath it the Mars and inverted Venus signs with a plus sign between them in a red circle. Only women or accompanied men, it meant; no way though for someone without a sponsor. He passed the end of the road. In the lights of the stores women were emerging, their men following close behind laden with their choices. At least he didn't have to follow a sponsor, around, James told himself as he turned down yet another badly lit, ill maintained road, heading for home.