Travelling was not as easy as he had thought it would be. There were some suspicious looks as he went through the smaller villages. He knew he looked dishevelled and unshaven already. He tried to walk as if he had every right to be there and knew just what he was doing. It seemed to be working. Nobody challenged him. Maybe they were put off by the smell he seemed to have picked up in the barn, though, he thought.
He was well out in the countryside, miles from anywhere and thinking about maybe changing over to moving at night and resting up during the day when a van slowed down on the road beside him. Norm wasn’t pleased to be attracting attention. “Are you looking for a lift?” the driver asked.
The driver sounded friendly. More than that, clouds boiling up in the west with the threat of oncoming rain helped Norm to overcome his reticence. “That would be great,” he said. “I’m heading to Dublin.”
“You’ll be English.” It was a statement more than a question.
Norm was disappointed that it had taken the driver only eight words from him to work that out but it didn’t seem to make any sense to try and deny it. He nodded as he got in. “Does that make a difference to whether or not I get a lift?”
“No, but maybe I can help you. Were you off a boat from Belcoo?”
“Why would you think that?”
The driver smiled. He started the van and carried on heading south.
“We see a few newcomers from there. You obviously got across all right?”
“Uh huh,” Norm wasn’t sure how much he should share. Actually he wasn’t even really sure what his status was in Eire. He’d not heard of men being returned and the group that helped him get to Belcoo hadn’t said anything about problems once he’d crossed over. But then, he thought, they wouldn’t, would they?
“Things must be tough from what I hear. Heaven knows how Johannsen and her gang got elected in the first place.”
“Uh huh,” Norm wasn’t anxious to be drawn into the discussion even though the driver appeared sympathetic.
“You’re someone who keeps himself quiet. That’s a smart move. If you’re not set on Dublin, I know some people in Sligo that would like to meet you.”
“What sort of people?” His experiences over the last few days of people trying to help him hadn’t always been the best, and had encouraged a natural suspicion, although in fairness he had got to where he had wanted to be.
“People who aren’t sure about New Order ideas. People who are worried something similar might happen here.”
“I don’t know. I’m not really up on the politics. It was more a personal thing. I just couldn’t put up with things over there any longer.”
“Please yourself. They’ll give you a meal and a roof that doesn’t leave you smelling like the prize sow’s favourite boar at least.”
Norm thought about the offer. His driver didn’t seem bothered either way. Sligo would mean going back the way he had come but on the other hand maybe somewhere away from the capital was a good idea. It started to rain. Suddenly a sympathetic welcome, a meal and a roof sounded even more attractive.
And, he realised that what his driver said about the smell was true — he hadn’t noticed up to that point. In the end he said, “What the hell? I hadn’t got any plans for Dublin anyway.”
“Sure, that’s the right attitude,” said his driver, turning the van around and heading north.
Chapter 4: Club Regina
Catherine Chee was enjoying her evening. She came to Club Regina a couple of times a week. It was one of the many establishments catering to an exclusively female clientele that had sprung up since New Order had come to power and it gave her chance to relax after work.
Bars and restaurants were thriving on the back of the new economics of female purchasing power. There were plenty of places offering somewhere to take a drink, meet up with friends, listen to music or eat a meal. Some had luxurious spa facilities, some boasted classy food or specialised in live music or exotic cocktails. There were venues for every taste as long as you had money and these days most women did. Club Regina, however, existed to satisfy a particular set of enthusiasms that Catherine subscribed to; ones that been very much legitimised by the new social order which legitimised any woman that had a taste for dominating males for sexual pleasure.
The day had been a difficult one for Catherine. Her latest project was proving difficult to get going with. Club Regina offered the opportunity to put those concerns to one side for a while at least.
Catherine was proud of her Chinese heritage. She rarely wore western fashions, much preferring the sensuous lines of a silk qipao like the dramatic one in black silk edged with crimson that she had chosen for today. She chose her make up to accentuate her Asiatic features and cultivated an aloof air as the personification of what she considered to be the superiority of Chinese culture. It was an attitude that had been handed down by her mother, together with a lasting dislike of western males for the condescending, snobbish and racist way the ex-pat community had treated her family in Hong Kong, before they had moved to the UK. She found delight in exploiting the current climate that allowed, even encouraged, the degradation and humiliation of men. The chance to have examples of the western, self-satisfied, male sex kow-towing to her in front of others was too good to ignore and the club provided a convenient environment in which to indulge herself.
As usual, she started in the bar. A table for one on the edge of the room, well away from the small stage where there were occasional displays of punishment or humiliation, was her preferred spot. The room’s hostess, Natalie, a Rubenesque girl in leather corsetry that seemed barely able to contain the flesh within, appeared by her side with a menu card. Catherine knew what she wanted but she took the card anyway and looked at it briefly.
“Your usual, Miss?” the hostess enquired.
Catherine nodded. “Thank you, that would be ideal. And a Bloody Mary, please.”
The hostess nodded. “Of course,” she said and left Catherine to watch the comings and goings in the club room. It was early and there were only half a dozen women there besides herself.
A few moments later the hostess reappeared with an almost naked man in tow on a leash connected to the metal cage that was locked around his genitals. He wore a face-concealing leather hood and was silenced with a ball-gag that, Catherine noted with satisfaction, distended his jaw in a painful looking fashion. Exactly as she had ordered, Catherine thought.
She sat back on the couch, sprawling comfortably in a way that seemed casual but was calculated to allow the slit of her qipao’s skirt to reveal the length of her thigh. The way the man turned his masked face told Catherine that he had seen and appreciated her pose.
The man’s wrists were cuffed, a short length of chain linked them. He carried a small tray with Catherine’s chosen drink. It wasn’t easy. His restraints left him feeling he was about to drop the tray at any moment. At a snap of the fingers from the hostess, he dropped obediently to his knees alongside her.