Upon returning to Hope Captain O’Neil had declared a general day of leave for all of the Constabulary, effective immediately. The city gates were manned by caravan guards. The constabulary was celebrating at Tracy’s Roadhouse.
“By discovering their base camp, and outing their collusion with Jenkins, we reversed the situation without their realizing it. Now they were in the same situation you’d been stuck in before, isolated and centralized against an enemy who was supported and dispersed — basically, it was the element of surprise.”
The beer had flown freely. Patricia had bought the first round, Wentworth the second. In this moment he felt brotherhood with Raxx, and even with the Constabulary. The night was filled with stories. “Did you see when I blew out his tires?…that fat one’s head popped like a watermelon…and then the vehicle flipped… you got him right in the eye… the explosion when the gas tank went up?” The good spirits were infectious, catching with the other patrons. Soon the series of tables they were sitting at were surrounded by other citizens and travellers, relieved that the threat had passed, as well as off-duty caravan guards telling their own stories.
“The other important thing — and this is all on Raxx — was figuring their critical flaw — Pride. Ironically enough, he says it’s the major prohibition of their superstition, and yet it’s what he used against Jenkins during that interrogation. It’s ironic, really. In the end you can blame all of this on the Mennites — they’re neurotic about sex and ego, and thanks to that Slayer turned his men’s aberrance into an ideology. That’s where their roots lay; sexual, violent terrorism, not combat, no matter how well disciplined they were. That’s how I knew their reaction to the planted explosive would be so immediate. They were a rockslide waiting to happen — Raxx figured out where to put the dynamite…”
The two girls his partner had been flirting with the other day were there at the bar and they both seemed impressed with his accomplishments. Vince and Maria had stopped by briefly, but left once Vince had congratulated them on their victory and Maria had fussed over Wentworth’s muscle strain. Soon after, with the younger members of the Constabulary engaging in their own form of youthful entertainment, Wentworth had found himself sharing a corner table with Captain O’Neil — with Patricia.
“You know,” she said, wiping foam from her lips after taking a sip from her pint glass, “I have to admit that I had my doubts about you at first.”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“Whatever. I’m sorry your commission got cut, but it was the only way I could convince the Mayor to let the Constabulary get involved, regardless of what I thought.”
“Hey, it’s no biggie.” It had only been a fifty percent cut so he and Raxx were still walking away happy. The excitement had quickly worn off for him though. Combat against disorganized opponents was nothing new for him, and it had been replaced with… not depression, maybe thoughtfulness? Camaraderie aside, he wasn’t flush with the same mirth as the men and women in uniform, enjoying their youth, or that Raxx felt, laughing and joking with Sherry and Michelle. “The thing that gets me is that the Children, most of them anyway, never would have turned out like that if not for Jenkins, and their society which threw them out. The Mennites manufactured their own trouble.”
“Well, they paid for it ten times over.”
“Maybe, but I doubt they’ve learned from it. It’s just… tragic… incompetence causes more harm than evil. In this case incompetence and ignorance is what created the evil in the first place.” He looked down at the ashtray, a sad frustration written across his face.
“Wentworth — I’ve never liked the Mennites. They’re good enough people individually, but that superstition of theirs makes them impossible to deal with.” She paused to steal Wentworth’s cigarette, and take a draw from it. “Hey,” she said, sliding around closer to him and taking his chin in her hand, making him face her. Her fingers were rough. “You just saved two communities from predation, and took out some bad guys, wherever they came from. Today you’re the hero, Wentworth, and you should be smiling.”
“Call me Iain.”
She leaned forward and placed her lips on his.
At first it was gentle and friendly. But she didn’t disengage. Their lips slid against each other, wet from the beer, and a sudden hunger enveloped both of them. Wentworth let go of his glass and placed his hand on the back of her neck pulling her towards him. Their mouths opened and their tongues met. After a long moment they finally pulled apart, both panting, their faces flushed.
“Do you want to get out of here?” asked Wentworth.
“My place is down in the town square.”
They put down money for the tab, and made their way out of the bar. After exiting Patricia pushed him against the wall of the Roadhouse. “I haven’t done this since I was twenty.” She pressed her body against him and they kissed again, briefly. Then they made the five minute walk back to her apartment holding hands.
Patricia lived in a walk-up above a cobbler. They kissed while she unlocked the front door, then she led him up the stairs, his good hand on her hips. She opened up her apartment’s door. It entered into the suite’s kitchen, and they started kissing again. A fierce hunger drove them, something awakened in both their chests, and their kisses became violent. Wentworth shed his jacket and boots, while she removed her utility belt, walking backwards towards the bedroom, kissing him the entire time.
Moonlight streamed in from the window, lighting up everything in shades of blue and silver as Wentworth undid the buttons of her uniform and unhooked her bra. She unbuckled his belt and removed his pants. They fell to the bed still half-clothed, grinding against each other, running their hands up and down each other’s bodies.
Hers was muscled and firm, small breasts with dark nipples, black against the blue of her skin. He reached up and undid the clasp holding her hair back in a tidy bun, and it streamed out over the pillow, smelling of perfume and sweat, silky against his hand. She ran her hands up and down him, squeezing and kneading his muscles, sliding his clothes off. Her skin tasted sweet and salty, the musk of their pheromones filled the room.
Then they were naked. He entered her, gasping. The sex was desperate.
Wentworth could feel her hunger. His sense of time faded and she moaned out his name when his lips weren’t on hers. He squeezed her breast as her hips bucked against his. All of their worked up stress combined with the euphoria of the alcohol until it exploded. She climaxed, and her moans threw him over the edge.
They drifted in each other’s arms, floating in the afterglow.
Patricia turned playful. She cuddled into his shoulder with soft animal noises while he ran his fingers up and down her back, making her shiver.
“You’re a strange man, Iain Wentworth.”
“That’s what they say,” he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
Looking about the room he saw that it was papered with old prewar posters, the colour bled out. They all showed different actors or musicians posing, all male. They were neither effeminate nor overly-developed; a rare collection. They were of various ages, but all seemed to stand with confidence, maybe a rugged look
He closed his eyes, surrounded by the scent of her hair.
His breathing was beginning to fall into a steady rhythm, and the world was blurring with the onset of dreams when he felt Patricia’s hand slide down his chest to his groin and begin massaging him there. He quickly grew hard again and gently rolled her onto her back so that he could work his mouth down her body.
They made love a second time. Before there’d been heat and need. This time there caressing and tenderness. Their hands and mouths wandered gently over each other, as they continuously changed position, too busy pleasing the other to seek their own climax.
He fell asleep with no memory of orgasm.
“So you and Raxx are the talk of the town wherever I go.” Wentworth was sitting with Vince in the back of Maria’s shop having a late breakfast. Two weeks had passed since eliminating Slayer’s threat. His shoulder had healed without incident. Maria was out front tending to customers while the two of them spoke. “Doing pretty well financially, too, from what I gather.”
“Yeah. We are. Thanks again for working on that cattle sale. You did an amazing job there.”
“Lad, I’ve been doing it long enough, I’d better have.” Vince was wearing new clothes, nothing showy but in much better condition than his old outfit. Maria had made him shave off his beard, despite his protests that with nothing on his head he needed
Wentworth frowned, “I thought we’d been subtle.”
