Author’s Note: Joan Henderson was introduced in Comes the Six Winter Night.
Dream Ride
The shocks in the yellow cab—an ancient Chevy—were completely shot. She did not mind, just rocked along like a tourist. She had driven through many warzones just as devastated as this one. The elevation rose as she headed inland through the windblown streets, and before long the brownstone jungle began to disintegrate before her eyes, giving way to patches of overgrown rubble and greened-over vacant lots.
It’s actually prosaic, in a post-apocalyptic way.
Joan was enjoying her freedom; freedom from an overseas ‘diplomatic post’; freedom from Islam [if even just the bland Turkish variety]; and freedom from her former station chief in Istanbul—fat fucking Ed!
After filing her report on the ‘Brucasio Incident’ back in June she had expected to meet resistance to her transfer request. Ed, however, uncharacteristically behaved with professionalism, and recommended her for liaison assignments, which had always been her forte.
I love doing intelligence for fighting me. It’s the closest thing to watching football with Dad and makes an immediate difference.
Since then Joan had enjoyed stimulating field assignments in Central Asia, then in Mongolia—where she had a wonderful time seducing Hana, a twenty-three year-old political science major from Ulan Bator University, all in the name of national security. She had separated from her neutered husband and was no longer obligated to debase herself giving Ed his requisite 9:00 a.m. blow jobs on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
She had finally come into her own sexually. Men were not on the menu. Whenever she contemplated femininity and masculinity her dominant lover’s voice seemed to crop up in her mind.
To them sex is just an act. For us it is our essence. Develop their desire to act. Become the alluring goal and the guiding hand—give nothing but promises; sweet, sweet promises…
Since Tina, the Executive Solutions Corporation investigator who had seduced her in Kylos, Joan no longer equated sex with men or humiliation. Now her long-repressed and unfulfilled sexuality was expressed as wholeness with a woman or as ‘power over men’ as the surrogate. Without the need for a man she could enjoy dalliances with desirable females as the dominant partner. More importantly, she was now free to utilize her considerable heterosexual appeal to manipulate men. This was the one lesson that Tina most forcefully instilled in her.
They are all your servants, Joan; servile fruit pining to be plucked from the tree of society, juiced, and then disposed of in an environmentally friendly manner.
Oh I miss her! I want another manicure. I want to hold her hand while we discuss the women we bend and the men we break.
You are getting wet—stop it.
I’m learning, Tina.
Tina had promised that she would find Joan, that they would be reunited one day, when the time was right. Until then she had directed Joan to build a stable of submissive women who were intelligent and connected as a safety net for when she finally left The Agency and began working in the private sector without the massive resources available to a government operative. Tina had also discouraged her from quitting The Agency until the development of this lesbian underground and their reunion; the eventual linking of their networks and a stable relationship that Joan hoped would be something like a real marriage.
I wonder, will we live together, travel together, or rendezvous?
The Sikh cabbie is giving you the ‘are you sure you want this destination memsahib?’ look.
“Yes, you may let me out here. I’ll walk to the cemetery gates.”
She gave the man a twenty and stepped out of the cab as he dug for change he would not have to give and then hurriedly stole the last glance at her long legs he was likely to get. As Joan straightened up in the cold February breeze, next to the liquor store that sat before the gates of the Baltimore Municipal Cemetery, she was well aware of her good looks.
For decades she had been convinced that she was unremarkable in terms of sex appeal, based on the way men had treated her, despite the fact that every women she knew seemed envious of her six foot tall athletic body. She had played pro tennis for a year while she was in high school and had been blessed with sun-friendly skin despite her Norwegian heritage and natural blonde hair. What was more, since reaching middle age she had picked up weight in what most men would consider ‘all the right places.’
Despite the fact that she felt fat at 165 pounds, and fairly detested having to dress more and more like a woman as she aged, she knew what effect her appearance had on men. So it was no surprise that she was greeted by so many catcalls by the assembled urban alcoholics that she could not even distinguish the words. What was important was that she ignored them with grace even as she practiced walking in her pumps just as Tina had taught her.
I’m too much of a jock for this.
It’s working.
What a pack of animals.
Use it!
Joan stopped and made eye-contact with the eight men and two women who had gathered before the liquor store to drink, smoke and wait for the drug rehab center across the street to open its doors so they could go get their methadone and trade it for crack over here. She locked eyes with a tall muscular man who posed, and then shuffled his feet lazily.
You know, Chancy might be murdering you today. Perhaps The Agency did not send anyone to debrief you about the Brucasio Incident because they have already decided you are off the reservation. Yes, this one will make a nice firing post; something on your three-o’clock at least.
She touched his chest through his leather jacket with her palm, and then batted her eyes. “I’m Joan. What is your name?”
“I’m Ransom.”
“I could use a strong young man just now, Ransom. How would you like to take a walk with me?”
“Sure, Miss Joan.”
He might be untrained and uneducated but he was a man of action and immediately stepped out from the wall and began to walk along tentatively next to her as she walked toward the medieval looking cemetery gate. “You in trouble, lady?”
“I hope not. But if I am I’ll need a hand. Are you armed?”
“No ma’am.”
“I have a thirty-two caliber revolver in my purse. When I drop this purse, pick it up for me, and take the gun while you return it. Keep it in your right jacket pocket and cover me from twelve o’clock to six o’clock.”
He’s unsure. Reassure him.
“Ransom, I am a government agent. If nothing goes down you earn one-hundred dollars; all the cash I can spare. If it gets ugly we’ll work something out.”
Good girl. The voice was just husky enough without being too slutty on that last note.
As they cleared the gates she dropped her purse and Ransom did his duty like a pro—almost too slick for comfort in fact.
You stupid bitch!
It will be fine. You chose him because he did not seem hesitant.
Joan and Ransom walked side-by-side through the century-old tombstones until she spotted Chancy standing before his black Lexus, apparently alone. The man had a thin frame draped in a gray leisure suit topped by a ridiculously big square head and a broad fleshy face. His hair was prematurely gray—white actually.
Snipers could be anywhere.
You are paranoid.
You think?
She stopped three paces from Chancy, who wore a wide grin on his wide face and shook his head in feigned dismay. “Jesus, Joan, this isn’t Beirut and it’s not a drug deal.”
He then smiled at Ransom and gave a slight nod. Ransom drew the .32 butt first and turned to hand it to Joan. “I think this belongs to you, Henderson.”
Keep your composure. They are having fun with you.
“Thank you, Agent?”
The handsome Black man—did you just chose him because he wanted you too or because he is good looking?—smiled slightly, “Actually, Ransom is my name.”
He then rolled his head a little and pursed his lips. “Hopefully this qualifies as ‘ugly’ and we can ‘work something out.’”
She smiled helplessly and Chancy cut off her retort, “Ransom, secure the entrance. Joan, walk with me.”
