by Monica Belle
By the time I came back they were seated and Stephen was in full flow, expounding on the virtues of the ZX system. Mr Burrows seemed blandly welcoming, Mrs Shelby sceptical, Mr Phelps interested. I handed out the coffees and took a seat at the back, listening to Stephen’s now familiar presentation of how the system worked and how he was going to catch every scally in a ten-mile radius. When he finally finished it was Mr Phelps who put the first question.
‘Let us take a hypothetical example, Mr English. I myself have been a victim of street crime recently. My car was stolen and later found burnt out. There seems to be little or no possibility of catching the culprits, despite our system of street cameras. Could you improve on that?’
Stephen’s voice carried a wealth of assurance as he answered.
‘Certainly. Number plate recognition is an option with the ZX system, so you would need only to identify your car on a single camera image to call up all those on which it had been recorded. As you have seen, our proposal includes plans to install cameras in a wide range of black spots. Therefore we would be able to trace the progress of the car. As long as you were able to report the theft quickly enough, the information would be relayed to the police, preventing any criminal damage and allowing the perpetrator to be apprehended. Failing that, the system would have stored a record of the theft, the car’s progress and almost certainly the features of the perpetrator, who could either be identified from our existing database, or caught by automatic back reference if added to the database at a later date.’
Mrs Shelby posed a question.
‘How reliable is this?’
Again Stephen was completely confident as he answered.
‘Both the manufacturer’s figures and our own tests indicate an exceptional degree of reliability. Indeed, so far we have enjoyed a one-hundred-per-cent success rate. Felicity, if you would be kind enough to play the video.’
There was nothing I could do but comply and pray that if Mr Phelps hadn’t recognised me in my work clothes then he wouldn’t recognise me in my jeans and hoodie. At least my hair was different, which made me deeply grateful to Mum as the DVD began to play. I appeared, the image crystal clear as I made my way down the path, looking highly suspicious and immediately triggering the camera. Then came the captured image, showing my head in detail on the screen, rotating slowly and with my name now in place of the code number. Mr Phelps said nothing, nor as I appeared again, now in my office clothes, and once more triggering the camera to identify me correctly on the spot. As the video finished Stephen was looking immensely proud of himself.
‘There we are, Mr Phelps. As I have explained, the facial recognition program works on the individual’s bone structure and requires only a small area of the face for accurate recognition. Yes, I think we can safely say that had Felicity been the one who stole your car, you would now have the satisfaction of a prosecution pending.’
He finished with a dry chuckle, amused by his own wit in suggesting that I might have been the thief. Mr Phelps was looking right at me, but still with no hint of recognition and as he spoke again I began to let myself relax.
‘Very impressive, Mr English, if all you say is true. However, the price is considerable and we will need to study the matter at length. Meanwhile, would it be feasible to install a pilot scheme with which you can make good your claims?’
‘Absolutely.’
It was as much as we’d expected, and more importantly I seemed to have got away with it, leaving triumph and relief as my main reactions, so much so that I had to actively remind myself that I was supposed to be against the scheme. There were more questions, but even Mrs Shelby seemed moderately impressed, and by the time they left Stephen was rubbing his hands in satisfaction and talking earnestly with Paul about the details of the pilot scheme.
‘What we need are concrete results, something to show them we’ll really make a difference. If we are to test the entire system they’ll need to allow us significant freedom of operation, and hopefully they’ll allow us to choose our own testing ground, but the question is: where? Felicity, you know the area, where do you think we should set up the pilot?’
I hesitated, desperately trying to decide what to say and asking a question as inspiration struck me.
‘It depends who you want to catch. I suppose the more serious the crime the better, and you’ll want to keep public support?’
Stephen frowned.
‘Public support only really matters in so far as the council represent the public, which frankly isn’t much. But yes, that might ward off any protests from idiot liberals. As to serious crimes, we have to bear in mind the probabilities involved. Murderers are few and far between.’
He made it sound like it was a pity.
‘Maybe not murderers, but how about dirty old men? Nobody has any sympathy for them, and I bet you’d get some if you put the cameras along the river behind the path.’
It was true, and I was earnestly hoping that Mr Phelps might prove to be one of them.
I’m all for catching dirty old men, the nasty sort, along with murderers, rapists and any other dangerous psychos who happen to be about, but the pilot scheme had to fail, otherwise life would soon be unbearable, and not just for me. I know I’m a bad girl, and maybe I do deserve to be caught and punished, at least for some of the things I’ve done, but most of the time I haven’t hurt anybody. OK, so maybe I did deserve it for my joyriding activity, or maybe not, but where does it stop? If the full ZX system was installed soon people would be getting photos of themselves dropping a bubblegum wrapping through the post, accompanied by a £50 fine. I don’t claim to know the answers, but I don’t want that.
The trouble was: what to do? Maybe I could somehow sabotage the system so that it failed, but if so I was going to have to be very clever about it. Anything technical and I was sure to be spotted, but it was hard to see what else was possible. Also, just thinking about it made me feel guilty and I couldn’t bear the thought of Stephen English catching me.
So I brooded over it, moving between hare-brained but satisfying schemes to a state of deep guilt, all the rest of the day and that evening. The next day both Stephen and Paul were extremely busy preparing equipment and software so that they could move fast and show how efficient they were when they got the go-ahead from the council. Stephen had also been out early to retrieve the cameras they’d set up in the woods and came to me with the discs shortly after I’d made the second coffee of the morning.
‘Felicity, these are the discs from our test. Could you look through them and flag up anything that might be of interest?’
‘Sure . . . I mean, certainly, Mr English.’
He grinned.
‘I rather like the sound of that.’
I felt my tummy flutter and an immediate flush of irritation at my own reaction. He put the discs on my desk and went back into the warehouse, whistling a classical air which I’d learnt meant he was both busy and happy. I put the first DVD in, one from a static ZX-2, and began to search for action. The camera had been positioned about three metres up a tree, and showed a section of logging track much like any other, only rather more overgrown. There were dense stands of young pine to either side and ferns and brambles in the middle with just a narrow path between. The first living thing I saw was a large fly, and for a moment I expected a huge and hideous head to appear in the window displaying the recorded data. It didn’t, fortunately, but after a moment a deer strolled into view. That was labelled as 0000014 and clearly a candidate for a fine or some community service as it relieved itself at the side of the path.
For a while I watched the deer browse, only for it to suddenly take fright and bound off among the pines. Again I was left looking at the empty path, and about to move the disc forward when a man appeared. He was in his twenties, fairly tall, with a receding hairline and dressed in sports casuals. I also recognised him, but it took me a moment to place him as the younger of the two men who ran the bookshop where Mum had worked briefly the summer before
. He was duly recorded as 0000015 and moved on, once more leaving the path empty.
Nothing more happened and I ran the disc on, only to stop at a flicker of movement. Twenty minutes of disc time had passed and 0000015 was back, only this time with a companion, who was promptly added to the data base. 0000016 was another man, older but in good condition and dressed in tight running shorts and a vest top. They were talking earnestly together and it wasn’t about jogging.
I watched in fascination as the younger man gave a nervous smile and sank slowly to his knees, his face at the height of the older one’s crotch. The older man had set his legs apart and now put his hands on his hips as he looked down, a pose suggesting dominance and not a little contempt as he watched his thick, white cock being extracted from his shorts. I was about to witness a gay blow job.
I felt a regular little peeping Thomasina as I watched, but I was not going to stop. It was too good, too rude, watching one man’s cock grow slowly to erection in another’s mouth, also the way the young man handled his lover’s balls, stroking beneath them and occasionally sticking out a finger to stimulate the anus. He was so dirty about it, so uninhibited, licking and sucking as if in worship of what was soon a towering white erection, just as I’d imagined myself doing with Stephen, or worse. The older man took it as I’d imagined Stephen doing too, calm and poised, cool and amused as he watched his cock being sucked.
Gazing at it was making me shake and wishing I’d been there, peeping guiltily from among the ferns as I played with myself over what they were doing. Better still, they might have caught me and made me join in, helping the young man as he kissed and licked and nibbled and sucked at his lover’s wonderfully virile manhood. I knew it was ridiculous, that they wouldn’t want a woman anywhere near them, but that didn’t stop me fantasising, and if I hadn’t been in full view of the big glass window my hand would have been down my knickers before they’d finished.
It was quite some finish too. The young man had got his cock out around the side of his shorts, tugging rapidly at the shaft until he was erect, then slowing down. All the while the older man was completely cool about it, holding his pose until the last moment, when he suddenly took hold of the younger man’s head and thrust his cock deep. I saw the young man struggle to swallow and some of the come escape from his mouth, sending a jolt of mingled excitement and disgust through me, and with that he’d come too, bringing himself off in his hand even as he got his mouth filled.
That was it, but I was still staring at the screen long after both of them had left, at once revolted and utterly enthralled. They’d been so open about it, and so casual, each taking pleasure in the other to his own taste and then simply walking away. I couldn’t imagine doing that, and thought of the negotiation and mind games between myself and Pete, or Dave, even Stephen. I’d always thought of myself as bold, but I just wasn’t in their league.
It left me feeling seriously flustered as well, with my head full of images of erect cocks and my fingers trembling as I changed the DVD. None of the others were nearly as interesting, with just a few dog walkers and runners, along with one or two people with no obvious purpose but presumably just enjoying a walk. In all we had recorded seventeen new faces, including the deer, an assortment of dogs and a large ginger tomcat. I was still watching the last one when Stephen came back.
‘Anything to report?’
I found myself blushing as I answered.
‘Er . . . yes. The system seems to work very well, although it records animals as well as human beings.’
‘Yes, that’s a glitch that didn’t show up in the manufacturer’s tests, either that or they neglected to mention it. How many did we get?’
‘Seventeen new ones, ten men and women, five dogs, a deer and a cat.’
‘Did we get any recognitions?’
‘Yes, the cat came back, one of the walkers and her dog, and, er . . . two of the men. It works very well.’
‘Good. No criminal activity then?’
‘Um . . . not really, although the two guys . . .’
He was looking puzzled and I could feel my face going gradually redder, my voice coming out as a whisper as I finished.
‘. . . they were cruising.’
His eyebrows rose.
‘Having sex in public? Rather a grey area in my view, but definitely illegal. Which one is it?’
‘This one. Are you going to do anything about it?’
‘No, not for that. We only supply the equipment. It’s up to the council and the police to decide how best to make use of it, although obviously if we happened to capture a murder or something . . .’
He trailed off, manipulating the controls so that the picture on the screen jumped from the path, to the path with the deer browsing and several times more before he stopped, leaving the screen filled with the image of the two men, the older standing above the younger, connected cock to mouth. Stephen laughed.
‘Tut, tut, what naughty boys. Oh well, I dare say they’ll learn to be more careful once the full system’s installed.’
‘Only when some of them have been caught.’
‘That’s a risk they take. In fact, I expect the risk is part of the thrill, and besides, it’s pretty antisocial. Wouldn’t you be scared if you came across two men doing that?’
‘Not really, no. They’re gay, so they’re no threat to me, are they?’
‘That’s a very forthright attitude for a young woman, but I suppose you’re right. We’re going to take your advice, by the way, if the council give us the go-ahead we’ll install a system along the river path using all five models. There’s plenty of graffiti along there, especially under the bridges, so we should get something there . . .’
I thought of Dave’s little brother, a nice kid but with a habit of expressing himself with a spray can. He’d grow out of it like everybody else, and giving him a criminal record wouldn’t do anybody any good at all.
‘. . . and maybe the odd flasher, if we’re lucky.’
I thought of the horrible greasy man who’d flashed me near Chale Farm. He’d run away when I’d yelled at him, but it had left a sick feeling in my stomach for days. There were pros and cons.
While Stephen had been talking, the cock-sucking scene had continued to play, and as it reached its climax he gave an amused chuckle.
‘Very macho. Does that shock you?’
‘Um . . . a bit. I’m not really used to watching two guys get off.’
‘I imagine not, but you don’t object?’
‘I’m not homophobic, if that’s what you mean. I think everyone should be allowed to express themselves the way they want to, so long as they’re not hurting anybody.’
‘A most enlightened attitude.’
He walked away, and as he went I found myself wondering if he himself was gay. It certainly explained the way he’d turned me down, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t married and he didn’t seem to be with anybody. He also seemed pleased that I took a tolerant attitude and in no hurry to report the two men.
I couldn’t be sure, but it helped me to relax a little as I went back to work and to think more clearly about the problem of the cameras. Obviously I’d have to tell Dave, who would make sure the news got passed around his brother’s friends in double-quick time.
With that thought, I had the solution.
The rest of the week passed quietly enough. I found myself settling into the routine of the office, answering calls and doing the post and making the coffee, generally behaving as dogsbody to Stephen and Paul. I still felt put upon, but telling myself that Stephen was gay made life a lot easier. It was fun to imagine him in the role of the older guy who’d been so assertive about getting his cock sucked, even if I couldn’t help but imagine myself as the one on my knees.
We had the gig at the American airbase on the Saturday, which meant a major change of image. I looked far too wholesome and different clothes would only go so far. That meant food dye and a serious gel attack. It took me most of the afternoon, with
endless disapproving looks from Mum, and the others getting in a state because I was hogging the bathroom. By the time I was finished my hair was a riot of tall blonde spikes, each tipped with brilliant green, which looked great. I also felt like me, really for the first time since joining Black Knight Securities.
I was already drumming out beats as I finished getting ready, all in black with an insanely short miniskirt, a carefully ripped top, fishnets and big clumpy shoes. A wide metal belt and some black and green make-up and I was ready, and so utterly different from the prim and proper girl I’d been all week it made me want to shout in triumph.
Steve was taking us, and had already loaded my drum kit into his van by the time I got downstairs. He was leaning against the bonnet, smoking, and threw me an appreciative glance as I came out.
‘That’s the Fizz I know. You’ve not got a bra on, have you?’
‘No.’
‘Nice. You know you’re going to have to suck me for your lift, don’t you?’
He clicked his tongue on the word ‘suck’, sending a little shiver through me as I imagined myself going down for him at the end of the night, but I simply stuck my tongue out and climbed in. I knew he could see up my skirt but I didn’t expect him to take a handful, and had to quickly slap his hand away.
‘Steve, not here! Mum might see.’
‘She’s knows I’m just kidding about.’
‘Groping my bum is hardly kidding about. Now come on.’
He laughed and walked around to the driver’s door. I stuck the new Tortured Souls CD on as we set off and twisted the volume up, following the fast aggressive beat and ignoring Steve’s continued efforts to tease me. He left off when we’d picked up Josie and Sam, and we were left with the music as we drove out past Hockwold.
I’d known the base since I was a toddler, but only really as a towering wire fence beyond which uniformed men marched up and down while huge aircraft lifted off and set down again. It had always seemed like an alien world, and the feeling was reinforced as the rough heathland and woods gave way to neatly trimmed verges and great white concrete road obstacles.
