New Reality 2: Justice (36 page)

With her face remaining slack, Gina continued staring at the images.

"Do you have a printer, Gina?"

A nod and Gina pointed at a small, white plastic block set on a white table in the corner of the room.
 

"Mind if I use it?"

"Knock yourself out, honey."

When she found the printer on the list of devices available to her phone, Marie started printing the pictures—eight copies of each one.
 

Gina sat up straight, her eyes narrowing. "So you're going to use this against Doug?"

"Yep; I'm going to hang the fat prick out to dry."

Chapter Fifty-Five

It was Friday at last. It had been a long week. Every day, Marie had gone to work sick with anxiety that someone knew about the evidence she was sitting on. But if anyone did, they hadn't said anything yet.

With her saliva a sticky paste in her mouth and a wobble running through her limbs, she knocked on the hotel room door. It opened so quickly Marie jumped back and the gust of wind it created disturbed her fine hair. After brushing her fringe from her eyes, she took in the sight before her.
What a fucking moron.

Resplendent in his white, fluffy dressing gown, Doug stood in his full glory. He then leaned against the doorway and said, "Come in, my sweet. I've been eagerly anticipating your arrival."
 

Of that, she had no doubt.
Filthy womanising bastard.

Once inside, the carpet padding her steps like it had before, Marie looked around the room. It was the same hotel but a different room. While still predominantly white, the walls were covered in paintings. It looked like a gallery. "Are they original works?"

Doug's shrug was apathetic at best. "Yeah. They're often loaned out to the local museum."

The art was beautiful.
Why was it wasted on ignoramuses like him?
It was only when she stopped looking around that she noticed her hand had gone to her stomach. She'd made a choice to leave the corset at home.
Would Doug notice? What did it matter now, anyway?
 

Doug nodded his head in the direction of the sofa. "Why don't you take a seat?"

Her route to it involved rubbing up against him. As if the contact wasn't bad enough, the horrible bastard let out a deep groan when it happened. Something slapped against Marie's thigh, but she didn't look down.

When Doug put his leg up on the chair next to the sofa, Marie balked at the semi-flaccid sight.
Did he seriously think that was worth showing off?

"So," he said, "how was the journey over here?"

She squinted in the presence of his pendulous testicles; two loose plums in a ratty old bag. "Fine."

"I'm glad you wanted to meet me again to give this another go. I didn't want to see your wages cut."

It was a challenge to not grab the gun in her bag and shove it in his stupid face. "Oh, I didn't do this so I could get paid, Dougie. I want to be here." The words came about as easily as vomiting glass, but they worked. The inflating of her boss’ ego was clearly visible in his straightening back and puffed out chest. Although, his posture was somewhat undermined by his silly little cock.

Marie reached over and ran a finger up Doug's calf. She'd come with a plan today and she was going to execute it. "I was sad when I left the other day. We didn't get a chance to have a decent night together."

A lunge forwards, his engorged penis warming to her advances, and Doug grinned. "I'm pleased to hear you say that."

Although his thigh was clammy, Marie continued running her finger along it. She was so close to his bollocks, all she would have to do was grab and twist; she could castrate the libido right out of him. "It's nice to be able to see you out of work. I feel like I have to be on my best behaviour when I'm in the control room."

"And you can be bad, can you?"

"Oh, so bad, Dougie."

All Marie could hear was the sound of Doug's rasping breath. After pulling her finger away, she patted the sofa next to her. "Sit down, let's have a little chat."

The sofa shook when Doug fell into it. He then leaned so close she could feel heat radiating from him. The guy was cooking with lust. The heady mix of alcohol and cigars tinged his stale breath. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I dunno. Work?"

"Why on
earth
would you want to talk about work?"

"Not work, per se, more… New Reality. Have you ever given it a go?"

A sneer twisted Doug's face. "There's no way you'd get me on that thing."

"But it gives you everything you desire. Why wouldn't you want that?"

"Imagine it, Marie, everything you've ever wanted. Every whim and fancy fulfilled."

"That sounds quite good to me. You always say how you're giving prisoners paradise."

"That's what I have to say. But what about when you come out of it? When you return to real life and realise it was all made up. You don't hear about the people coming out of New Reality because they all end up on the estate. There are blocks of suicidal, disillusioned people who have tasted paradise and know they'll only get it back if they reoffend."

Maybe that explained the suicides in the single mum's block. "So you're creating addicts?"

"In essence, yes."

"Their addiction to New Reality makes you richer because it makes them commit more crimes."

"Yes."

"Which raises crime statistics, thereby making your services more in demand?"

"Yes."

"And because it's people from the estate, everyone just assumes it's the life they lead."

"Exactly! Genius, huh?"

It was hardly genius to ruin people's lives so a handful of spoiled plebs could get richer. It took a moment for her pulse to settle.
Play the game, Marie. Stick to the plan.
 

The gap in his robe left little to the imagination, and Marie reached across and rested a hand on his thigh. Ripples of gooseflesh undulated up her arm.
 

The right side of Doug's top lip twitched and his piggy eyes glazed. "Also, I wouldn't want to risk getting stuck in a negative projection," he said. "I've seen what it does to people."

"And there's no way you can pull people out of them?"
 

"No. We can send people into a negative spiral, but we haven't yet worked out how to pull them out." A snorted laugh and he added, "You can have a go at fucking up one of the prisoners, if you like. The one who kidnapped my son needs some more shit to happen to him."

The mention of Frankie sent stabbing pains through her chest.

"It's fascinating, really," Doug said.

"What is?"

"We have nearly a thousand prisoners in each of our prisons, and no two paradises—or hells, for that matter—are the same. It shows just how diverse we are as people. It's sad that every one of those realities is entirely fictitious though, eh? Not a single one of them would be able to get what they dream of. Stupid idiots."

The bullshit was getting too much. Marie was done with it. This man was so full of it. "And
you'd
know about that wouldn't you, Doug?"

The smile slid from his face like butter off a hot plate. "What?"

"Not being able to get what you dream of."

"What do you mean?"

"This. Us. Take a look at yourself. What makes you think you'd stand any chance of getting with me? Why would
I
be interested in an obnoxious prick like you?"

The flapping of Doug's mouth was accompanied by his cheeks flushing red. It took a few seconds for him to find his words. "Don't come to work next week."

"I'm not going to come in ever again, you fat prick. I'm pregnant."

"But you're not married."

"And? A wedding band doesn't make you fertile, you mug."

"You slut! You fucking whore!"

When Doug stood up and raised his fist at her, Marie pulled her gun from her bag. "Sit the fuck down."

Doug dropped back down into his seat and raised his hands. "Take it easy."

As Marie stared at him, her finger rested on the trigger and she anticipated the hard kick.

Doug's puffy cheeks glowed red. "So if you're pregnant, why are you here with
me?
Who's the dad?"

"The dad's locked in New Reality."

"What?"

"He's the one who kidnapped your boy. After seeing what you did to him, I'm tempted to make your kid fatherless right fucking now." When the stench of a rancid fart filled the air, Marie turned her face away. "What's
wrong
with your stomach? You always smell like you've shit yourself."

Doug didn't respond.
 

Spittle rode Marie's words as she jabbed the gun at him. "People like
you
and your
mates
create the problems in society. You make it so hard for people like Frankie and me to survive. Our pregnancy was a one-way ticket to the estate because we're not married. What the fuck is this traditional family bullshit, anyway? It's fucked up." The gun was now shaking at the end of her outstretched arm.

"Are you asking me to feel sorry for him?"

"I don't give a shit whether you feel sorry for him or not. I'm
telling
you to let him go."

"I can't do that. I don't have the power to."

"Yes you do."

"What about the inspections? How am I supposed to make a prisoner disappear?"

"In the same way you make the ones you terminate disappear. Anyway, I know how you run that place."

"What?"
 

"I've seen the warehouse."

A ripple of uncertainty ran across Doug's face. "What warehouse? I don't know what you're talking about."

"But you do, don't you? You know exactly what I'm talking about." While keeping the gun trained on him, Marie pulled an envelope from her bag with the photos in. After tossing them at him, she watched him open it and pull the pictures out.
 

With every picture, more colour drained from his face.
 

"It seems that you get quite complacent when you're motivated by your libido. The door to the warehouse was left unlocked. What would Daddy say if he knew his little fuck-up of a son had dropped the ball?"

The fear left Doug and he spoke in a low growl. "I can make you disappear, you know."

"Of course, but you can't make the pictures disappear. I've made plenty of copies and left them with people I love and trust. If anything happens to me, there's no way you'll find all of the copies before a set gets leaked to the media and government."

The rage quickly passed and Doug dropped his head. "What do you want?"

"I've already told you. Come on, Doug; keep up. I want you to free Frankie. I live on the estate now, so if you free him, we'll both disappear and you'll never hear from us again."

"And the photos?"

"They'll stay hidden and no one will know you've fucked up. Also, I want you to make sure that the prisoners currently in the warehouse get treated better."

"But how ca—"

"I'm not suggesting you keep them all in wards like the others; I appreciate how expensive that would be. But they need to be kept clean at least. They need to be separated from one another, even if it's just on racks. They need to have nappies on. It's fucking
rank
in that warehouse. You can't treat people like that."

"You can't tell me what to do."

Looking first at the gun and then the envelope with the photos in, Marie pulled a tight smile. "Actually, Doug, I
can
. I am, and I have. So get it done, yeah."

Without giving him the chance to reply, Marie stood up and walked out of the room.

Chapter Fifty-Six

The best way to move through the estate, no matter what time of day it was, was with eyes lowered and quickly. And that was what Marie was doing until she caught a whiff of aftershave.
Aftershave on the estate? Who spent money on cologne when eating was beyond most people's budget?
Marie's breathing quickened.
They were here for her. Doug had arranged to have her killed.

It wouldn't help to keep her head down now. If she was to die, at least she should know about it. At least she could look at the bastard before they shot her between the eyes.
 

At just over six feet, the man was cleaner than most. If he was anywhere else, he would have blended into the crowd, but on the estate, he looked positively regal. He was too clean. He stood too tall. He was right in front of her. There wasn't even time to pull her gun out.
 

Marie raised her hands and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
 

"You win," he said, "he's coming home."
 

And that was it. The man didn't even stop. After delivering his message, he strode straight past her, down the closest alleyway and was gone.
 

Adrenaline surged through her.
They were sending Frankie back? She'd won! She'd fucking won! She'd beaten Doug. The plan had worked.

Although he wasn't home yet, until they were wrapped in each other’s arms, Frankie belonged to Rixon.

***

In the half an hour that had passed since meeting the man, Marie paced around her tiny flat.
Why didn't she ask him when Frankie was coming home? Was it hours? Days? Weeks? Why hadn't she asked for more information?

When a knock came to the door, her heart as good as stopped. With her gun at the end of her outstretched arm, she took soft steps towards it. "Who is it?"

There was no reply.

"Hello? Who's there?"

Still nothing.
 

It couldn't be Gina again, could it?
 

Marie undid the lock with one hand and pulled the door open while keeping a hold of the gun with the other.
 

Suddenly the air rushed from her lungs and she started crying. "Frankie!"

She was met with a dead stare.
 

A few short weeks had left him looking like he'd done a stretch in a prisoner of war camp. His once warm eyes were cracked like old terra cotta. A patchy beard clung to his pallid and sunken cheeks.