THE MULE
3
The pier jutting about one hundred yards into the calm ocean waters of the coast was packed with people; holidaymakers, fisherman, and people just out for a walk in the beautiful sunshine. Well, she’d have to find me, I decided, as I walked onto the wooden boards and breathed deeply of the salt air. I loved it. I think I’d die quickly if I had to live away from the coast. It made me feel alive and not crowded at the same time-always feeling like there were no walls around me-always somewhere to go to get away.
I walked to the very end and stood beside an old man peering through the pay-telescope, smiling at knowing what he was doing. I do it myself at times. I looked around as I walked, not knowing who I was looking for-maybe someone who looked like they were looking for me-a hint of recognition or something. Nobody seemed interested in the slightest. I waited.
The old man left. Pickings must have been few, but several others took his place over the next half an hour. I was getting angrier by the passing minute. I took a deep breath and leaned heavily on the rail of the pier, looking as far out toward the eastern horizon as I could. It had a relaxing effect on the eyes when their point of focus was infinity. What was going on? What was I doing here anyway? Wasting my time because of some nut-that was what. I straightened my shoulders and braced them against my spine. I’d had enough, and enough was enough.
‘Mister Wallace?’ Sounded the familiar velvet voice. I flinched, not expecting anyone really to show up at all and not liking the way my heart had jumped. I turned around slowly and allowed my gaze to fall on the owner of the voice that had been ticking me off all morning.
The face that owned the voice was smiling quietly at me. The lips were still together, but they were definitely smiling; and the face was absolutely beautiful, like a fashion model. I stood there staring, my thoughts not making any more sense to them, than they did to me. Then she laughed-a belly laugh that sounded natural and free.
‘Close your mouth, Mister Wallace. A sea gull might fly right on in.’ She grinned.
Like a dummy at the circus I snapped my mouth shut, not being even aware it had opened involuntarily. She stood only an inch or so less than I did at six foot one and a half inches-tall for a woman. Her hair was flaming red, and I mean flaming. Her skin was fair, as it was with most natural redheads, but this one had no freckles. Bright red gloss covered full lips and the body beneath the dark blue business suit seemed to fill out the predestined shape of it, top and bottom, and in all the right places.
‘Did I pass?’ She smiled, bringing my wandering gaze back to her sparkling eyes.
I hardened my gaze. If she didn’t want to be looked at and appraised she should wear two pair of overalls. She looked in her mid thirties, I figured, and she looked smart. For some reason in my life I never got to meet women who were nearly as tall as I was. I found it a little intimidating- no doubt some sort of complex that had always lain dormant in my unconscious mind, just waiting for the day I met her, the one with the velvet voice.
‘Pass what?’ I answered flatly, sounding humourless compared to her and not caring.
‘Your inspection of whomever you were expecting.’
Whomever? Jesus.
‘To be honest, I didn’t know whether I was expecting anyone. The whole thing’s a bit unusual, to say the least. Don’t you think?’ I asked evenly.
Her smile faded quickly.
‘We are not playing games, Mister Wallace.’
‘Then what exactly are we playing here?’
Her lips tightened just a little.
‘We are not playing anything, Mister Wallace.’ She almost pouted, but not quite. ‘We are very serious about what we do. You will be, too, once you know about it.’
‘And would that be before the year three thousand?’ I asked dryly, picturing her again sitting naked at my feet with a collar around her neck and a leash leading to my head.
Again the belly laugh. It was attractive, whether I liked to admit it or not. She had beautiful even white teeth. She wasn’t a small woman either-not fat or big, just athletic, I finally decided, while looking at her intelligent eyes and letting my peripheral do the scanning of her frame.
‘Get your inspection over with, Mister Wallace, so we can get on with it.’
Observant too. I gave her just a hint of the slightest boyish grin I could manage, barely remembering how to achieve it, it had been so long. If she were my female she would have to earn every one of those rare smiles, I thought then.
‘That’s better. You can find humour anywhere. Can’t you?’ She grinned.
‘Let’s get to it.’ I said quickly, the slave scene holding momentarily in my mind’s eye. She grinned strangely at me then and began to turn as if she were leaving.
‘Let’s walk back to the seats under the trees. As you’ve already observed I’m a natural redhead and I don’t like being sunburned.’
‘Okay.’ I answered. A naked slave with a collar and a leash, and flaming red hair to boot. Jesus. What a visual. We walked slowly back to the seats situated beneath the tall bushy trees that lined the coast in that neck of the woods-plenty of shade for Miss Sensitive Skin.
She sat down on my left, resting her purse in her lap. Seated, her eyes were dead level with mine and they sparkled with life. She rested one hand in the other as she took a deep breath, then placed them both to rest on the top of her purse. It was dark green one-very expensive-looking. Suddenly, an idea came to my mind, and, stupid as it was it made sense right then. I voiced it to see what would happen, watching her eyes and face for the slightest indication I was right.
‘You people are with, or for the government.’ I stated flatly. ‘Nobody else could afford to pay me that much money-not in this industry, at any rate.’
‘You are very astute, Mister Wallace. We’ve made the right choice in you. But then I knew that from the beginning.’
‘Is this spy stuff?’ I asked curiously.
She laughed that belly laugh again. Her eyes shined.
‘What we do is not that boring, Mister Wallace.’ She grinned. ‘You will find it very interesting, as I’ve already said.’
‘Well? What is it?’
‘Mister Wallace.’ She began her story. ‘I represent a large group of professionals who have been tasked by the government to conduct experimental research on selected hypnotic subjects, to ascertain the extent of which posthypnotic suggestion can be taken by them before control is finally taken back by the subject.’
Sounded as if she’d read it from a brochure, but I knew she could tell by my eyes that she had me interested. It was all about control-the motivating force of all therapists-the g
God complex, as some called it over a beer or two, or three.
‘Are you a therapist?’ I asked.
‘Yes, Mister Wallace, for twelve years now-not as long as you, but I’ve worked very hard to be the very best at what I do.’
A woman after my own heart, I thought, as I scanned her face for any sign of lies or deceit. I found none. A woman or a female? I then wondered.
‘Where do you find the ‘‘mules?’ I asked.
Her smile faded.
‘That’s where the ethics come into it, I’m afraid. They are mostly normal patients who come to us for treatment with their various ailments. They do not know we use them, like that woman who was in your office this morning. She is just a housewife, recruited by one of our other members from his practice.’
‘I see.’ Was all I could find worth saying at that point. I pictured again the woman pulling the stunt with the pistol when hubby put his hands on her butt. ‘Specifically, what type of experiments do you conduct?’ I asked.
‘Many different types, Mister Wallace.’ She replied with that velvet voice containing just a hint of mischief. ‘The human mind has always been of great interest to mankind since the beginning of time.’
‘Controlling it has been of even greater interest.’ I came back with.
She smiled patiently. ‘That’s true, Mister Wallace, but do you think we are the only country in the world to conduct such experiments?’
‘No.’ I said admittedly, knowing it was true—we weren’t.
‘Then are you interested or not? I have been authorised to pay you your first month’s salary, in advance, if you are. You’ll have until the end of the week to clear your patient log, or put them off to another therapist. That’s the price, I’m afraid. You will not have the time to work your private practice.’
I let it all sink in slowly, turning away from her beautiful face and features to look back out across the emerald green ocean. The cigarette packet found its way into my hand without my knowledge. I lit one and drew on it deeply, exhaling with a deep sigh. I could feel her eyes scanning me.
‘Why me?’ I asked as I took another deep drag. ‘There are plenty of others who’d jump at that sort of money.’
‘As I’ve already told you, Mister Wallace-we’ve done our homework on you, and many others. Your dedication is, shall I say, unmatched by any. We also know you conduct your own private experiments along similar lines in your own time, although you do have the good graces to use only volunteers.’
Then she paused and grinned at me like a Mother who knew her child had done something wrong and wanted him to know it, even if she wasn’t going to raise the issue with him.
‘You also come highly recommended to us by former patients who speak highly of your rapport, although you wouldn’t know it from what you’ve shown me so far.’
If I hadn’t sensed the smile in her voice without looking at her I would’ve gotten angry again, but I did, so I guess it made a difference. Instead, I took another drag and settled back into the hard wooden seat and gazed out into eternity for a few minutes more, testing her patience and sense of humour like she’d been testing mine all morning.
‘Tell me more.’ I said quietly, somehow knowing that one day I would regret asking.
‘You will be working closely with all of the group, drawing your ‘‘mules from a central bank of clients, as it were, which we will supply you with. You’ll work from a central group of private offices downtown. We have priority research aims and objectives each month. Meetings are held every morning and evening after we’ve finished- sometimes quite late. That’s another thing-your hours will be somewhat... ah... varied, to say the least, but I’m sure you’re used to that, anyway.’
I knew I’d probably live to regret it, but for some unknown reason it all sat well with me, bells and all-a little bit cloak and dagger, but so far nothing had been said that gave me a feeling of wrongdoing in the legal sense-only ethical-been there, done that. It was for a good cause, I rationalised, and then there was the money-the money. I turned to look at her, wondering if I was being made a fool of in the grandest manner I could have ever imagined. I studied her face.
‘One other thing, Mister Wallace.’ She added as I scanned her eyes and features for the umpteenth time. ‘You will be, if you decide to accept, required to sign a secrecy oath; the ramifications of which are that you can never disclose the nature of your work with us for any reason, to any person, without our express authorisation. That will never be given, Mister Wallace. Do you understand quite clearly.’
The cloak and dagger stuff deepened by the second, and the bells rang more loudly.
‘We are not trying to make a fool of you, Mister Wallace.’ She added, reading my mind of a few seconds earlier.
I studied her eyes for a few seconds more before telling her what I figured she already knew.
‘Okay.’ I said flatly-as simple as that.
She smiled broadly and clapped her hands together like a little girl would after being given some good news.
‘Good!’ She beamed. ‘I’ll pick you up at six tonight and introduce you to our group. You’ll like them-most of them, anyway.’
Then she gave me the belly laugh again. I smiled hesitantly.
‘Relax, Mister Wallace. You don’t have to kill anyone- yet.’ She added with a cheeky grin and another belly laugh.
She stood up and so did I. I took her dry and warm outstretched hand and squeezed it firmly, noting the strength. Again the scene of her sitting naked at my feet with her collar and leash and long flowing red hair immersed my imagination and again it affected my person. I was glad she was going after feeling my grip met with equal resistance on her part. She could be tamed, with time and practice, I smiled thinly. I liked a good firm handshake in a man or a female, but not necessarily in a woman.
Then she turned on her expensive heels and strode confidently off like a woman on a mission to get somewhere in a hurry. I was left alone to contemplate my fate or destiny, depending on what sort of mood I was in as I perceived it. That, however, I hadn’t figured out quite yet. I decided to sit back down and think some more: run it all back over in my mind, right from the moment the woman had rang me for an appointment-the mule-right from the beginning to now-right to that very moment.
By the time I had finished I was out of cigarettes and none the wiser in my own mind, apart from surmising the whole thing as it had had developed over the morning-lots of money and interesting research, and I didn’t have to worry about getting clients. It all seemed too good to be true. I had never been one to be in the right place at the right time. This time it seemed like I was. Nevertheless, my suspicious nature still wouldn’t let me be entirely comfortable with the whole thing. I decided to play it by ear and trust no one.