Mirage: 2040 ...Part 19 ...Friendly Persuasion

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I’m tired
Of living covert,
Remaining quiet,
With secrets darker
Than the Moon’s penumbra




Wren.png
Wren Thomas



I'm not the type who can stifle my opinion or sit back and watch injustice happen.

While this is a true description of my character it's also a prescription for harassment from The National Party.

They don't tolerate dissent gladly.

It seems like Creed and I have been singled out as symbolic targets by the ruling elite who want to send a message to intellectuals and other dissenters that no one is safe who speaks out against the Party.

I might add, Message Received, but wasn't about to concede defeat if it meant keeping silent about tyranny.

Yes, I bent a little under the threat but wasn't broken by any means.



Creed and I waited up until after eleven, when Wren Thomas finally showed up. She was not at all what I expected.

She looked more like a high fashion model than a Detective Sergeant working the Intelligence unit.

And besides her beauty, I admired her taste in cars.



She was driving an unmarked Taurus Interceptor that had obviously been modified for high speed chases—which for me, begged the question as to what duties she actually performed in the field.

And no, I was not about to ask her after Creed confided to me she had black belt status in a martial art no was allowed to ask about because of its high confidentiality...

Which begged another question—what the hell was she doing here helping out a lowly History Professor?



"Well Prof," she grinned, "you're not exactly the closet intellectual I expected to meet. I can see why you'd be a threat to the National Party—you just ooze charisma."

I felt my face go red. I was intimidated by her and last thing I expected was she'd be impressed in any way by me.

I shot a glance at Creed and could see she was vexed—it never occurred to me she'd feel jealous or threatened by another woman, but she was.

"I'm flattered," I told the detective, “you'd take a personal interest in what happened here on the outskirts of the city."

Sh was equally frank, "Normally, we wouldn't but we've been tracking this perp and knew he was here tonight and that aroused our interest."



"You were tracking this guy—who is he?"

She grimaced. "His name is Mick MacDonald, He's a pretty brutal thug who began doing 'collections' for the mob but was so effective he was co-opted by the Party as an enforcer. He can be quite nasty, but effective at persuading people to back off."

"So, they figured I'd be an example of what speaking out gets you?"

She nodded, "Both of you actually—these people don't spare females, or the elderly. Anyone who gets in their way is fair game and Mick delights in his work."



Creed shivered and I instinctively put a protective arm around her.

She melted into my embrace either because she was scared or was sending a message of her own, but the detective seemed to get it and backed off a bit herself.

It was blunt as two cats marking territory and I was between them.

I didn't feel flattered so much as on edge to tread easy, which I fully intended to do in further dealings between the two of them.



The detective rose to leave, but added in parting, "I'd be careful not to be too high profile—these people mean business. But I’ll interrogate this perp myself and update you on what I learn."

"I appreciate that Detective," I said soberly.

"Call me Wren" she smiled coyly, and nodding to Creed added, "nice seeing you again, Creed. It's always interesting."

The innuendo wasn't lost on her as she replied, "Famous for it."



We watched Wren get into her Interceptor and then gun it, deftly maneuvering around police barriers her team put in place.

"She's an interesting woman," I said as her tail lights faded into a late night rain.

"Keep your distance," Creed warned, "she's best at what she does but has the rep of being a real man-eater."

"I kind of got that message," I smiled, putting my arm back around her.

"I'm not jealous," she whispered, looking up into my eyes, "but I know men find her irresistible."

"You needn't worry about Medusa—I have my own goddess in my arms."

"Smooth!," she grinned mischievously, "We'll see how true that is."



To be continued…


© 2024, John J Geddes. All rights reserved


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