Club Ded (Part 2).

The soft, black silence enveloped Myra completely. So comforting, like being in a benign, loving womb. And then she woke up. An awful sand like driness in her mouth, an inability to focus and a dull headache were the first things she was aware of. And then the terrible thought "Where am I?" Her stomach fell away again. She closed her eyes tight, swallowed and then open them once more, only very slowly.

She was lying on an old, soiled white and black strip matteress. It was on a low wooden frame. There was a toilet pedistal in the corner of the room, but nothing around it. In the centre was a wooden table with two plain chairs. On the table was a phone and an ashtray. Above the table was a bare light bulb. The room itself was brick, painted dark green to mid way, a black border strip and cream above, typical 1950s instutional colours. There was a multi paned window in one wall, through which all Myra could see was a   large Victorian building that could have been a school.

As she lay there Myra began to take the noises of her new surroundings. She heard a person whistling, echoing down a corridor. The sound of doors banging, and a metal bucket clanging. The muffled sound of a PA every now and then. And the all pervading smell of disinfectant. It was turning Myra's stomach. She wanted to use the toilet, but was sure by now someone would be watching. It was then that she noticed the small mirror of the wall. Why so high up? That's not a mirror-it's a two...then the door, which was almost next to her flew open. It had a dented brass knob and a multi paned window. Some panes were frosted, some clear and one was filled in was hardboard. This isn't a cell? What is it then? Myra barely had time to think this when she noticed the person who had opened the door.

"Ah, so you're awake then? Good. How are you my dear?" Myra's eyes focused on the owner of the voice. Thin and guant, the woman wore black flat shoes, no stockings covering her bird like legs, her knobberly knees just below the black skirt she wore. An off white woollen top completed her modest outfit. She wore neither make up or jewerly. Her grey shoulder length hair was in no reconisable style. Her brown eyes hid in sunken dark pools, while her sharp beak of a nose sat astride a small mean mouth. Motioning to the table she smiled and said "Come sit".

Myra scrambled off the low form and noisely pulled the chair out and sat. The woman sat at the same time. "Now, let's see, shall we?" said the upper middle aged woman   as she stood an elderly brown leather brief case on the table. Myra had time to note the fading gold embossed E II R surrmounted by the crown before the woman tipped the case flat on the table and began to rumage inside. She produced a packet of Benson and Hedges, matches and a large folder that had Myra's name written neatly in felt tip marker. The woman open the file and took a paper-clipped stack of papers almost half an inch thick from within. She pulled two stapled sheets from the top, revealing at least six 8 x 10 black and white gloss photos of shooting victims.

The woman slowly and deliberatly took a cigarette from the box, placing it in her mouth. She struck a match and slowly lit the cigarette, making sure the tobacoo caught evenly. She blew the smoke out, making sure it went in Myra's direction. Myra's nerves screamed for a smoke, but she made sure she remained outwardly clarm. The woman studied the papers intently. "Mmmm" she said at length. "We know all about you Myra" she said, brightly "My, you've been a busy girl" still smiling. "Oh yeah?" came the reply "Oh yes" said the woman, suddenly tight mouthed.

She looked at Myra in a quizzical fashion. "Myra, how much time to you think you're going to get mmm? You might very well be a murderer, a killer, a cold-blooded gun woman, but answer me this: how long would you last in Holloway, mmm? Her boney fingers reached out and brushed Myra's left cheek. They were ice cold, Myra was instanely repelled. "My, but you'd be a popular girl in there though-never short of fags, eh?" she chuckled as she expelled smoke her fag. "What is going to become of you? I know your sort. Seen them for years. With a gun-tough, without, crying for their Mummy. Oh yes, what about your parents, what would you think it would do to them? The shock, the shame, news vans outside their door, the flashing cameras every time Mum went up the shops. Such a shame..."

Oh Christ, she's right, she's right. Myra began to fall apart...her Mum and Dad, prison, shit what the fuck I'm I going to do?" She quickly pulled herself together, hoping that her interrigator had not noticed her lapse. She steeled herself  and looked at her. The woman was now looking at the pictures. Even upside down Myra could tell that not all were her work. The old cow's going to sitch me up, I suppose Myra thought. "Remember Tonbridge, Myra? Got excited, didn't we? Really went to town on him, didn't you? I know! Got the taste, haven't you? Myra likes it-don't you?" "I don't know whot you're fucking talking about" Myra replied, disinterestedly. "Now now dear" said the woman in a matronly manner.

"What did the contact tell you about that one? Disguntled business partners, I believe", said the woman looking at the second sheet. Myra had began to realise that what information she did have was on the two stapled sheets, the rest was just padding. "You see, we were the other side of the contact-we were the other party that paid you". Myra rolled her eyes " I don't know what you are talking about" "Well my dear, let me make it quite clear. That was no business man. He was a ministerial mole. Becoming a nuisance. HMG-" "HM Whot?" interupted Myra. Now it was the turn of the woman to roll her eyes. "Another product of our wonderful comprehensive schooling system, I suppose. Her Majesties Govenment, my dear. Now, as I was saying. HMG tells the Ministery, the Ministery informs the Department, and if it's all too sordid, my phone rings. This time, I decided you were the best avenue. Must say Myra, you came expensive. My budget doesn't allow for too many of your jobs. Myra sat open mouthed.

"You're fuckin' jokin' ain't cha? This is out of Jame Bond" "Mmmm" the woman replied. "And just what's that supposed to mean?" quizzed Myra. The woman smiled. "As Humprey Bogart once said, it means mmmm. Tell me, my dear, have you ever heard of the Isle of Krios?" Not surprisingly perhaps, Myra nodded in the negative. "No? How surprising" said the woman, as she resisted the temptation of mentioning comprehensive schooling once more. "Then listen carefully, my dear" as she placed her long boney fingers against one another in the form of an apex. "During WWII the island was of key importance to both us and the Germans. We occupied before the the Germans had a chance and retained it as both a naval and air base throughout the war. It was a key factor in Monty's defeat of Rommel. We would attack his conveys from there." "Oh yeah" interjeted Myra. The woman glared "And then throughout the 50s and into the 60s. And then, as we withdrew from the World Stage we finally closed the RAF base there in 1964" The woman seemed somewhat whistful. "We did retain a slight interest though and helped in domestic matters, policing and so on.. By the early 70s even that had come almost to a stop. A local terrorist organisation SOKFFAL (Sons of Krios for Freedom and Liberty) began operating around that time, shootings and bombings becomeing commonplace. HMG were happy to let them get on with it, until an Americam pharmacuical firm built a plant there. SOKFFAL kidnapped the plant manager and then decided to shoot him.

The woman droned on, Myra became aware of  another smell other than disinfectant-food, delicious smelling food..."anyway, up until a few years ago the US wouldn't have lifted a finger over something like this. But not now. Look at Mickey Mouse in a funny way and the next morning a Carrier Task Force is likely to appear over the horizion," smiled the woman, please at her attempt at humour.

"So whot's all this crap gotta do wiv me?" Myra said bluntly. Again the woman was not pleased. "Just this-Washington tells No. 10 it's not happy, and perhaps, as the US's main alley, we'd like to help. The PM gets into a bit of a flap. Downing Street, not wishing to upset the White House and perhaps wishing a little glory, tells the MOD, and, like the good civil servants that they are, they turn over to someone else and eventually, because it's a dirty, sordid little business, it lands on my desk. And naturally, I think of a dirty little bitch like you to deal with it" Myra stared, open mouthed.

"Tell me, what is less appealing to No 10 than a detachment of US Marines storming ashore at Port Krios? No? Why, a detachment of Royal Marines doing the same thing. So that's why Scotland Yard is sending..." the woman reached into the folder and produced a number of photographs "...Chief Inspector Myra. I must say you have an impressive record-let me read it" She passed the first photo of a group of police cadets, with Myra in the second row. "left Hendon College in 1980....seconded to traffic in 1983...became motorcycle officer 1984, promoted to sergarent 1985...special traffic group 1986. Then a picture of Myra in bullet proof vest with a number of like dressed policeman "In 1987 the Special Arms and Tactics Group, Inspector and leader in '90 and finally CI and a desk at the Yard in 1992. Quite an record-what a pity none of it is true." She held up a picture of Myra in full uniform. "This one will look nice on your desk. The graphics department have done a wonderful job, don't you think? I Must say, they've flattered you, my dear". The woman smiled a thin smile, satisfised with her dig at Myra.

The woman went on to explain that she would have an assistant and she would have to be ready in two weeks time. "And what if I don't wanna go?" said Myra. "Oh" said the woman reaching into her briefcase once more. She produced an old, but very serviable Webley Officer's revolver. Cocking it, she smiled "I don't think it's fair to burdon the long suffering tax payer with your upkeep for the next 35 years, my dear.
You and I are alike in one way. There's nothing  I'd like better than to fill your fat gut with lead right now" she spat the words out as she tembled with excitement. Then, slipping back to the Big Sleep, she said "Do you want me to count three like a movie or somethin'?"

"So it's settled then. Be ready the Friday after next. Get your affairs in order. Give your job two weeks notice. We will pick you up outside your office that evening. You may bring one bag. You will not need many personal items, but I suggest that you take any, er professional items you might think you will need. There will be no Customs or Immgration formalities to worry about. You will also have an assistant, as I mentioned before. Do you have any questions or requests?"

Myra clarified a few points as she continued to smell food. She asked that certain items and firearms be provided and the woman readily agreed. Finally, the woman noticed Myra sniffing. "Are you curious about the smell? Well. I'll tell you." She seemed pleased with herself. "It's the restaurant downstairs. We let the lower floor as a business. How else could we afford the services of a high priced gun woman like yourself. And now it's time to say bye bye. Someone will be in to give you an injection. You will go to sleep and wake up at home. You have nothing to fear."       

Myra didn't struggle and sure enough she woke up outside her house. "Friday week Myra" said the man sitting beside her as she stepped out of the car. Myra was resigned to her fate. In fact, she was sort of looking forward to it...

The next day the woman was talking on the phone. "No...no...we couldn't find anyone else suitable. So through channels I asked the Americans for someone...yes, they must have someone suitable. That fat bitch is good, but she does need someone else to help. Yes, they said they would provide a suitable woman. I have no doubt she will be able to cope. What? No no, there's no question of her return..." the woman stubbed out a cigarette and then spun the Webley's barrel. "I shall take a great deal of pleasure in killing both of them myself...besides, it will save the department some money..."