Club Ded (Part 6).


Andrios came, along with the island's old Bedford ambulance about twelve minutes after receiving Myra's frantic call. He took her away in a fatherly manner. On the way back Myra wasted no time. "Whot the fuck's going on? I thought you said that rebels were all dead" Unthinkingly, Andrios replied "Myra...I didn't, but they are..." He thought for a moment, but before he had time to speak, Myra continued. "Yes, I overheard you talking yesterday. You were talking to her, weren't you? You were talking to the Old Cow-I know!" Andrios looked at Myra sheepishly as they pulled into the Police Station courtyard. "Myra...there are some things over which I have no control...but be careful, very careful. I would not wish what happened to Senorita Christina to happen to you also" Myra looked at him, fixing him with her cold blue eyes. "She's here, isn't she?" Andrios looked down, not wishing to look at Myra. "It is our custom here on Krios that burials take place within 24 hours. I will make the necessary arrangements. He touched Myra's hand. "Remember what I said."

Myra sat numbly in her office. It was early evening when Andrios returned. "It is done Senorita...tomorrow at 11.30am. It is a bad place Roca Del Diablo-Devil's Rock. Did I not tell you? During the war, a big Sunderland flying boat she crashed into it whilst attempting to land. Then a motor torpedo boat from the 65th MTB fotilla was dashed to pieces on the rocks during a storm. In both cases, there were no survivors. During the 1950's HMS Ark Royal paid a visit and a party in a launch also came to grief there. Heartbroken lovers leep from the rock and then there was..." "Alright" said Myra sharply, "I get the picture...too bad you didn't tell Christina about it" Andrios looked at her with big, sad eyes. "I shall leave you now...please rest. Good night" He quitely closed the door.

Wearily, Myra unstrapped her gun belt and hung it over her jacket. She pulled the .22 out of the rear of her belt and placed it in the unzipped right hand pocket of the jacket. She returned to the desk and, as she sat, smoking a cigarette she wasn't enjoying, her thoughts were on tomorrow's burial. What should she wear. Her uniform? Or the black business suit she had bought with her? She pulled open the bottom left hand drawer and took a bottle of vodka out. She poured a large measure into a tall glass and then put the bottle back, taking a can of Coke and her handbag from the drawer before closing it. She tipped about half the Coke into the vodka and took a sip. She took her keys and put them in the handbag, not bothering to clip it shut. She looked at herself in the mirror and closed her eyes, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

If she had dozed off, it could have only been for a second. Opening her eyes wide, there she was, in front of her, the Old Cow. "Fuck" Myra half thought, half said.The woman stood in front of Myra, wearing the old Stone-Dri mac, calf length black leather boots that her skinny legs barely filled. She wore gloves that didn't fit too well either, her boney fingers firmly grasped the her farourite travelling companion, her aged Webley pistol. "Daresay you could do with a drink after today's events, eh my dear? Your friend was an easy proposition...easy to lure her up to Devil's Rock. Most appropriate I must say. A very olibging young lady, Christina, anxious to a help lady with car trouble. You however, I didn't think would be so easy. I decided to pick a time when you would pose less of threat. You must regret taking that gun out of your waist band now. Ah, never mind. As I once remarked, without a gun you're no problem at all. But a few lose ends to deal with first, my dear. The money, what did you do with it?" Myra jerked her thumb at the safe. The woman smiled with satisfaction. "And the Uzi's? Are they in there too?" Once more, Myra nodded. "Excellent. Looks like we'll having a budget surplus this year...Whitehall will be pleased."

Myra felt strange. A mixture of fear, annoyance, anger and curosity peculated through her senses. The Old Cow was really enjoying this. Don't show any emotion, at least that will take something away from her, spoil her pleasure a little. Myra watched her as she spoke. She was shaking, ever so slightly. Not with fear, but with excitment, an excitment that Myra had known so well. How could she, Myra, have got into this position. She had had a gut feeling this was going to happen...she gazed at her gun belt with it's big 9mm glinting in the sun's dying rays. Fat lot of good it did her now.

The Old Cow realised that Myra wasn't paying her attention. She slapped Myra's right cheek with her left hand. The sharp sting made Myra's fury boil. She pushed down on the desk with both hands, starting to get up. "When...I'm talking to you...you listen to me. Don't ever disrespect me. Now sit." The Old Cow shook much more visably now as she spat out the words. "The keys, the keys to the safe...where are they?" Myra rubbed her cheek slowly and pointed to her handbag. "Alright, very easy, very easy, get the keys" Now the Old Cow seemed nevious...swallowing hard to lubricate her dry mouth. Myra lifting the flap of the bag with her index finger and then with thumb and forefinger, tossed the keys on the table. She moved her hand to the rear of the bag as the Old Cow grabbed the keys...and once more, everything went into slow motion.

As the woman snatched at the keys as they slid across the table, the muzzle of the Webley involentarly went down slightly. As she glanced down at the keys, Myra's cat-like reactions had already slipped her hand inside the slit of the handbag and squeezed a round out of the 380 Bretta that had been there ever since she got back from Heathrow...from such a low firing point coupled to the fact she was firing the gun inside the slit of the bag, Myra's aim was off somewhat. The bullet grased the woman's right shoulder. It could have only been the slightest of flesh wounds, Myra noticing the mixture of blood, tissue and raincoat splatter backwards. The Old Cow had a look of enraged shock on her face as she began to raise the Webley to fire.

But now the advantage was firmly with Myra as she squeeze off another round from the concealed Bretta. This time there was no doubt as the bullet plowed into the woman's abdomen. A crimson explosion erupted from her grey mac as the woman jolted with the force of the bullet. Myra heard a crack simultatiously with the gunshot. At point blank range the wound was massive and to Myra's amazment, the Old Cow remained on her feet, even tough a broad stream of thick, slow moving blood was issueing from her mouth, making her gag. Even more to Myra's amazment, once more the Webley began to point towards her. By now Myra had removed the gun the handbag and now pulled the trigger once more. This time the bullet penatrated the Old Cow in the region of the upper left lung and it's upward tradictory did massive damage. Myra saw the splatter of the exit wound and it made even her wince. For one final time the woman's body went rigid, her fixed staring eyes still fixed upon Myra. Her breathing was laboured and she emitted awful gurgling noises. Then, like a sinking ship taking the final plunge, her body went limp, her knees buckled and she crashed to the floor. To Myra's amazment, even in her in her death throes, her will was so strong that she finally managed to pulled the Webley's trigger as she collasped. The bullet hit the concrete floor and Myra braced herself, powerless to do anything. The bullet's impact made an egg sized piece of masonary that just missed Myra, the bullet then plowing through the thin wall of the building. Myra shook, then started to laugh, then cry. Suddenly, there was a crash of glass and the mirror which the Old Cow had been standing in front of shattered, only WATCH at the top and YOURSELF at the bottom remaining. Myra's second bullet had broken the mirror after exiting the Old Cow, but it was only now, after she had hit the floor, that the glass fell from the frame. "Watch yourself" Myra thought. "Too bad you didn't" as she removed the revolver from the woman's boney fingers.

At that moment Andrios burst into the room, carrying a small revolver. Myra immediatly started to point the Bretta at him "Nooo" he cried as he lowered his gun. "I thought...I thought you might need help. I thought she would do something like this. I just tried to phone her...when she wasn't there I expected the worst. Senorita Myra I swear...I had nothing to do with this" He was in a state of high excitment, sweat running down his forehead. "It's alright luv...I ain't gonna do you too" said Myra smilingly.

Andrios explained that although he knew of "Our Miss Dunn's" presence on the island, there was little he could do. "When I was a boy, Kriosians had the right to enlist in the British Forces. I rose to be an NCO. When I left to return home, I was approached by...er, Miss Dunn's department. I was, as she used to say 'Our man on Krios'. I didn't know what she planned. I did have an idea that she might do such a thing though. She was ruthless-and always concerned about saving the department money. It now looks like we'll have another burial." "I wouldn't worry too much about that, Andy luv", interrupted Myra. "Just sling her off bleedin' Devil's Rock." Myra finished off the last of her drink. "You know, poor Teen saved my arse when we hit that terrorist group. I feel so bad that I wasn't there for her." Andrios put his hand on Myra's shoulder. "Myra...you did your best. Don't worry, London will be pleased, I'm sure" "Pleased?" Myra countered. "Pleased that I've killed her?" jabbing a finger at Miss Dunn's body. "Don't worry" Andrios carried on. "You have nothing to fear."


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