Beginnings.

Some Time Ago:-

Madeleine Richardson had just turned 17 years old. It was her first time she had travelled abroad. Her parents had told her it was foolish to travel alone but she had ignored them. The club had looked respectable enough and the man who had been chatting to her seemed the perfect French gentleman.

And now, in the early hours of a Parisian morning, she lay propped up against a dirty sidestreet wall as a heavy drizzle washed the unkempt streets. She looked at her clothes, they were dishevelled and barely in place. Whatever he had slipped into her drink had blotted out the nightmare of the previous few hours.

She sobbed quietly to herself, her tears mixing with the rain and causing grotesque smears in her make up. She heard the sound of footsteps on the cobblestones, muffled a scream and closed her eyes to the horror the footsteps might bring. Had the man returned to continue his assault upon her?

The footsteps stopped and warily she opened her eyes. A woman was standing there. She was wearing a tight pair of black leather trousers and a matching leather jacket, the rain forming small modules on the fabric of the material. The first thing Madeleine noticed about the woman was her long shapely legs, a feature, as she was about to discover, that would be her trademark on both of the careers they were about to embark upon. Madeleine could not pinpoint exactly why she trusted this woman who had a hard cold look in her eyes but she did. The woman knelt down. ‘Hello, you look like you need some assistance’ she said in perfect English, ‘my name is Mirelle, I think you’d better come back with me so I can help you out’.

Elsewhere....

Jane Meadows had been doing her particular brand of work for years. In the early days she had considered it a challenge but now it seemed like an endless round of killing. To make matters worse she wasn’t making much money out of the profession, her partner and one time lover David Sparetti taking the bulk of her hard earned money. Now she was rapidly approaching middle age and the appeal of a more sedate style of living suddenly had its appeal.

Her latest assignment had found her in a deserted warehouse. Her victim thought he was negotiating a simple deal with an up and coming drugs ring but the heavy revolver in Jane’s handbag meant he was wrong. She stood in the middle of the large cavernous room in her very smart business suit and in other circumstances the fine application of her make up would make her appear just like any other high flying business executive.

‘Miss Fields?’ said the voice behind her.

She turned. ‘That’s right. You are Mr. Hammond?’ she asked.

‘Yes. I am pleased to meet you Miss Fields. I am sure we can do good business together’

She looked at him. ‘About my age. Mid thirties. Immaculately dressed in a designer suit. Very well spoken. Well groomed with just the vaguest hint of a very expensive aftershave. Just the sort of man I could go for’ she thought to herself.

Her gloved hand reached into the pocket of her suit and the revolver appeared. BANG. The man fell dead with one bullet to the heart.

Jane Meadows blew the smoke from the barrel of the gun and replaced it into the pocket. She turned and left the building.

ELSEWHERE

Gisela Williams had always been proud of her intellectual skills. Unfortunately she had been excluded from school before her potential had been noticed. Stealing from your compatriots with a mixture of threat and overt violence is not the kind of behaviour to endear you to the school authorities. If it was just the bullying she might have got away with it but the incident with the knife and the perverse pleasure she took in hurting her fellow pupils singled her out as somebody totally unsuitable for ‘The Young Ladies Excellence School’.

And so Gisela had embarked on her own private crime spree. The technique was as old as the hills. The advertisements for an escort had supplied her with an ample supply of men willing to pay for her company and by the time they had taken her back to their flats their fate had already been sealed. Robin Aitkin was one such man. A successful stockbroker who couldn’t find a regular girlfriend and who thought he would try an escort ‘just once’.

‘God, you’re beautiful’ he gushed. ‘You should be a model’.

Gisela giggled.

‘No I mean it. With looks like yours you should try it’.

Gisela giggled again.

‘Anyway, let’s get down to business. How much is it for you to stay the night?’.

The smile left her face and Gisela produced her gun. A small automatic with an ivory grip handle which fitted the contours of her hand like a glove. ‘Every penny in this house’ she said in response. Robin looked in amazement at the ebony beauty who stood before him.

‘You’re not serious’ he said.

BANG. The small automatic spat out a bullet and Robin Aitkin fell to the floor, blood oozing from a wound in his leg. ‘You think I’m not serious you f*** asshole? You think I’m not f**** serious?’. She picked up a large glass paperweight and smacked him in the face. ‘Where’s the f**** money?’. She hit him again. ‘The f**** money. Where is it?’.

Blood sprung from his battered mouth. He gingerly felt the inside of his mouth with his tongue. At least two teeth had been knocked out by the ferocity of her assault. ‘In the bedroom, under the bed’ he blurted out.

‘It had f*** better be’ she said and she strode into the bedroom. The money was there of course, about two thousand cash. She stuffed it into her purse and went back into the room.

She pointed the gun at him. ‘Please don’t!’ he cried. Gisela giggled.

BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. Click. Click . Click. Click. Gisela stopped pulling the trigger, her moment of euphoria subsiding. She moved over to the prone body and started kicking at it. ‘F*** you’ she said and left the room.

PARIS

It had now been several weeks since Madeleine had been taken back to Mirelle’s house following her assault outside the Parisian night-club. It was only after she had written to her parents saying she intended staying on longer than expected that she had begun to get inklings into what Mirelle and her brother actually did for a living.

Maybe the vast chateau type residence should have alerted her to the money and wealth which surrounded her benefactor but by the time the truth finally hit home she had begun an affair with Mirelle which blinded her to any wrongdoing her lover may have been involved in. It was after one particularly passionate night that Mirelle finally revealed the kind of circles she moved in. When Madeleine had opened her eyes she saw Mirelle outstretched on the bed. She had a red oversized jumper casually worn over her body and in her hand was a black dangerous looking automatic complete with a long silencer.

‘My God.. What’s that Mirelle?’.

‘I’m going to teach you to shoot’ Mirelle said softly.

‘I don’t want to know how to shoot’ Madeleine responded with alarm.

‘You will when you see what I have for you. Come on I’ll show you’.

Madeleine quickly got dressed into a black catsuit Mirelle had given to her.. More with fear than with anticipation, Madeleine followed Mirelle through the labyrinthine house and into the cellar. There, amidst the cases of fine wines and sherries was a man. Hooded and bound to a simple wooden chair the figure cut a lonely and desolate figure. Mirelle’s brother stood directly behind the man watching his sister and her lover as they came into the room.

Mirelle handed the gun to Madeleine. ‘I want you to shoot him’ she said simply. Madeleine stood aghast looking at the large black silenced automatic Mirelle had placed into her trembling hands.

‘You can’t be serious. Look I know that you and your family are involved in some pretty shady business but murder...’.

Mirelle moved directly behind Madeleine. Her left hand extended around Madeleine’s waist and she drew her close and whispered into her ear. ‘I think you can do this for me, for us. I’m your lover and I’ve brought you a gift’. Mirelle nodded to her brother who yanked the hood from the seated figure.

Madeleine gasped. It was the man you had drugged and assaulted her at the night-club. He had been beaten but was still fully conscious. Madeleine turned to Mirelle who had her head perched on Madeleine’s shoulder. ‘You see’ said Mirelle ‘we are able to deal with these things much better than the police. You can kill him now if you want’.

Madeleine tightened her unfamiliar grip on the butt of the gun and raised it slightly. Mirelle hugged her closer still and slipped her right hand onto Madeleine’s wrist. She gently raised the gun further still, level with the man’s head whilst her left hand slipped downwards into Madeleine’s abdomen. Mirelle whispered into her ear again. ‘Just pull the trigger. The gun will jump but I’ll steady it for you’.

Madeleine looked at the man. In the night-club he had been suave but now he just looked pathetic. He looked at Madeleine and recognised the woman who now held his life in her hands. ‘Please..’ he said. ‘Please don’t...’.

Madeleine remembered the night several weeks ago when she had spent her first night in this city. She remembered the humiliation and the pain of her first meeting with the man. She remembered waking up on a rain soaked street, her clothes dishevelled and dirty. She felt the gun in her hand. She felt Mirelle close behind her, whispering gently, encouraging her to take her revenge. She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

PFFT. The gun jumped but Mirelle’s grip on her wrist held firm. She opened her eyes. The man was moaning and groaning. The bullet had hit him in the neck but had not killed him. ‘Again’ said Mirelle. Madeleine closed her eyes again and pulled the trigger. PFFT. The groaning stopped and Madeleine opened her eyes to see the bloody rewards of her handiwork. There was a bloodied mass of hair and skull and for a moment Madeleine felt sick. She looked at Mirelle who like her had had her eyes closed though Mirelle doubted if this was because Mirelle was feeling squeamish. Indeed looking at her, she would have guessed that the killing had sent her to a state of arousement.

Mirelle opened her eyes and smiled. ‘Very good Maddie. You’re a natural’. She turned to her brother. ‘I think we may have found ourselves a partner’ she said.

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Office:

Jane Meadows returned to the apartment of David Sparetti. As she entered she looked around at the expensive paintings and exclusive furniture which adorned the penthouse flat. He was evidently doing very well out of her hard work. He had just finished showering and came out from the bedroom with his dressing gown tied loosely around him.

‘How’d it go?’ he asked unnecessarily. She hadn’t failed him yet.

‘What do you think? He’s dead’.

‘That’s my doll’ he said sweetly.

‘David, this arrangement of ours is coming to an end. I want to do something different. Maybe work in the fashion industry or something.

‘Don’t be stupid. You just don’t walk out in our line of business’.

Jane Meadows had feared this would be his reaction. He was right of course. You didn’t just hand in your resignation as a hired killer and expect to walk away. Fortunately she had foreseen this situation and had her plans well formed. She felt into the pocket of her coat and for the second time that day her gloved hand held the gun which had earlier claimed Hammond’s life.

David Sparetti looked at her with a mixture of surprise and fear. ‘Jane. Don’t do anything stupid. Put the gun down and we’ll talk this through’.

The gun remained in her hand, rock steady in her steely grip.

‘Jane. Just think about things. Christ it wasn’t so long ago we were lovers. We’ve still got everything going for us. Don’t go and blow it away now’.

The gun inched forward. She glanced around the room. ‘You’ve got everything Dave. I get the scraps’ she said.

David Sparetti looked into the cold ruthless eyes of Jane Meadows and for the first time felt fear. Maybe she really did intend leaving, no matter what this entailed. ‘Baby, this ain’t necessary. If you want to re-negotiate the deals just say so’.

Jane smiled. She knew exactly what ‘re-negotiation’ meant in Sparetti’s language - a bullet in the back. ‘Sorry baby’ she said and pulled back the hammer.

‘Please don’t do this’ he pleaded. ‘Remember us. Remember the good times’.

Jane Meadows knew he was playing for time. ‘Well just let him grovel a bit’ she thought to herself.

When he finally made his move it was clumsy and ill judged. He tried to jump her but she just side stepped his lumbering charge. In his panic he tried again, again without success. She could of course have killed him at any stage but was quite amused at his attempts to save his skin. For the first time in years she was actually enjoying one of her kills. Short of breath he propped himself against the sofa.

‘Christ Jane. I’d forgotten how good you are’.

She walked over to him, the gun still held in her gloved hand. ‘Then let me remind you’ she said. She rammed the gun into his podgy body and squeezed the trigger. BANG. For a moment he looked at her with a look of surprise. She smiled at him momentarily. BANG. BANG. He slumped to the floor dead. Jane Meadows put the gun back into her coat.

‘See you in hell Dave’ she said in her clear crisp voice. God, she had enjoyed that. She rifled through Spiretti’s business diary and tore out his list of contacts. They were from all over the world. France, Germany, America..... Maybe there was some way of combining her dreams of starting a model agency with her current way of life she thought. Maybe there was. Maybe there was....

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Gisela was not a happy girl. Her latest mark had refused to tell her where he kept his valuables. Hell, she had almost drowned him in his own bathtub, shot him in some painful places and he still wouldn't say. She eventually lost her temper with the guy and blew his brains out. Okay she would have killed  him anyway but the thought kept crossing her mind that with her skills she should be making more money than she was. She  knew she had looks and knew she had brains, it was just that nobody recognised that. It was whilst riffling through the pages of a fashion magazine that the advert caught her eye.

‘WANTED: New fashion agency requires new models for unusual work. High pay for the right kind of girl. Apply Jane Meadows, IT Girl Agency. Call..... Two way discretion assured’.

‘Might be worth a go’ thought Gisela and she giggled to herself. Here she was, a high grade criminal. ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to work as a fashion model at the same time’ she thought.

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Since her first killing Madeleine had become quite an expert in her new trade. At first it was just the odd minion who had been swindling the family organisation who she took care of. However soon she and Mirelle had become the main killers for the French mob. For the first few times she imagined the face of the nobody who had raped her as she pulled the trigger. She found it easier that way. Soon however it didn’t matter who they were or what they looked like. She had actually grown quite fond of her new way of life, her new lover and the gun felt a natural part of her everyday attire.

Mirelle and Madeleine were a team and they liked to edge each other on. Madeleine had quickly discovered Mirelle’s penchant for leather clothing and tried to oblige each time they went out on an assignment. Often they played games with the target. Like sleek deadly cats they toyed with their victims until they became bored and administered the coup de grace.

It was Mirelle who had heard about Jane Meadow’s rather unusual fashion agency though a contact of her brothers. She knew she hadn’t the looks for regular fashion work but with her great legs and other, less orthodox, skills maybe they would take her on. Madeleine meanwhile had blossomed into a very beautiful woman and would have no difficulty combining both the lifestyle of a model and the other specialised talents the agency was seeking.

And so the first two employees of a rather unique modelling agency began working for a woman they quickly nicknamed Auntie Jane. In the next few months other girls were also taken on board but theirs is another story.