The phone buzzed for about five seconds before she answered.

“Well, good morning. I suppose this means you’re in town?”

“Yeah, you busy?”

“You mean now, tonight or both?”

“Either, neither, both.”

“Just starting work now. Good tonight. You coming over?”

“Will we meet in town around six? Somewhere nice; my treat.”

“OK, send me a text.”

“Will do; see you then”.

I hung up. Janet and I weren’t exactly an item, more long-term Friends With Benefits. We normally got together when I was in town, and occasionally she called to my apartment down the coast. We had known each other since college where, as well as doing the same course, we also joined the same Reserves unit. Our FWB arrangement had survived through several more committed relationships on either side. It helped that we were both in the same line of work, freelancing IT security consultants. We occasionally worked together, and offloaded work to each other when busy. I opened a website and in a few minutes we were booked for the early bird offering in the Saucy Scribbler, an intown, upmarket and expensive eatery. Things had been going well, and I felt like a good steak with a half bottle of good red wine before we repaired to hers for dessert. Right now, I needed a coffee.

The commuter train pulled into its station and the hoard of scurrying wage-slaves alighted and ran off to their places of daily confinement, there to sit before screens and dream of life… whatever they imagined that was. Maybe the two weeks getting sunburned and wasted in the Costa del Sun and Fun each summer? I had plenty of time and walked leisurely along the river in the May sunshine towards my appointment, a new client. Unusually, I was to meet him in his place of work, the Fordtown Criminal Courts, just before a case commenced. He was by profession a Solicitor whose firm had just had a visit from the bane of current business and the provider of my livelihood, the dreaded Hacker, who had managed to divert the Solicitor’s firm’s accounts-receivable to their own account, thus purloining the proceeds of a great many billable hours.

I still needed my coffee. There was a coffee trailer pulled up on the plaza leading into the lofty Place for the Dispensation of Justice, or at least the Application of Law, its ongoing presence secured by the provision of free coffee to those who might feel it to be their duty to cause it to “move along”. Unfortunately I was not amongst this august group and had to pay for my americano, no milk, no sugar. At least it was full. I took a few sips to lessen the possibility of spills, replaced the lid and set off amongst the throng of wage-slaves, accused, witnesses, solicitors and a scattering of ridiculously attired barristers, heading towards the Hallowed Halls, planning my day in my mind.

First, talk to the principal here in the courts. This wasn’t really necessary, but it was what he wanted, and he was paying for my time. Then head for his nearby office and do some real work there for the rest of the day. I was enjoying the irony of this defender of the criminal classes being relieved of his takings by members of the same class and barely noticed a slight kerfuffle up ahead along with two pops like a little motor scooter backfiring. I did notice a motorcycle courier in a full face helmet sprinting towards me, knocking over an elderly gentleman in the process. Feeling rather pissed about this, I threw my coffee towards his neck, aiming just below his helmet, side stepped and tripped him. As he went sprawling, I was almost run over by a stampede of police and quickly departed the scene in order to avoid being any further involved in what was really none of my business. I should have known better; throwing the coffee definitely constituted assault, and possibly Actual Bodily Harm, better known as ABH amongst the criminal fraternity.

I met my client and we chatted for about half an hour before I headed out a side door to his nearby office. This was a routine enough job, not too taxing, very embarrassing for my client who would throw money at it to ensure no publicity, and a nice little earner. (©Dell Boy, Only Fools & Horses). First order of business was to text Janet then, as usual, I worked straight through lunch subsisting on the banana and yogurt in my laptop backpack before wrapping up and heading directly to the Saucy Scribbler. It was still relatively warm and dry and the walk was pleasant enough despite the stink of exhaust fumes which ensured that I was not a permanent residence of this minor metropolis.

I arrived first and ordered a beer while I waited. Janet arrived soon afterwards, wearing a short-sleeved, mini, denim dress. She had been working from her apartment that day and must have taken some time off to prepare as she was perfectly made up. I stood up and gave her a quick peck-on-the-cheek greeting; as I mentioned, we weren’t an item, just two ships berthing alongside as the opportunity arose. We chatted about work while we waited for our food; she was slack so I would pass her some work for next week. Starters arrived so work was shelved.

“You were in the Criminal Courts today?”

“Yeah, just meeting the client before starting.”

“You heard about the shooting?”

“No, what happened?”

“Kingston case; a witness was shot, dead, just outside the building. They got the gunman.”

The case was fairly prominent; the accused was a big wheel in a drug gang and getting him to trial was the first time that such a senior member of the notorious organised crime gang had faced the courts.

“Good job I missed that. All I saw was a lunatic motorbike courier running down an old man.”
We chatted some more as we worked our way through €120 of my “client entertainment” budget. Janet was going on holidays to Algarve in June, before the heat and the main rush of holidaymakers, with her girlfriends.

“Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do!”

“I’m trying to think of something that you haven’t done!”

“Speaking of, have you any client meetings tomorrow?”

“No”.

Knowing the import of my question, she tilted her head back slightly and passed her tongue along her lips, feigning, well maybe NOT feigning, anticipation.

Meal finished, I retrieved my rucksack from the cloakroom, and we wandered off to her apartment. We got in the door and she took a wrap-around denim miniskirt from the wardrobe and passed it to me. She liked me in a skirt; so did I! She moved close to me and unbuckled the belt of my slacks, kept solely for client meetings! As she was taking off my slacks, I was unbuttoning the top half of her denim dress. I paused and moved back as she wrapped the skirt around me and buttoned it in place, before catching her, turning her around and pulling her dress off her shoulders to trap her arms. She resisted just enough to make it seem real; she was already breathing hard. By the time I pushed her into the bedroom and onto her bed, she was already noisy, something between a moan and a whimper. I opened the lower drawer of her bedside locker and retrieved the length of soft white rope kept there and tied her hands behind her back. Not too tight, but enough to be real: With no client meetings tomorrow, a few rope marks wouldn’t be a problem…

We showered together the next morning and were having breakfast listening to the 7am News. We were both big, cooked-breakfast types and I knew her apartment well enough by now to be able to get the scrambled eggs with bacon and tomato while she made wholemeal toast and a pot of Assam tea.

“… the death of this witness will be a serious setback for the prosecution as well as an embarrassment for the police who were supposed to protect him. Police will only say that they have detained a suspect in his twenties who expected to be charged later today. In the meantime the police have requested that all witnesses come forward and are particularly anxious to talk to a fair haired man in his twenties carrying a rucksack who accosted the alleged shooter at the scene. They have also asked that pictures of the incident NOT be shared on Social Media.

Now for other News, the American President…”

I turned off the radio and opened my iPad. Janet did likewise and soon we were looking at pictures, mostly of poor quality, but recognisably me. Various contributors were waffling on about this guy who had singlehandedly brought down the shooter and had simply disappeared immediately after the incident… silly words like “hero” and “quick-thinking” were being bandied about.

“Shit! I never even knew what was happening”.

“You mean I slept with a hero last night and he didn’t even know it?”

Janet was teasing; she hadn’t thought this through.

“Janet, you don’t get it. If these guys were prepared to take out a witness in front of the Criminal Courts, they might decide to do the same to me in revenge or just as an example”.

“Shit!”

I thought some more…

“Given time, they might associate you with me. We were together at the Saucy Scribbler. The staff will see the pictures and will hardly stay quiet. And they know our names!”

We were not regulars, but had eaten there often enough to be known to the staff. She went pale.

“What’ll we do?”

I thought for a minute… or maybe ten. I would have to go to the police, but did not want to be recognised on the way. Neither did I want to draw attention to Janet’s apartment by asking for police to call around to collect me. If they arrived in uniform or in marked cars, they might as well put up a sign saying “LOOK HERE… SOMETHING INTERESTING GOING ON!” I was also uncomfortable about leaving Janet on her own; it was highly unlikely that the thugs would be able to identify her so quickly, but I felt that she needed to at least have a talk with the plod about her own safety. She let me think… we knew each other well.

“OK; I’m going in as Jesse.”

“You what?”

Jesse was my alter ego that we had cooked up in Janet’s apartment last December. She was simple enough to devise: A flared denim skirt hid narrow hips, a well-padded longline bra mimicked boobs, my hair was long enough to be dressed appropriately and Janet was a dab hand at makeup. Jesse and Janet had had a few fun nights out together, mostly with Janet’s girlfriends who rather liked her.

“Everyone on the street will recognise me if they’ve seen those pictures. I can go to the copshop as Jesse and nobody will know it’s me. And, I think you should come too; just to find out how to be safe. Sorry to have landed you in this!”

“It’s OK; you couldn’t have known. Let’s move fast so before the copshop fills up with the usual.”

We were well practiced. The clothes lived in Janet’s wardrobe so I was fairly quickly dressed in nude tights, ankle boots, denim mini, padded bra and top. I didn’t even have to shave my legs; I had kept them shaved from even before Jesse appeared. Janet did my hair and makeup then sat down to do her own. When she was ready, we headed out and, once on the street I dodged into a doorway and rang Independence Street Police, the copshop dealing with the incident.

“Hello, Independence Street Police.”

“Hi, I’m the guy who bumped into the shooter yesterday. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”

“What’s your name?”

“Tell you when I get there; you’ll pick it up from my number anyway. It’s on your system.”

As a licenced gunowner, I knew that my mobile number was already in their database.

“Where are you? Can we come and get you?”

“No, I’ll come in myself. Look, I don’t want to come through the Public Office.”

“OK, go around the side to the carpark entrance and ring us when you’re there.”

“OK.”

I hung up. I knew that my mobile could now be traced to its location, even if moving, and wanted to get to the Police Station before some genius decided to intercept us on the street. We walked along in the morning rush-hour, just two well made-up girls heading to work. I decided to enjoy the walk. Most of my previous forays en femme had been at night or in the evening. This was a new experience. Janet didn’t have any such pleasant feelings to distract her and was clearly worried. If she didn’t stop looking around like a rabbit at a greyhound convention she would draw attention. I moved closer and linked her.

“Just relax, don’t look around, there’s nobody there.”

“Sorry; as I’m thinking about it, I’m feeling more and more scared.”

“Let’s see, can we think of anything that you could remember that would take your mind off all this?”

“Maybe a few things, but I might get there all hot and bothered.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now!”

I pulled her over and gave her a light peck on the cheek; couldn’t ruin the lipstick.

“Bloody Lasers”.

A scruffy middle aged man passed by, going the opposite way: We ignored him.

We were at the police station in twenty minutes and went around to the carpark door. I took out my ‘phone and rang. A youngish, tall, gawky guy in civilian clothes came out the side door and looked around, almost looking through us.

“I think you’re looking for me?”

A male voice emanating from an apparent female seemed to confuse him; this guy was more Clouseau then Maigret.

“The shooting yesterday? The person who bumped into the shooter?”

I was definitely giving him more clues than even Dr Watson would need.

Eventually the penny dropped and he ushered us into the station and into a small interview room. We set up our iPads to get some work done while waiting, but had barely sat down when the door opened. Clouseau and two colleagues arrived in. Two sat down on the two remaining free chairs leaving Clouseau standing, as obvious a rank marking as if he had been in uniform.
“I’m Detective Inspector Jones, this is Detective Sergeant White, and I believe you’ve met Detective Byrne.”

The speaker was a heavy-set woman, around fortyish. Her similarly aged companion was a well-built man.

“I’m Jos McNamara; this is my friend Janet Murphy. I wanted to get in here unrecognised, hence the disguise.”

DI Jones looked at some pictures in her file, then at me, then back at the pictures.

“Good job on the disguise. You do the makeup?”

The last question was directed at Janet. She nodded.

“Friend?”

The DI was looking at the marks on Janet’s wrists.

“Friend with Benefits”.

Janet was rather proud of her sexual prowess. Then seeing the DS shift a bit uncomfortably in his seat, continued on:

“We were at it like Rabbits all last night; didn’t hear about this until we surfaced this morning.”

Clouseau and the DS looked even more uncomfortable; the DI went on, impassively, looking at me this time:

“Maybe you can tell us what happened?”

“Actually from my perspective, very little. I saw this courier, or whatever, running towards me knocking this old guy over, so I tripped him. I didn’t know what had happened. I had a meeting so I moved on, and a load of your lot piled in and got him.”

“Nice job with the coffee”.

The DS, unlike Clouseau, was obviously allowed to speak.

“That was an accident; I got a fright, jumped, and spilled the coffee.”

“And it landed in just the right place. Even had you done that deliberately, in the circumstances it would be classed as “reasonable force.””

The DI had guessed that I was not exactly sure of my ground here and moved to reassure me.

“Look, I can sign a statement or whatever. I’m more bothered about me being identified, or someone trying to get at me through Janet.”

“When it goes to court, you will be named, and even before that your name goes to the defence lawyers. And you’re all over social media so it’s only a matter of days, if that, before your name is in the public arena. There’s no reason for Ms. Murphy to be involved; she has nothing to add to the case.”

“But if the Kingstons decide to come after me, and can’t find me, that leaves Janet and my family exposed.”

The DI thought for a moment. I liked that; I hate it when people throw out an answer because they think that they are expected to know everything immediately.

“OK; there’s no evidence of a threat at this stage. In relation to your family, the Kingstons have a kind of code; they don’t go near families. It’s probably got to do with the fact that their own families would be vulnerable if they were to go down that route. In relation to Ms Rabbit, I mean Ms Murphy, there’s no reason to suspect that they even associate her with you, particularly if you have a wide range of “friends”?”

Janet shook her head; we were FWBs but not polyamorous in that neither of us had a wide range of current partners.

“OK, so what I propose is that we keep our ear to the ground, you stay alert, and we reassess the position if it changes.”

“OK, so I wait until someone takes a shot at me, hope they miss, and you’ll take it from there.”

“That’s not exactly fair; we will be carrying out investigations in the background. I’ll give you direct numbers for myself and DS White. If you’re in trouble, you can call us directly. Just for today, stay at home to give us a chance to take the temperature on the street.”

“OK; let’s just do the statement. Janet, do you want to wait or go? It might be better to sneak off now without me?”

“Are you not coming back to mine? You’ll need to change.”

I had forgotten that I was dressed as Jesse, and didn’t want to blow her cover if my apartment was under surveillance.

“Ok; won’t be long.”

Janet started back into work while I sat with Clouseau to work on the statement. It was tedious; he was every bit as thick as he appeared at our first encounter. If I’m relying on this calibre of copper to keep me safe…

Finally, statement completed, we were dropped back to near Janet’s place in an unmarked car. I changed and called a taxi to the station. It was easily walkable, but I didn’t want anyone to meet me en route. I got in the train and, keeping my head down, made it unrecognised to suburbia. I got into my apartment; someone had slipped a note under the door.

“Nice job Jos.”

Looks like I’d been recognised here, where I live. F***!

First things first: I locked the door and pushed my two-seater against it. It wouldn’t do much, but might give me a few seconds. Then I opened the gun-safe at the bottom of my wardrobe. It held two, almost identical pistols, both S&W Victory target pistols; one mine, one Janets. Her apartment was rented and she could not fit a safe so, in keeping with regulations, I stored it for her. I took two magazines, removed the metal bar restricting them to 5 rounds, and loaded each with ten. Technically illegal, but I’d take my chance. I did the same with two more for Janet; I’d get them to her tomorrow, along with her pistol. The police wouldn’t risk a prosecution in the circumstances even if we were discovered. I gave her a quick call; like me she’d barricaded the door and would have to rely on the police reaction if anything happened, but we were both confident that it was far too soon for her to be associated with me. She wished me luck.

I did a few hours work before taking a pizza from the freezer and having it with a beer. Then a few more hours work; it’s amazing how an unplanned half day off can really impact on one’s schedule! Anyway, I had nothing better to do. Normally I’d go for a walk or the gym; I just didn’t feel like it today and the DI had asked me to stay at home. Eventually, tired out, I decided to turn in.

I checked the windows; all secure and I was on the sixth floor: Only Tarzan could get in that way. I tied the door handle to the fire extinguisher bracket with a power cord and then plugged it in. If someone pushed the door open a fraction and went to cut the wire they would get a nasty surprise. I changed into a cotton nightie, poured myself a scotch, put the (unracked) pistol under my pillow and went to bed…