I woke Janet up with a glass of water and two more paracetamol. She wasn’t that bad; I just wanted her to be in good nick for her meeting at 11am. As usual when I was there I got breakfast; pancakes with maple syrup and bacon. We ate together and I headed off, going against the incoming traffic. I really needed to get some work out of the way so was planning to just get my head down for the day. I slowed down coming into the cul de sac which led to my apartment block and drove in, keeping an eye out for anything unusual; just what that might be, I hadn’t a clue. I did notice that a car, parked outside one of the townhouses lining the way in, appeared to be occupied; the driver might just have sat in to start his commute. As usual, I circled the block and met the same car on its way in as I was approaching the way out. I still didn’t have a number for the local police liaison so I called DS White.
“Good morning; Jos here again. Another number, WXY789Z, brown old Nissan. Apparently following me around the area.”
“I’ll call you back. Get back on the motorway and don’t stop if you can avoid it.”
By now the motorway would be starting to slow to a crawl inbound; I needed to head outbound, away from the probable traffic jams. I pulled away, keeping an eye in the mirror. The Nissan followed me onto the motorway, but pulled off at the next exit. I went one more exit and looped back. The ‘phone rang.
“Jos, DS White. Are you OK? That car’s a problem.”
“Think I’ve lost him.”
I recounted the tale: The DS reckoned that the bogey had abandoned the tail once it was obvious that I’d spotted him. They’d be more careful next time. The police would pick up the registered owner and grill him, but nothing much could be expected from this. With this heartening news I headed back to the apartment, circled a bit, saw nothing and pulled into the underground carpark. By this stage I was a nervous wreck and waited with my hand on the S&W until I saw the gate close. I parked in my space, racked the pistol, put on the safety, hid my right hand under a jacket, hung my overnight bag over my left arm, got out with my keys in my left hand, locked the car and pressed the elevator button. I waited just a bit away from the door until the door opened, waited a second or two, then peeked into the elevator. No one there; I got in, pressed the button for my floor and backed into a corner, pistol pointing towards the door under my jacket. The elevator arrived at my floor. Again I waited a second or two, then almost jumped out, trying to look both ways at once. Again, no one there. I opened my door, went in, bolted, chained and blocked the door behind me. It wasn’t even 10am, but I desperately needed a drink. No can do; must stay in control. Now that the threat was real, not theoretical, I felt desperately scared, alone, vulnerable.
I changed into a kilt-skirt and top, made a pot of tea, poured myself a mug, added a half teaspoon of honey along with a thimbleful of milk and got down to work. Work occupied my mind and calmed me down. I worked for about three hours before stopping to break some 78% chocolate into a mug, adding 200ml milk, and zapping it until I had a nice thick chocolate drink. I was sitting back enjoying this with some digestive when the DI rang.
“Jos; DI Jones here. How are you?”
“Frankly, scared shitless. You heard about this morning?”
“Yes; you did well to spot him.”
“Was he the hitman?”
“No; just a low level scumbag. Surveillance.”
“But they are planning a hit?”
“Yes; but it will take some time to set up.
“Look, if you get me the cameras I asked for I’ll have at least a fighting chance of seeing if there’s someone out there waiting for me. They’ll have to do some more of this observation shit before they make a move?”
“Yes. They’ll just send some more low level thugs to do this and we won’t be able to touch them… no evidence!”
“Maybe I’ve an idea of how I’ll disappear for a few weeks.”
“You thinking about Jesse?”
“Maybe, not sure yet.”
She gave me a contact number in the local Police station and rang off.
My immediate plan was, once Janet went on holidays in a week’s time, I would move into hers and live as Jesse for the two weeks. If I got there without being followed, I would be safe, particularly if I used a VPN. I wasn’t sure how technically capable the Kingstons were, but I had to assume that they had some capability, so I needed to cover my cyber footprint as well. The downside to this was that I would not be able to easily meet either of my other two occasional partners.
Anyway, work to be done. I texted Janet and my parents, All Well, and got back down to earning my daily bread. The DI Rang back around 4pm; I would be getting a monitor to view the apartment block cameras; a police technician would be around first thing in the morning. I thanked her and hung up. Progress; once I had the feed into my apartment, I would be able to get it on the web to be viewable from my iPad. No need to tell the police that; they didn’t need to know. Eventually, tired out, I took a bean stew and some ciabatta from the freezer, heated the former and toasted the latter before sitting down to dinner with a glass of white wine. I was “meated out” after the lamb last night.
Was that only last night? What a day! If I don’t get some exercise in soon I’ll creak to a halt. Can I exercise in the gym in Janet’s block as Jesse? I rather fancied myself in a crop top and spray-on shorts, but this was a non-runner, for obvious reasons! I filled the dishwasher, soaked some oatmeal for breakfast, checked the door and got ready for bed. Just as I was about to put the S&W under my pillow I remembered to take the round out of the breech: I’d need to be more careful! I poured myself two fingers of Glenmorangie and slid into bed. The Glenmorangie was still sitting there when I woke up at 5am.
I slid out of bed and did my floor and weights exercises: It was important to get back to routine. I texted Janet at 6am; she was also an early riser when not out the night before. Then my parents; the cows liked an early start as well so they would be up milking. As this was Friday, I would call to the farm tomorrow and collect my side-by-side shotgun; it would significantly enhance my “home-defence” firepower! I did my usual squint through the venetian blinds but saw nothing, had breakfast and dressed in leggings and a long shirt. This was my sole concession to the fact that a police technician would be calling “first thing”; I now normally wore either skirts or dresses in my apartment, sometimes pulling a shirt on over a dress if doing a Zoom call.
“First thing” turned out to be 10AM. Clouseau called to let me know that the technician was outside the apartment block so I let him into the lobby and then into my apartment. He was taciturn, which I reckoned was almost a prerequisite for his line of work, and we barely exchanged ten words before he was finished and gone, even refusing my offer of a coffee. He did leave me a number to call in the event of any technical problems.
I stayed at home for the day; I would have to come to some arrangement with the local police to get some exercise in. At least I caught up with work, even getting two Zoom calls completed. I only realised afterwards that the shirt I was wearing buttoned on the wrong side; none of the clients had seemed to either notice or mind.
The following morning, Saturday, I rang my liaison at the local Police Station. A female voice replied.
“Hi, Jos McNamara here; I’m just checking if you’ve anyone around?”
“Not at the moment; we checked your area a few times last night, nothing seen.”
“Thanks, I’m leaving for my parents’ place for the weekend in an hour, just in case you think I’ve disappeared.”
“Where’s that?”
“I’ll text you the address; it’s just a bit beyond the middle of nowhere.”
“Will you be safe there? Houses in the middle of nowhere, or just beyond, tend to be vulnerable.”
“Farm, dogs, squinting windows, one road in. Will be OK as long as I’m there.”
“You forgot to mention the shotguns! I thought all farmers had them.”
“Well Miss, you know yourself that self-defence is not recognised as a legitimate reason to have a firearm. You guys do all the defending for us.”
“Bullshit; and my name’s Jacinta.”
“Hi Jacinta.”
“Look, I’ll pick up your car leaving the estate and check that you’re not being followed.”
“You on your own?”
“Yes, but I’m a big girl now.”
“I was going to ask if you wanted to follow me to the motorway stop for a coffee? Could be useful to meet.”
“OK, am I meeting Jesse or Jos?”
“You’re well briefed; Jos, I’m driving to my folks, remember?”
“OK; pull in when you get there and wait for a blue Ford to pull up beside you.”
I checked the CCTV screen for a few minutes but saw nothing amiss, then prepared a weekend bag, put the pistol into my shoulder bag, and left exactly an hour after my call with Jacinta. I had the camera showing the outside of the garage gate on my iPad as I waited for the gate to open, drove out, looped the block and drove off slowly. There was nothing behind me as I headed for the motorway; maybe I’d left before she’d arrived? I drove normally down the motorway, pulled into the stop, parked, and a blue Ford pulled up alongside. The driver’s blond hair was gathered into a ponytail high on her head and she was wearing a casual jacket over a white vest-top. She saw me looking and waved; I got out of my car and walked over to hers.
“Jacinta?”
“Yep; that’s me.”
I held the door while she got out. She was my age, or maybe a bit older, no ring, a good chassis in tight blue jeans, and altogether quite as attractive as her voice suggested.
“I never saw you behind me.”
“You weren’t meant to!”
We walked into the soulless motorway café/shop and I bought two cappuccinos before we sat down at one of the tables. At that time on a Saturday morning there were few enough people about so we could talk without being overheard. I started with a question.
“Can I check, the number I called, is that your personal work number or do you pass the number around between whoever’s on duty?”
“It’s my number. I’m your liaison officer for our station.”
“So, what happens when you’re off duty?”
“I answer the call; it’s a 24/7 job.”
“Even if you’re out for a drink?”
“Can’t drink, well, maybe one or two.”
“How long will you have to do this?”
“Not sure yet; I might do week on/week off with someone if it goes on for a long time.”
“Are you planning for it to go on for a long time?”
“Don’t know yet; depends on whether you stay in our area and the assessed threat level”.
“Must be a right pain for your partner, family, whoever.”
“You sure you’re not in the police yourself?”
“Me, no, why?”
“I get the feeling you’re asking an indirect question to build up a picture.”
“Guilty!”
“To answer your indirect question, I don’t have a partner. And just in case it matters, I’m not into guys.”
“Hmmm, you might get on better with Jesse so!”
“Seeing as you brought it up, can you tell me about her?”
“I’m really not sure at the moment. She’s always been around in the background, but moved more to the foreground last Christmas. She’s hanging around more and more as time goes on.”
“Like how?”
“Like, when I’m at home on my own, it’s generally Jesse who’s there now.”
“Yeah, our video technician was a bit confused. He said that you were dressed like a girl, but not trying to pass as one.”
“That’s me, confusing, and often confused! Sometimes, going out, I do the whole “pass” thing. It’s a bit of fun.”
“And your girlfriend, Janet, is OK with this?”
“She’s not my girlfriend. We’re old friends who look after each other. It’s not exclusive. Actually, Jesse first went sort of public with her, last Christmas. She was meeting her girlfriends, I happened to be in town and called, so Jesse ended up going out with Janet, Louise and Grainne. Speaking of, they’re all going to the sun in a week’s time so I was planning on moving into Janet’s place in town while they’re away.”
“You’re not tempted to go with them?”
“No way; they are heading off on a two week manhunt. Not my scene, and I’d only spoil theirs.”
We’d finished our coffees and started to walk back towards the cars.
“Will I get to meet Jesse, or will it always be Jos?”
“If you’re available next Friday, call to my apartment, after work. I’ll get dinner.”
“I’m not supposed to socialise with people I’m involved with professionally.”
“Who said anything about socialising? You’re calling around to inspect the security arrangements.”
“You’re on.”
I held the door of her car as she got in; she lowered the window.
“You drive off first; I’ll tail you for a bit to see that you’re not followed.”
I drove away at normal motorway speeds, passed a few exits, then drove off at an exit I knew had a complex series of roundabouts that would both allow me to get back on the motorway and check the cars behind me. Jacinta either avoided my ploy or had already abandoned the tail. No car that had come off after me came back onto the motorway so, doubly reassured, I headed off towards my parents’ house, still fifty miles or so to go.
The dogs were happy to see me. I got the usual enthusiastic jumping and charging until both were satisfied that I still remembered them. My parents both came to the door to greet me; not their usual practice as I normally just barged in. They were worried and I was sorry that I was causing them upset; I would have to try to reassure them. I threw my bag into my old room, hid my pistol in the inside pocket of my casual jacket and joined them in the kitchen for a cup of tea.
This being a dairy farm at the end of May, I was soon in the tractor driving around a field on the first silage cut of the year. This work is either mind numbingly boring, or relaxing, depending on your perspective. I found it to be relaxing. No need to think, just listen to downloaded podcasts on earbuds under the ear defenders, and follow around in ever increasing circles. Most local farmers, and I presume nationally as well, had adopted the practice of first driving into the middle of the field and cutting outwards in a “square circle” towards the hedgerows to give any wildlife in the field an escape route. Eventually I spotted my father waving from outside the house, stopped the tractor, and headed in for dinner. This was normally eaten early, before the milking, to give the cows the maximum grazing time. Life revolved around them!
“Are you cold?”
My mother was looking at me, still wearing my jacket as I sat down for dinner.
“Just cold a bit across my back, hunched too long over a computer isn’t good!”
Not a lie, really!
“Is this business about that witness getting shot finished?”
My father was getting straight to the point.
“I might have to go to court as a witness myself when the shooter’s case comes up, but that’s a good while away yet.”
“And how do you know those fellows won’t be coming after you, like they did to the other fellow?”
“I’ve nothing important to say; I didn’t see the shooting and I never saw the fellow’s face when I tripped him. I mightn’t even be called.”
“So what’s the shotgun for?”
I had told them that I was collecting it, along with a box of BB’s or buckshot.
“I’m going to shoot some clays on the range next weekend; I’ll go directly from my apartment.”
“Shooting clays with BBs? I never heard of that!”
“They’re for a demo for new shooters. We’ll shoot up a few buckets and stuff just to show them how dangerous a gun can be.”
There was a bit of a non-sequitur there; why do a demo with ammo never found on a clay range, but fortunately my father didn’t follow up the point. He didn’t use the range and wasn’t familiar with our routines or practices.
I helped with the milking after dinner, giving my mother some time off. That job finished and the cows turned back out, we sat around for a while chatting before turning in early. Jacinta was right. Sleeping on the ground floor did make me feel very vulnerable. I checked all the windows and doors, trying not to be noticed, made sure my curtains were drawn so nothing could be seen looking in from outside, put my pistol under the pillow, and stayed awake most of the night. Bummer! I probably drifted off around 4am, to be woken by my alarm at 6am. I got up and helped again with the milking before getting ready to travel. As I was getting ready, I heard my mother being busy in the kitchen. I knew better than to offer to help; nobody was allowed cook in her kitchen except her!
We sat down to a breakfast that would give nightmares to a dietician; bacon, sausage, pudding, eggs, tomato, tea and brown bread. I think my mother figured that I lived on a diet of low fat milk, yogurt, granola, fruit and fish and felt the need to restock my supply of saturated fat and cholesterol anytime I came by. Untroubled by the advices of the diet police, I enjoyed every morsel! Breakfast over, I put my bag into the boot of my car along with the cased shotgun and box of cartridges, said my goodbyes, and headed off. Out of site of the house, I took the pistol out of my jacket pocket and left it in the pocket in the driver’s door; I could reach it more easily that way. I did my usual off and on routine at the motorway to check if I was being followed; nothing suspicious. I even filled up the car with diesel before turning off the motorway.
I decided against calling Jacinta; she knew that I was coming back today and would have called if there was any issue. I did take out my iPad and checked the cameras; nothing suspicious there either. I drove in, did my usual loop around, and pulled up to the underground garage door. I kept looking in the mirrors and at the gate camera on my iPad as the gate opened. Shit! A scrambler-type motorbike with two riders pulls up, not quite behind me, I slip the car into reverse, just in case, the motorbike passenger jumps off and starts towards my car, I hammer the accelerator and reverse straight back, on the road now, brake, into drive, the passenger is now at the front of the car, off balance, he’s turning, arms come up in front of him, I know that stance. Hammer the accelerator again, duck to the left, hit the motorbike a glancing blow, straighten up to see and steer, windscreen is shattered. Drive off like a maniac. I ran the redlight at the entrance to the estate and headed towards the shopping centre, people, witnesses, maybe safer. Can’t see the motorbike behind me. Slow down; don’t kill someone else with the car. Breath, deep. Still unwilling to stop, I run another redlight, more carefully this time and drove into the middle of the shopping centre carpark. I pulled up in a laneway, not parked, ready to go again. Breath, deep.
There’s people looking, some filming, some on phones, probably calling the police. I rack the pistol, keeping it hidden, sneak it into my jacket pocket. Out of the car, look around, the crowd is getting bigger, hit the speed-dial for Jacinta.
“Hi Jos, are you back…
“Jacinta, I’ve just been shot at, not hit, in carpark at Greenfield Shopping Centre. Can you send help?”
“Stay on the line…”
I heard her call on a radio, all available cars to Greenfield Shopping Centre, shooting… etc. She came back on the line, I could hear cars responding as she talked.
“Are you OK?”
“Yes, but there’s too many people around.”
“Just shout “Police, stand back!””
“I can’t pretend I’m police!”
“JUST F***ING DO IT.”
“POLICE, STAND BACK, STAND BACK.”
The crowd push back a bit. I turn my attention back to the ‘phone.
“Thanks, that worked.”
“Sorry about shouting at you. Any sirens?”
I listened.
“Yes. Look, a motorbike pulled up behind me as I was turning into my apartment garage. The passenger took at least one shot at me. I think I hit the motorbike getting away. If you get one car there, and if the bike’s still there, you’re looking for two on foot.”
“Wait on the line…”
Again, I hear her on the radio…
A police car pulls up, lit up like a Christmas tree; two constables get out, I wave them over… they were coming anyway. Before they get a chance to talk I wave the ‘phone…
“I’m on the line to one of yours…”
They wait, patiently enough. They can hear the radio traffic so have a good idea of what’s going on. One wanders around to the front of the car, looks at the shattered windscreen, comes over to me.
“I’d better call an ambulance; that’s a nasty looking cut.”
“What?”
“Your head, you’re bleeding.”
I hadn’t felt anything. I went to put up my hand to check…
“No, No, don’t touch… infection and all that. You’re not losing too much blood so we won’t do any first aid until the medics get here”
I had forgotten that Jacinta was still on the line. I raised the phone…
“Hi…”
“I heard all that; are you sure you’re OK? I’m on my way.”
“Sorry to f*** up your Sunday. I’m OK, just woozy… shock kicking in…”
“Can you give the ‘phone to one of the police there?”
I passed the ‘phone to the guy who’d spoken to me. I was suddenly feeling very weak as the shock really kicked in. I opened the back passenger door of the car and sat in; the front was covered in glass fragments. I leaned my head back on the headrest and closed my eyes.
“Oh no you don’t! No going to sleep until the medics get here…”
I swung my legs back out of the car and just perched on the edge of the seat. The place was swarming with blue lights now. A medic arrived, looked at my head, came back with a large white bandage that he pressed against it lightly, and wrapped it around like a turban.
“OK, can you walk to the ambulance?”
I nodded. He helped me up from the seat and loosely supported me as I walked towards the ambulance. Jacinta arrived as I got to the step.
“There you go! I let you out of my sight for a few hours and you start World War 3!”
“Sorry Miss Jacinta. I promise to be good next time.”
“Actually, can you give me your jacket? I’ll look after your wallet and anything else you’ve in it!”
I took off the jacket, taking care not to let the inside pocket turn outwards.
“Now that I think of it, there’s a shotgun in the boot.”
She rolled her eyes.
“OK; I’ll get your stuff and bring it to your apartment. I’ll meet you in the hospital.”
“Thanks!”
She checked which hospital the medics were bringing me to and headed off. I got into the ambulance, got strapped in and finally let myself just drift away…
The ambulance stopped at A&E. I went to get up but the medic intervened.
“We’ll carry you in; get seen quicker that way!”
It’s only then I realised that there was a policeman there as well; I hadn’t seen him climb in.
I was carried in and parked in the where the hell are we going to put this one space when I remembered my ‘phone. I needed to get some messages out before the 6pm news.
“Shit, I’ve lost my ‘phone.”
“No, it’s here. You gave it to me to talk to Jacinta, remember?”
Thankfully that was the same policeman.
“Thanks, can I have it? I need to text home.”
He passed me the ‘phone.
I texted my father.
Call me ASAP, DON’T let Mom know.
I was in the middle of texting Janet when the ‘phone rang.
“Hi Dad.”
“What’s up?”
“Look, I’m OK, just in A&E with a small cut from a broken windscreen.”
“What happened, you crashed?”
“No, now don’t panic, someone took a shot at me, a warning kind of…”
“Oh shit! Your mother will go ape when she hears. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Look, I’m fine. Sorry; you’re going to have to tell her. Try not to let her watch the News, distract her.”
“No chance of that; she always watches it and definitely will tonight.”
A doctor was hovering.
“I have to go. Last thing, under no circumstances come here. It’s too dangerous.”
“Ok, Ok, Ok,…”
I rang off and the doctor came over. He unwrapped my turban and had a look at my head.
“Any glass left in there?”
I had to have glass picked out of my leg before and wasn’t looking forward to having to have the same job done to my head.
“No, no glass, not a glass cut from what I can see. How’d you get this?”
He looked curiously at my police escort.
“Someone took a shot at me and smashed the windscreen. That’s how I got cut”.
“I don’t think it was the glass; I think you’ve been very lucky. Another centimetre and you wouldn’t be here in A&E.”
“What?”
“I think the bullet just grazed your head; you’ve been extremely lucky, this time.”
I think that he was assuming that I was a criminal of some sort. He looked at the policeman.
“What calibre?”
The policeman just shrugged; I answered.
“Pistol, centrefire, probably .38, 9mm, that kind of thing.”
“OK, let’s get you cleaned up. Bleeding’s stopped, but seeing as it’s a head wound, you’re with us for the night in case of concussion.”
I looked at the policeman, he looked pissed off.
“Sorry, ruined your evening too. I know Jacinta’s coming by later; you mightn’t have to stay.”
The doctor looked from the policeman to me.
“What’s the story here? Are you police too?”
“No, just a regular good guy”.
The policeman looked up and simply said…
“Witness…”
“Now I recognise you… you’re the fellow on the internet…”
I put my finger to my lips…
“Please… least said, best chance I won’t be back in here..”
He nodded and slipped away, presumably to arrange to have me cleaned up and warehoused. I took the time to text Janet.
In A&E, minor injury, do NOT come, bad guys tried, see News, will text when sorted.
I knew that, unlike my parents, she’d pick up the story from the news feeds.
I was wheeled into a cubicle and a nurse along with a junior doctor came along and worked on me for a while, maybe half an hour, maybe less. They cut away some of my hair, much to my disappointment, put some stingy stuff on my head, and spent a fair bit of time combing my hair out of the way and putting a dressing on the wound. The doctor was a bit of a comedian and kept up a running commentary as he worked, irritating the nurse who tried not to let it show. Eventually, job done, he prescribed some painkillers and left to patch up someone else. Only when he was gone did I realise that the Guardian Policeman had flown off to be replaced by Jacinta.
“How’s the head?”
“Won’t be doing much thinking for a while; it hurts! Are you babysitting me tonight?”
“Only until an Armed Response Team turns up; won’t be too long. I’ve brought you some stuff.”
She showed me what she had repacked into my weekend bag; a towel, toothbrush, toothpaste, mouth wash, electric razor, underwear (actually black knickers), dressing gown, laptop, power strip and chargers.
“Thanks Ma.”
She gave a fleeting smile and hooked the bag on to one of the bed side rails.
“You can reach it here, and it won’t get lost when they move you again.”
“Move me, to where?”
“They’re going to find a private room somewhere. They don’t like armed police roaming around common areas; it upsets the rest of the patients.”
I nodded.
“While we’re here, can you tell me what happened?”
I went through the story, sotto voce, as there was only a curtain separating us from the casualty, or whatever, next door. She took notes, rarely interrupting. When I was finished I had to ask;
“Did I actually hit the motorbike?”
“Yes, they abandoned it and ran to the train station, ran across the line and disappeared out the far side. No cameras once they got out of the station.”
“So they’ve gotten away?”
“For now..”
She was interrupted by two over-armed policemen coming in, festooned with pistols, tasers, pepper spray, handcuffs and H&K MP7s.
“Ah, here’s your baby-sitters for the night. Give me a call when the hospital is releasing you and I’ll bring you back to your apartment.”
“What about my car? With the windscreen broken it’ll get ruined if it rains!”
“Forensics will look after it; they don’t like getting their nice white overalls wet so they’ll cover it up and bring it to our garage once they’ve done the on-site stuff.”
“Thanks.”
She disappeared out through the curtains. The baby-sitters didn’t look communicative and I was getting too tired to make conversation. I texted Janet again.
OK to talk when you OK to call.
I closed my eyes. As I drifted off I saw Oliver Hardy look, disapprovingly, at me:
“Well, here’s another nice mess you’ve gotten me into!”