My phone rang; I was jolted awake; Janet. I answered, quite disoriented as I was in another room. I hadn’t even woken when I’d been moved.
“Hi; how you?”
“More to the point, how are you?”
“Fine. I've just woken up; what time is it?”
“7:10pm; did I wake you?”
“Yes; but I’m glad you did. I just wanted to let you know what happened.”
“You’re all over the news… and you’ve been identified from the pictures of where you tripped up the gunman. How’d you get away?”
“That old saying… be alert; your country needs lerts. I was watching in the mirror when the garage gate was opening and saw them coming…”
I gave her the detail of the story.
“What are you going to do now?”
“I’m in here for the night, then back to my apartment. I have some armed police here now; I’m not sure how it will work in the future.”
“Do you want to move into my place?”
“I thought of that, but now it’s just too risky. I don’t want you to be associated with me.”
I had changed my mind in relation to staying in her apartment. It had seemed to be a good idea when the danger was theoretical; now that it was manifestly real it wouldn’t be fair to her. I continued:
“I’m sure the police will come up with something; I’ll think about it in the morning. I’ve no idea why I’m so tired now.”
“How’d you sleep last night?”
“Bad; I’d forgotten that.”
We chatted for a while then rang off. It was harder for her and my parents than for me: I knew where and how I was whereas all they could do was worry. I decided to call my parents but first things first; I was starving! I got out of bed, tested that I wasn’t dizzy before standing up, went to the door and peeked out. Outside my room there was a short, relatively secluded corridor joining a main corridor after about 5 metres; ideal. As hoped, my escort was there, sitting in a chair, looking bored. He did come alert as the door opened and looked up.
“I’m going to order in some pizza; will I include you?”
“Pizza?”
“Yes; the catering here will be finished and it’s a long time to breakfast.”
“Good idea; I’ll have a Rustica.”
“OK; where do I tell the guy to go?”
“Ward 17, on the third floor, Room 5.”
I ordered a Rustica and a Siciliana along with some cokes. The delivery rider would earn his money on this delivery as he would have a distance to walk. While waiting, I called my father, and, of course, he put my mother on the ‘phone. This was a difficult call as all I could do was try to reassure them that I was now safe and OK. Unfortunately the police press statement had mentioned that I had received a “superficial wound” and was currently recovering in hospital. I had to admit the truth and try to convince them that I really had thought I’d had a windscreen cut when we’d spoken earlier. I used the arrival of the pizzas to eventually end the call. I felt really bad about the trouble I was causing everyone!
I tipped the pizza guy a fiver and invited the policeman in from the corridor. In the room we had a table and a bit more comfort. I pulled the table around so that he was mostly facing the door and anyone coming into the room would see him first. I didn’t explain it to him; I assumed he would know. I would have been more impressed if he had suggested the arrangement himself. He was personable enough once we got talking: Like a lot of people who carry guns for a living he was very much into firearms and we got into a lively conversation about the suitability of his H&KMP7 for use in a place full of civilians like a hospital. In particular, would the higher velocity rounds designed for better penetration through body armour be much more likely to cause collateral damage than the 9mm that the police used to use in their previous SMGs?
I had the TV on mute and tuned to the local news channel. We paused our discussion when the carpark shooting incident came on. As usual, the news reporter gave a half-assed version of the incident leaving the impression that the shooting had happened in the carpark. The pictures showed my car with its shattered windshield, some forensics guys poking around and finally the car being carted off on a police truck. The police were not releasing my name until relatives had been informed but did confirm that the shooting was linked to organised crime. Fortunately my car registration was pixilated out or everyone watching that bulletin and who knew my registration would assume that I was a gangster.
Pizzas finished, my baby-sitter went back to the corridor and, now awake, I decided to get some work done. I reckoned that I’d lose at least half of tomorrow, Monday, and didn’t want to either let clients down or develop a reputation of unreliability. It also gave me something to think about other than my current predicament and, strangely, allowed my brain to develop some solutions to that same predicament, probably in my sub-conscious. Some day I’ll have to ask someone how that works. Eventually I turned in around 11:45pm and surprisingly, slept well until my usual waking time of 5am. Knowing that breakfast would not arrive until around 8am, I did my floor exercises. Not having my weights I tried some press-ups; I hate them! I showered, shaved particularly carefully, got dressed and then texted Janet:
“OK to Call?”
She rang back almost immediately. I picked up:
“Hi, how you? Sleep well?”
“Not great; otherwise fine. You?”
I kinda guessed that that would be her answer.
“Actually quite well; I worked late and tired myself out. You need a holiday! This time next week you’ll be soaking in sun, sand, sangria and sexy senhors.”
“I’m much more classy that that; I drink wine!”
“Can you do something for me?”
“Of course.”
“I’m going to leave here as Jesse. Can you pack all her stuff into something and I’ll let you know where to send it.”
“I can send it to you, there?”
“I’m not sure; it could be a security breach. We don’t know who the courier might be.”
“Ok.”
I rang off and texted Jacinta:
Can you talk?
She texted back:
Yes; learned when I was small.
I called. I had intended to have Janet send Jesse’s clothes to her, Jacinta, at Woodview, her home police station. She had a much better solution: She would arrange for a motorcycle policeman to call to Janet’s, collect the bag, and deliver it to her. That way there’d be no potential dodgy motorcycle courier in the loop. I called Janet back and explained the arrangement; her response was typical:
“Mmmm, I love them in their leather suits. Will he bring his handcuffs?”
“Just make sure you don’t keep him too long!”
It was good to see her mood lighten; she was taking this worse than me. I texted my father to let him know that all was OK and turned on the TV news. Even if often late and incomplete, it was convenient and filtered through a reputable organisation. I was about to stick my head out into the corridor to see who was babysitting me when there was a knock on the door: Catering had come with the breakfast menu. I made my selection, juice, poached eggs with bacon, black coffee. I went out to the policeman with the catering lady; it was a new guy who had come on last night. He was happy to accept my suggestion that he order a breakfast as well and join me in the room to eat. The catering lady had no problem with this; it was a public hospital and the public purse is infinite.
I was half listening to the TV when my attention was caught by one item:
A man has been found dead following what police believe was the second gangland shooting in two days. Police say that the dead man was known to them and are keeping an open mind as to the motive…
I wasn’t the only one on the hit list. I shuddered involuntarily; that could have been me.
Breakfasts came and the policeman joined me. This guy was much more interested in what I did for a living; I suspected he was on his way to a more interesting role than Armed Response. He had no more knowledge of the shooting than what was on the news so no interesting titbits to pick up there. We chatted for a while then he resumed his lonely vigil in the corridor outside my door. Those guys have to have an infinite capacity for boredom.
Jacinta called; she had the bag and would pick me up in about an hour, and, as a girl, understood that I would need some time once she arrived. She was to bring me first to Independence Street to meet DI Jones and we’d take it from there. I realised that the DI had never actually met Jos, only Jesse, and today would be no exception. When Jacinta arrived there was a slight hiccup; I hadn’t been seen by a doctor to be formally discharged, and we didn’t want the hospital staff to see Jesse. Jacinta went to find a doctor and managed to expedite the process on the basis that I had to be moved urgently. I was given a discharge note, a prescription for some horse-strength painkillers, and advised to see my GP in a few days to check if my brains had leaked out through my cut scalp.
With the doctor out of the way, the babysitter policeman was asked to ensure nobody else came in and I got down to the business of changing Jos into Jesse. Jacinta suggested she leave, but agreed to stay on the basis that I would change my knickers in the ensuite! I pulled on my tights, denim A-line mini, ankle boots and padded bra before opening to door so we could talk.
“What’s happening today? Am I going home?”
“Some news first; you heard the bulletin about the second shooting?”
“Yeah; I’m lucky not to have beaten that guy to the morgue.”
“Actually, if you were on a slab right now, the other guy would still be alive.”
“Huh?”
I was concentrating on developing some smoky sexy eyes and didn’t understand her point.
“You can’t tell anyone yet, OK?”
“OK.”
“This morning’s guy was known as Mac the Knife; not very original. He was just a low level thug mostly enforcing debts and such like, and was supposed to keep an eye on you. Only he decided he’d like some promotion, got the gun, and decided to have a go himself. He’d have upped his status to serious gangster if he’d succeeded, but was taken out on the basis that he’d screwed up and put us all on notice that you’re a target.”
“But we know that already; why shoot him for telling us something we’re aware of? And why so quick?”
“They don’t know that we know about the contract; the guys who tell us are hardly going to let the Kingstons know that they’re touts. The failed hit would damage their credibility so they wanted news of their retribution to come out as soon as possible.”
“Does this mean that I’m in the clear?”
“Not likely! Actually, it works the other way. Having failed very publicly, the Kingstons will feel under pressure now to finish the job; show they’re in control. I’m afraid that the target on your back just got much bigger.”
I held onto the sink as my knees almost folded. I steadied myself for a minute until I was able to walk out of the ensuite and sit on the bed; Jacinta was seated in a chair, looking very relaxed. I felt very resentful; it was only a job for her, but literally life or death for me. She took a look at me and her demeanour changed. She came over to the bed, sat beside and put an arm around me.
“Look, if they’re upping their game, so will we. I’m sure the DI will have a revised security plan when we meet her today.”
“I don’t want to seem difficult about this, but it was me saved me yesterday: Your guys weren’t there. All that saved me was my Reserves training.”
I wasn’t looking at her, but could see her in the mirror through the en-suite door; she put her head down.
“Sorry, they never move that fast. All the int. said that it would be a few weeks. We couldn’t have known that Mac would go off to make a name for himself.”
Her head was still down; it was my turn to feel sorry for her. I put my arm across her shoulders:
“My turn to say sorry; I’m just edgy, maybe even scared.”
We sat for a minute.
“On the basis of me being scared, I’d feel a lot happier if I had my pistol. Did you bring it?”
She nodded.
“It’s in my car with your shotgun.”
“Can you bring it up to me here?”
“You know I’m not supposed to? Civilians aren’t allowed to carry firearms for self-defence.”
“And we both know that that’s bullshit, especially in the current circumstances. Anyway, I’m a Lieutenant in the Reserves, so I’m really not a civilian.”
We both knew that that was also bullshit: A Reserve Officer is a civilian unless performing military duties. But a fig leaf was all she needed. She nodded:
“OK, but don’t tell anyone!”
“Deal!”
She headed off to get the pistol. I got back to my makeup; I would need to get my hands on a more suitable gun.
Eventually I was ready, light blue long sleeved shirt blouse over a denim mini, ankle boots, nude tights and shoulder bag. Now to get to the car. We didn’t want the babysitter policeman to come with us; that would have totally blown my cover and, as at least a few in the hospital knew that Jacinta was police, I didn’t want to walk beside her. She described where her car was and gave me the keys. I was to walk ahead of her, taking wide turns around corners so she could keep me in view, while she walked about ten steps behind, pretending to be on her mobile. The policeman would remain visible in the corridor to pretend that I was still in the room; he would drop my bag of clothes and toiletries to Woodview station in about an hour.
“Will I pass?”
She looked at me carefully, up and down.
“Mmmm, not bad at all! Don’t be surprised if some guy tries to pick you up in the lift”.
“No, seriously?”
“I’m serious, now stop worrying and get that ass out there! And don’t take the lift; use the stairs.”
That made sense; I would have to wait for her to get into the lift with me which might have indicated that we were travelling together.
“Any guy that tries to feel me up will get some surprise!”
“Just keep both pistols holstered! Now go!”
I opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. My babysitter, despite knowing in advance that I would be coming out as a girl, was visibly surprised and couldn’t resist looking me up and down as I walked by. For my part, I couldn’t resist wagging my tail a bit as I walked out onto the main corridor. I couldn’t glance around to check; I would just have to assume that Jacinta was keeping pace with me as I tried to adjust my walking pace to a natural, visitor heading out, speed. I wasn’t raising any attention except from the odd male doctor or porter checking me out. I got to the stairs, went through the fireproof door and down one flight. I stopped, fiddling around in my bag as if for my keys or phone until the door opened again and Jacinta came through. The stairs went directly to the underground carpark, past a few landings. We met nobody; most people use the lifts to ascend. Once in the carpark I found Jacinta’s car and sat in the back. Her rear side windows were tinted darker than those in front so I would be less visible. She sat in a few moments later; I passed her the keys and we drove off.
“You certainly surprised that Armed Response guy; I had to tell him to keep it holstered as well!”
“I know girls get a lot of that sort of attention, but girls do check out men as well”.
“Not to the same extent. Anyway, you weren’t exactly trying not to be noticed, swaying that ass! Do you enjoy the attention?”
“I suppose I do, even though I can’t see myself with a man. It’s like a form of affirmation. I suppose it gets tiring after a while?”
She thought for a few moments.
“I suppose that we’re the same: We both get checked out by guys and neither of us are interested in them. Not that that would stop them trying; guys seem to think that they can convert lesbians if we would just give them the chance!”
Traffic up ahead was slowing to a halt; she pulled into a bus lane and continued past the holdup.
“Won’t that give us away? People will wonder about us using a bus lane.”
“You’d be amazed at how many people do that every day. They seem to forget about the traffic cameras.”
She passed the obstacle, a minor fender bender, and pulled back into the traffic: people honked their horns in annoyance. We continued on into the middle of town, to Independence Street police station. Jacinta pulled into the carpark but didn’t get out of the car; she just sat there, mulling something over.
“Jesse?”
“Yes?”
“It’s very important that nobody knows it’s you coming into the station. We want to keep your alter ego a secret on a need to know basis. Our guys might let it out, idle chatter and all that.”
“OK?”
“So if anyone asks, I’m going to say that you’re Jesse Clarke, we’re holding you in Woodview station, and I’ve brought you here as DI Jones wants to interview you in relation to a possible connection to another case, OK?”
“OK.”
“Stay there.”
She got out of the driver’s seat and got into the back with me and took a pair of handcuffs out of her bag.
“Lean forward, put your head on the back of the seat in front and your hands behind your back.”
“What?”
She had already attached the handcuffs to my right wrist.
“If I’m bringing you around as a prisoner, you have to be handcuffed, or it doesn’t seem real.”
I was definitely dubious about this. Of course I’d played bondage games with girlfriends but being walked around in a semi-public place in handcuffs felt a bit humiliating; and I’m one of the good guys girls.
“OK, but you’ll have to carry my bag, and don’t let anyone else lift it, it’s too heavy.”
“I’ll take your pistol and hold it in my bag; is that OK?”
I nodded and leaned forward; she reached behind my back and cuffed my left wrist. I felt strangely helpless, and no agreed safe word!
“Sit there.”
She got out, walked around the car, opened my door.
“Legs out first.”
I pivoted on the seat and got my legs out, on the ground. Naturally my skirt rode all the way up.
“I’ll fix your skirt when you stand out. Lean forward, weight on your feet, I won’t let you fall.”
She steadied me as I stood up and smoothed down my skirt. She picked up both our shoulder bags and closed the door.
“I’ll hold your elbow; if you trip and fall you’ve no way to save yourself.”
She walked me to the same door as I’d first used coming into this station. We went into a type of reception area with a public counter at one end. Some police constables were there dealing with members of the public through a series of hatches. She was allocated an interview room by what must have been the Duty Sergeant, brought me there and sat me in a chair, my arms over its back.
“I’m going to get DI Jones; won’t be long.”
“Can you take these off first?”
I pushed my hands out to indicate my handcuffs.
“When I get back; I wouldn’t leave you here, on your own, uncuffed.”
She went off to find the DI, locking the door behind her as she went. Left sitting on my own, handcuffed, and in a very short skirt, I felt very vulnerable: Even in a police station! I was glad when she returned with the DI and DS White, and removed the handcuffs. The DI got straight down to business.
“Look, I’m sorry Jesse, Jos… actually what will I call you?”
“Maybe to keep in character, we’d better stick to Jesse?”
“OK Jesse, the fact is that you’re in the shit, big time. We’ve got to hide you from everyone, friends, family, the lot. Nobody except ourselves and Witness Protection will know where you are.”
I had figured as much coming over here in the car.
“It’s impossible for anyone to hide in this country; it’s too small. Even as Jesse; the trans scene must be miniscule!”
“We know that, it has to be overseas. Not as far as for a permanent placement; we don’t know how long the threat will last.”
“Maybe when you’ve dismantled the Kingstons?”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I presume you’ll bring me back for the trial; what then?”
“We keep the threat level under review; we’ve never lost anyone on the Witness Protection programme; we know what we’re doing.”
“Can I go to Lisbon?”
“Possibly, why?”
“Far enough away to be safe, near enough to get back easily, great location for digital nomads… I could keep working there.”
“As Jos or Jesse?”
“I’d need to run out my old clients as Jos, try to get new ones as Jesse, maybe get some work from Janet…”
“Janet cannot know where you are; she’s not your partner”.
“I’ll need some contacts back here: How else can I get work?”
The DI hesitated for a minute, then answered:
“Actually, we’ve been thinking about that. Would you be open to doing some state work? Both the military and ourselves, police that is, operate in the cyber security area; we can keep you busy and you’ve no need to get involved with the public.”
That was very interesting; these guys didn’t pay top dollar, but the work would be at the cutting edge and a few months of that would be good for both my experience and CV.
“Sounds OK, but I don’t want a big drop in earnings.”
“We’ll do our best. The Superintendent in Cyber Security will liaise with the military in relation to your security clearance and volume of work. There is a standard rate for outsourcing work, but I gather there’ll be more that you can handle. As a Reserve Officer, you already have a security clearance. It’ll have to be reviewed and upgraded if necessary”
“OK; two other things. I want you to clear my carrying a pistol with the PSP. I gather their licensing arrangements allow for that. I could use either a military USP or SIG.”
“I’ll ask Witness Protection to look into that. Who’s the PSP?”
“The police service that looks after guns out there, and polices Lisbon.”
“You’re well informed. What else?”
I didn’t tell her that I’d looked all this up before the attack outside my apartment block, thinking that I might have to move out to Lisbon at my own expense. I moved on to my final point:
“Do you send one of yours out as a liaison with the PSP, just to set this up?”
“Probably; it’s not my area. Again, one for Witness Protection. Why?”
“This might seem silly, but I know Jacinta now, and she knows Jesse. I’d feel more comfortable with her around than a stranger.”
I looked over at Jacinta; she nodded, almost imperceptibly. The DI responded:
“She’s not my division. You just happened to live in the area her division covers. And I don’t know what the attitude of the Witness Protection people will be.”
“I’ll mention it to my Chief Super; will you recommend it?”
Jacinta was looking forward to a week in the sun. The DI looked at her and nodded:
“OK. Seeing as you two get on so well, can you bring her, him, sorry, Jesse, to the temporary safe house? DS White can give you the details; he was going to do it.”
Jacinta nodded.
The DI stood up to leave, then stopped and looked at me.
“You did well to get away; stay safe!”
She headed out the door followed by DS White. Jacinta looked at the piece of paper that the DS had just given her.
“OK; we’d better get going. We’ve got to get across town.”
She went to open the door.
“Not yet; you’re forgetting something.”
“Like what?”
“I’m your prisoner, remember?”
She took her handcuffs out of her shoulder bag, and used her best American cop drama accent:
“Turn around; hands behind your back. You know the drill.”
I turned around and she handcuffed me. When she had the cuffs on she caught my hair, gently pulled my head back to her and whispered in my ear.
“OK girl! No trouble from you and we’ll get along just fine!”