“Do you have the sighting system?” Maxine said. She picked up the suppressor and attached it to the barrel. Again, she was pleased with the weight and handling. The gun was nowhere near as unwieldy as she imagined.
“Dedicated electronic sights.” They came out of the bag. A compact unit. “VISION sights. Visual Interface System and Integrated Overview Network. If you can’t hit what you’re shooting at using that then you’re a chimpanzee.”
Maxine clipped the sights to the top slide. “Batteries?”
“Included, but it takes a standard nine volt fire alarm battery. You look through the reflex screen there and the computer will identify and prioritize up to six targets. You can customize it by those buttons there. It uses SMART technology. Strategic Mathematical Adjusted Reflex Targeting.”
Maxine nodded. There was a time a gun was just a gun, not a box of electronic tricks.
“The target is in the red box. When the green box overlays it you pull the trigger.”
Maxine laid the gun aside. It was a possibility.
“I have revolvers too.” The Mechanic said, “Smith Wesson. Colt. Ruger. Any preferred caliber?” He dug out several weapons. “This is a good one. Smith Wesson .38 Airweight. Very light. Takes five bullets. The barrel is less than six centimeters long, but I’m guessing you work close.”
Maxine took the gun. It was small and very light with checkered plastic grips. She opened the cylinder. Closed it, weighed it carefully and placed it by the Scorpion.
She said, “One more handgun and a rifle.”
“Taurus Protector.” The Mechanic said, “Basically it’s the same as the Smith Wesson. Five shot .38 caliber. Small, light, Here. What do you think?”
Maxine took the unfamiliar weapon and examined it. It was, as The Mechanic claimed, very similar to the Smith Wesson. Small and simple to operate. She nodded and laid it aside with the others.
“And now a rifle.” The Mechanic said. He put the other handguns back in the bag. “I have something a bit special that you might like.” He hauled the sports bag back to the locker and opened up the next one. “You’ll want sights and a suppressor?”
“What have you got?” Maxine said.
“You take a look at this, Blondie.” He brought another , longer, bag and ripped open the Velcro fastenings. Inside was a molded green plastic case. He unsnapped the lock clips and lifted the lid, grinning. “Just you look at this, Blondie.”
The weapon had been disassembled and what it had originally been wasn’t easy to say at first. But it did look like a military weapon.
“This started life as an AR-15.” The Mechanic said. “Of course a bit of work’s been done on it. New stock. Those are really good sights too. Electronic. New barrel with integral suppressor unit. What more could you ask for?”
Very little, apparently. “How much?” Maxine said.
“For the lot, Blondie?”
“Yes. Handguns and rifle.”
“Going to have to be fifteen hundred for the handguns. Two thousand for the rifle. Then you need ammunition.”
“How much?”
“Straight four thousand euros, Blondie.” The Mechanic said.
Maxine snorted.
“Hey, you’re on expenses, aren’t you, Blondie? It’s four thousand. Take it or leave it.”
“Business looks like it’s good.” Maxine said.
“Oh, yes, no one ever went bankrupt selling guns.” The Mechanic said. He closed the gun case, rather reluctantly, Maxine thought. “The bullets come packaged. I have nyclads for the handguns. They’re better for the environment.” He grinned, “Not to mention they pack a bigger punch.”
He opened a cupboard beneath the workbench and took out three large boxes, heavily duct taped. “You’ll have fun getting into those, Blondie, it’ll give you something to do.”
“How about the rifle?” Maxine said.
“Armour piercing rounds.” The Mechanic said, pulling out another heavily taped box.
“You’re joking.” Maxine contained her surprised well, but she was genuinely surprised, and slightly shocked.
“Oh, no, Blondie. These are the real deal. Proper NATO armour piercing rounds. Factory fresh.”
“The army doesn’t let armour piercing bullets vanish with no questions asked.” Maxine said.
“That’s right, Blondie, the army doesn‘t.” The Mechanics said, “But look at it this way, it explains why you’re paying me four grand. Suddenly that price doesn’t seem so steep, does it?”
“If those are….”
“They are, Blondie. Believe me.”
Factory fresh…..”You’re getting them from the factory?”
“I have contacts, Blondie. It’s best not to worry your pretty little head about things like that.”
Patronizing insults aside, he did have a point. Maxine took two separate brown envelopes from her inner pocket. “Four thousand euros.” She said. “Care to count it?”
“Later. I trust you, Blondie. Jim Maybrick always sends reliable people. Anything else you need?”
Maxine shook her head.
The Mechanic beamed back at her. “Enjoy.” He said.
Chapter Three
Hazel Louise Vernon pulled off the road and into the Orient Hotel car park.
The Orient had happily traded off a fame, or possibly, notoriety, acquired in the 1930s. When it was the scene of a murder. The subsequent owners had the sense to play on this, and the ghost stories that, inevitably, accompanied such things.
Hazel Vernon wasn’t one for ghost stories. The city was riddled with them. Ghostly Roman legions, Vikings, Victorian chambermaids and the like. But she had to admit they were good for the tourist trade.
She parked up next to a stubby blue city car. The advent of hydrogen powered vehicles had made pretty much every vehicle environmentally friendly, but there were some who preferred the little cars.
Hazel’s Freelander sprouted antennae that marked it out as a police vehicle. But she automatically dropped the sun visor with the blue and white POLICE logo on the underside and unfolded from the car.
Hazel was tall, 1.8 metres high, even without her solid footwear. She wore black. Loose fitting black jeans. A dark blue round neck sweater. A gilet which contained a lot of the items she needed for her work, and, over this, a long black coat with a high collar and red lining. Her hair was long and worn in a French plait. Her eyes were the colour of her name, and looked slightly magnified behind her spectacles. She was angular and carried more muscle than most women. The wide “utility” belt around her waist held more tools of her trade. Radio, phone, taser, baton, handcuffs. Mace spray and, in the discreet plastic holster, her 9mm Sestra police pistol with a spare clip of ammunition.
Hazel Vernon was 34 years old, a sergeant in the Caneston CID Crime Squad and she was calling on a very worried man.
Why Sid Fuller was worried she wasn’t entirely certain. Not only was there the early phone call this morning. She had arrived at the police station as normal to find a message for her in her official email. Sid Fuller had emailed her last night, he was worried or concerned About something or someone, he hadn’t been clear. Though, given what Hazel knew of him, Sid would have an angry husband to worry about….or