It was as black as pitch, but I managed to find my way around. Which was good. Unfortunately, they were aware of my familiarity with this location. Which was less good. The musty smell of dampness mixed with the stink of stale tobacco smoke and, oddly, mouldy string filled my nose as I cautiously made my way through the poorly illuminated hallways of the abandoned warehouse.

I had visited this location innumerable times previously, having meetings with what were politely termed ‘enigmatic’ individuals and indulged in numerous covert transactions that sometimes just about managed to touch on legality. Tonight, though, was distinct. I didn't choose to be here tonight. I was here because they had called me, and you were pretty much forced to come when they called. This also was less than good.

There was a shiver down my spine as footsteps echoed through the empty space. My heart hammered as I pushed myself up against the chilly concrete wall. Every nerve in my body was shouting at me to flee, to leg it as fast as possible while there remained an opportunity to escape. I knew better than to ignore them, though. You did not want to cross these people. Well, not more than once anyway; they were not big on forgiveness and second chances.

At last, a faint glow flared at the end of the hallway, creating lengthy shadows that swirled around the walls. I held my breath as a bloke with his coat hood covering his face came out of the shadows.

"You're late," he said in a low voice.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. I stammered, inwardly cursing the sudden squeakiness of my voice.

He looked at me for a minute, his eyes cutting deep into the shadows. Then, without a word, he turned and started walking, signalling for me to follow.

I trailed behind him, my thoughts racing with a hundred possible outcomes for what might be in store for me. One thing was certain, though: whatever it was, it wouldn't be nice.

We turned left into a dirty, dingy room, lit by a single light bulb made dull by nicotine stains.

The men's murmurs filled the room; their words sounded a long way from friendly. There were a lot of veiled threats and vows of punishment being bandied about. I stood there, immobile, wondering what on earth this was all about. Surely, bumping off the target they’d given me at the time and place they’d appointed wasn’t the issue? If it was, we were all buggered. I mean, what’s a murderer supposed to do?

One of them broke the tension in the room by asking, "What do you have to say for yourself?"

I attempted to speak by licking my lips, but my tongue felt as dry as sandpaper. “Well, not a right lot,” I muttered. I tried to sound hard, tough, unconcerned. I probably came off like a schoolgirl.

The leader's eyes narrowed as he stared right at me, his intensity sending a chill down my spine. "And what about us? How's our arrangement going?" His voice low and menacing, he snarled.

I looked at him. I just couldn’t work out what they were on about. “I assume our payment arrangements remain unchanged,” I said, cool as a cucumber in a blast furnace.

We stood there in the oppressive stillness, the seconds stretching into infinity, the tension sharp enough to cut. Suddenly, the leader's hand appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my collar and pulling me in until our faces were inches away.

"You've made a grave mistake, my friend," his breath stank of tinned pilchards. "And now, you must face the consequences."

“ . . . . .ok,” I said, playing for time, “what is it you think I’ve done?”

“We hear that you are moving our targets out of the east. We hear you are playing for the other team. We hear you are taking our money and failing to deliver.”

"Oh, right,” I replied. I gave my best ‘you’ve nothing to worry about, I can explain everything’ voice, “and who have you been hearing this from?”

“We have our sources,” cryptic.

“Well, you need some better ones then. ‘Cos you’ve got this totally arse wrong.”

He squeezed my throat until it became difficult for me to breathe. His grip tightened like a vice. And then, as quickly as a flash, he lifted his hand and struck me, sending glittering stars dancing behind my eyelids.

I stumbled backward, trying to stay upright while the taste of blood filled my mouth. But it was no use. I was done, with no way out.

As the shadows drew in about me, I drew my Walther and let the fun begin. I got four of them, I think, but then I realised it was pretty much curtains for me. Well, it was until Dolores Mint, one-time main squeeze, dancing girl, and best friend in the world, piled through the door and opened up on my side. But now we’d have to get out of this stinking town real quick.