The Lipstick Killers

cocaine and it had sailed through customs at Harwick that evening off a ferry from France. Only thing was, one of the customs men had fitted a GPS transmitter and now a little red light on the receiver showed the truck heading along the North Circular road towards the rendezvous.
    Margaret and Utter sat in the lead car, accompanied by two plain vans full of armed police who were to be first into the building, and the convoy set off.
    The warehouse was on a trading estate which, at that time of night, was quiet and deserted. This meant that the cops had to split up their vehicles outside so as not to be obvious.
    As the vehicles separated on the main road outside the estate, Utter’s radio came to life. A pair of plain clothes officers, one male, one female, were strolling up the road arm-in-arm like lovers, and the woman’s voice said. ‘Two-Two to Utter. Think we’ve got a spotter on the service road. One IC one male in a green Transit, reg Tango Four One Four Golf Tango Foxtrot.’
    ‘Roger that,’ said Utter, then spoke to one of the men in the back, a DC named Flynn. ‘Where’s the truck?’
    ‘About four minutes away, stopped. Lights I expect.’
    ‘Right Two-Two,’ he said into the radio. ‘Target expected in four. Wait, then take out the van when the truck arrives.’
    ‘Roger,’ came the reply from the plain clothes female.
    ‘That’ll do us,’ said Utter. ‘We’ll pile in after the spotter’s ours.’
    ‘I hope it’s not just someone waiting for his bird,’ said Margaret. ‘He’ll get a hell of a surprise if it is,’ said Utter, then informed the other cops of the plan.
    A few minutes later, Flynn said, ‘here she comes’ as a massive lorry lit up like a Christmas tree ground along the street and turned into the estate. The Ford Transit waiting on the service road flashed its lights once and Utter grunted with satisfaction. ‘Gotcha,’ he said.
    As the truck’s taillights diminished in their view the two plain clothes, appeared still holding hands, crossed the road in front of the van, separated, the woman shouted something unintelligible and slapped the man’s face. They split up, one heading towards the driver’s side, the other the passenger’s. Then they turned, drew their weapons and ripped open the van doors. The interior light came on, illuminating the face of a very surprised spotter who lifted his hands above his head. ‘Done Guv,’ the woman’s voice said over the radio. ‘He thought he was at the pictures watching us ruck. He had a radio, but he didn’t have time to use it.’
    ‘We saw,’ replied Utter into his transmitter, ‘good job.’ Then, ‘all units, go, go, go.’
    * * *
     
    The convoy swiftly regrouped and sped past the captured Transit, down the service road and arrived at the warehouse just as the huge, razor wired gates were closing. The lead van hit the gates with its strengthened front end crashing back open and they caught up with the artic as it drove through the open roller doors of the warehouse itself. The lead vans broadsided and skidded to a halt, their back doors burst open and a dozen members of SO19, each armed with an automatic rifle, rushed past the lorry’s trailer into the warehouse screaming. ‘Armed police, stay where you are.’
    The gang members inside the building ignored the order and made for the back of the building, pulled weapons from about their persons and started to shoot. The SO19 crew took cover and returned fire. ‘Christ,’ said Utter. ‘A fucking war,’ and he leapt from the unmarked car, followed by Margaret, the three DCs in the back, and the team of five in the car behind them.
    The fire fight was gathering strength when the ten slid up behind the wagon, guns drawn, and ready for action. Margaret quickly forgot her nerves, and her training kicked in as Utter rolled under the back wheels and shimmied up to the rear of the tractor, engine still running, Margaret close behind, exhaust fumes hot and pungent in her lungs. Utter stopped in front of her, bullets coming from all directions. The last thing she heard him say was, ‘cluster fuck,’ before a stray bullet blew a hole in his head, all the lights in the warehouse went out, leaving the lights from the truck as the only source of illumination.
    Suddenly, the place was plunged into darkness as they were cut, apart from the muzzle flashes from the shootout and the lights from the police vehicles in the car park reflecting through the