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there all day?”
    Seeing the look of glee on Karl's face, he took his time. Karl showed his driving licence to the security camera then had him do the same. He pressed his hand against the reinforced steel door as Karl held it open. This underworld was clearly members only.
    They went inside and Karl smiled at him briefly, as if he had passed some test of brotherhood. They crossed the lobby and walked up to a desk surrounded by reinforced glass. Karl took out his two forms of ID and pushed them through the drop chute. A woman retrieved them and kept them below eye level. When they were returned, with nary a smile, Thomas followed suit. This time she requested £40 for a visitor’s pass, which she informed him did not include the cost of equipment.
    Thomas glanced at Karl and handed over two twenties. Thanks a lot . And he was still none the wiser. It could be an S & M club for all he knew.
    “Right, Tommo,” Karl slapped him on the back, “Welcome to the club!”
    An electronic buzzer hummed and clicked, releasing a door at the end of a short corridor. On the other side, to the left and right, there were rows of doors. Thomas breathed deep; the air tasted subtly of smoke and machine oil. He keyed up his other senses and became aware of a muffled thud thud in rhythmic succession all around him.
    Karl twisted the handle on a side door and pushed. A woman stood with her back to them, legs slightly braced. If their presence distracted her in any way she didn’t show it, as she emptied her weapon into the target with calm precision. Thomas nodded to himself. So that was it — a Gun Club.
    She placed the pistol on the counter, removed her ear-defenders and turned around. Thomas could see that all her actions were exact and measured. She smiled their way and Karl shifted his weight side to side, like a dog waiting for treats.
    “Glock, I presume?” he asked.
    Thomas figured that was for his benefit.
    “You know me so well!” she leaned forward and tapped Karl’s shoulder. He reddened.
    “Teresa, this is Thomas — my pal from work.”
    Thomas flinched; he never mentioned the ‘ w ’ word.
    Teresa eased past Karl and checked a small screen on the wall behind him.
    “I’m done here. The bay’s free for another hour. I’m off to the bigger equipment,” she made it sound like a gym. “Maybe catch you gentlemen later, in the bar?”
    Thomas got the door. Teresa picked up her Glock 9 mm, removed the magazine and checked the weapon. She seemed to take her time about it, and Karl didn’t seem to mind.
    Thomas waited until Teresa had gone.
    “Glock?”
    “The choice of champions! Standard law enforcement issue, 9 mm; seventeen in a clip,” Karl sounded like a survivalist train-spotter. “Now, wait here while I go get us some equipment and practice material.”
    Left alone, Thomas looked at the end of the bay. Terrorist targets glared back at him. An options menu on a small wall screen told him there were fourteen pistol bays — one was closed and one designated private — clearly, a busy day today. The bigger equipment, as Teresa had politely put it, was another eight bays’ worth of fire-powering fun. He was about to venture into sub-menus when Karl returned with two cases.
    “Right then. Before we start, a few ground rules.”
    “Who uses this place?” Thomas cut in.
    “Mostly armed forces and police, that sort of thing — current and former.”
    “And all this is legal?”
    Karl raised an eyebrow.
    “I’d hardly bring you otherwise, now would I?”
    “And Teresa; is she . . .”
    “Now, now,” Karl waved a finger. “The first rule of gunfight club is that nobody asks what anyone does. Members expect confidentiality. You of all people can appreciate that.”
    Karl ran through the essentials: only one person at the yellow line; no talking while using the equipment; loading, operating and emptying; the stance; breathing and squeezing; ear-defenders on unless everyone’s hands were empty. It was a