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North Ireland in the late seventies

Because the night belongs to the IRA!

Melanie Buzz



Lynn Carter is on her way home, it is already dark and easier

Drizzle drifts coldly through her uniform. Shortly before her front door she registers a very slow vehicle, which stops about 50 m further.

But nobody gets out, Lynn fights with fear.

She lives dangerously as a police officer in Northern Ireland

Lynn pushes the apartment door shut behind her, places her shopping bags in the hallway and places her service cap on the cloakroom. She runs her hand through her short brown hair, a slight smile.

The earlier end of work today enabled her not only to do the shopping for this week, but also to attend the long overdue visit to her hairdresser Dave.

Again he didn’t cut it short enough, she thinks and smiles again.

It’s the same fight with him every time:

“Such beautiful, strong hair, you just have to let it grow long.

It’s a sin to cut it short. ”

“Dave! I want to wear my hair short, as short as possible.

And if you don’t, I’ll go in two houses

Ben`s barbershop! And you know I’m a cop and I’m not kidding. ”

she threatens him with a smile every time.

It works! Because Ben`s Barbershop is a pure men’s hairdresser.

And Dave is one of her favorite friends.

Lynn takes a bath, she lies relaxed in the warm water.


But then the memories come back up;


5 years ago:


She also came home from shopping in the evening.

As always, first a bath, then remove the clamps from the hair that has been pushed up properly. She loves the feeling when her soft, hip-length hair strokes her back. In a lengthy procedure, she brushes it out thoroughly and then braids it into two thick, firm braids for the night.

There is a knock on her apartment door. “Yes please?”

She asks through the closed door.

“Lynn Carter?” Asks a young woman’s voice. “Yes.”

“Chief O’Conner sends me. He urgently needs them in the area. ”

“Now at this time? What does John want from me? ”

“I only know that I should drive them over immediately.”

Lynn presses the doorknob and reaches for her radio.

The door is pushed open from the outside, the radio flies out of her hand and lands on the floor.

Two armed men, masked with stocking masks, rush in, followed by a woman whose blond curls protrude a little under the mask. She closes the door and quickly searches the apartment.

“What shoud that! What do you want? “Protested Lynn violently,

“Leave my apartment immediately! ”

“In there!” Orders the young woman, certainly not yet twenty years old.

Lynn is pushed into the bathroom by the men and has to sit on the stool.

“Which prison did you take Ben Bradley to?” The girl asks for an answer.

Lynn suddenly realizes who she is dealing with:

It is night in Derry and the night belongs to the IRA!

“I don’t know Ben Bradley,” she tries.

“Oh yes, my love. You work in the 3rd district and you arrested

Ben last night. So where is he! ”

Lynn is silent. Under no circumstances should she reveal where this criminal is being held. Bombings are now used more often to free prisoners, regardless of uninvolved victims.

What if the place of his stay became known?

No question, it would cost many innocent victims.

The girl stands behind her and picks up one of her thick braids.

“Where!” Lynn is silent. She pulls the braid so hard that Lynn cries out and then slides it through her hand.

“Really a gem, would be a real shame.” One of the men hands her a closed razor knife. The pull on her braid is tightening again. “Where?”

And she cuts to the question. Lynn`s braid is so tight and thick that she has to cut several times despite the sharp knife. She grabs the other braid and while Lynn hears the sound again as the sharp blade penetrates her hair, comes back

the question: “where?”

Lynn keeps silent. Tears run down her cheeks when she sees her waist-length thick braids in the hand of the evil-eyed girl. “Here, a souvenir.” In front of Lynn’s eyes, she hands one of her magnificent braids to each of the men. She turns back to Lynn, her left hand runs into Lynn’s hair from the front. She sees the blade approaching.

From the outside you can hear an approaching police siren. The grip on Lynn’s hair grows tighter. Then the cut of the knife. A handful of brown hair lands on Lynn’s lap. Blue flashing light can be seen through the windows.

“Let’s get out of here,” says one of the men and turns to the door.

A few minutes later, Chief O’Conner enters the apartment with some of his men. They find Lynn crying on a stool in the bathroom.

No trace of the perpetrators. In tears, she tells her boss what happened.

“But how did you know I was in danger?” Asks Lynn.

Chief O`Conner holds up her radio.

“Probably fell on the send button and sparked on Jim’s device.“


(Actually, the story might be finished now, but maybe not.)

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