by Adam Maxwell
“You were parading that bloody gaudy yellow thing around the city centre all day. Doesn’t exactly blend, does it?” said Barry smugly.
“Knows his stuff, does Barry,” Violet said, finally reintroducing Lucas to the conversation. “The finest wheelman I’ve ever worked with.”
Barry grinned, all stubby teeth.
“Only thing is,” said Violet, pretending to whisper behind her hand to Lucas, “so predictable.”
“Pfffft,” said Barry. “Like hell. There’s no way you knew that–”
“We both knew,” said Zoe, appearing from the back seat.
Barry made a noise like an emu being woken unexpectedly at 3.30am.
“Fuuuck me,” he squealed. “Who the fucking fuck are you? How long have you been there?”
Zoe blew Barry a kiss. “Since before you nicked the car.”
“How the shitting hell do you do that, Violet?” Barry panted. “You’re like Derren Brown or some shit.”
“Are you in, Barry?” said Violet.
“Course I fucking am. Get in.”
Violet moved and opened the passenger door. “Lucas?”
Lucas nodded.
“In the back with Zoe,” said Violet. “And no fighting, you crazy kids.”
*
An industrial unit in the East End of Kilchester was hardly the most glamorous of headquarters, but Violet knew from experience that it was a hundred per cent more useful than hiring a city centre office. The comfort and convenience of a swanky office had to be balanced against the fact that the crew would be much more exposed to surveillance from rival gangs or even the authorities.
So that was where, with Violet’s guidance, Barry had driven them. Outside there was a faded sign, half falling off the wall, announcing that the business was Brian Wade’s Bubble Wrap. Unfortunately for Brian, like a lot of businesses in the East End, his business had gone to the wall when the country’s recession had turned into a global financial apocalypse. His loss, however, was definitely Violet’s gain.
She hopped out of the car and walked over to the single door. Fishing a key from her handbag, she opened it and disappeared inside.
Barry, Lucas and Zoe stared at the front of the factory unit, waiting. After a couple of minutes the roller shutters that constituted the majority of the rest of the unit began to rise. Barry eased the car inside and the three of them got out. The interior of the unit wasn’t much more sexy than the outside. Barry parked the car in the loading area, which was probably large enough to accommodate three or four cars. Beyond that there were stacks of metal shelving, some filled with boxes spilling plastic bubble wrap onto the floor.
Lucas surveyed the scene with a vague sense of dismay. Even his cheap, plastic office had been nicer than this. Over by the car Barry began to clear the detritus, shifting anything that might fall away from his precious, stolen car.
“It’s an Aston Martin Rapide,” said Barry, noticing Lucas looking at him. “I figured we’d need a four-door and most don’t have a usable space in the back.”
“So you knew it was a trap?” asked Lucas.
“Trap? Nah,” Barry stared at Lucas, the cogs turning in his head. “She doesn’t do traps. I saw the yellow Lambo… figured she had a plan… wasn’t a trap. It was more of a test I suppose.”
“But you knew it was her?”
Barry stretched, pushing back his shoulders and causing his beer belly to extend. He dutifully scratched at it.
“You’ve worked together a lot, then?” Lucas ran his hand along the wing of the car but stopped when he saw Barry had started frowning.
Barry made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat. Then took a clean rag from the inside of his jacket and started rubbing the spot Lucas had touched.
“You wait,” he continued. “I just got a Mark One Ford Escort. Fucking beautiful. I’ll bring it down here and have a bit of a tinker while everything’s coming together.”
Lucas nodded. It seemed like the correct response.
Barry returned his attention to his new acquisition and Lucas nodded again, pretending to be interested in what Barry was doing. He wasn’t what you would call a ‘car person’. He was more of a ‘call me a taxi, I’m pissed’ person.
Right now, Lucas wasn’t sure if being ‘in’ was the greatest decision he’d ever made. What exactly was he ‘in’. Barry didn’t seem concerned as he turned his attention back to clearing a space for the precious car, and Zoe, how old was she? She looked about twelve. She was glued to her mobile phone, standing in the corner. Probably texting, Lucas thought. He never did quite get the hang of texting, putting it down to the fact that his thumbs were too big to accomplish the task.
“Just updating your status?” Lucas asked Zoe. “‘Just about to find out what criminal enterprise I’m about to get myself into. Lol.’” Lucas grinned like an idiot.
Zoe looked at him with pity in her eyes. “I was using my phone to see if there were any usable internet connections we can piggyback on.”
Lucas dropped the grin on the floor. “And – erm – did you?”
Zoe shook her head and her fringe dropped in front of her eyes. “No,” she said. “But it just means I’ll have to run a spur off the junction box at the end of the street.”
“I was going to pretend I understood that,” said Lucas. “But then I thought, no, that will make me look like an idiot again.”
Zoe laughed. “I guess we’re all here for a reason.”
“Speaking of being somewhere for a reason,” Barry wandered toward her. “How did you know I would steal that car?” He pointed over to it.
Zoe dropped her arm to her side, her phone held tight in her hand, giving Barry her full attention.
“I’m not sure I should tell you,” said Zoe.
Barry nodded and stared, waiting for the assistant to reveal the magician’s trick.
“Oh, fuck it,” Zoe went on, puncturing the suspense. “Violet reckoned that she knew you were following us.”
“Were you?” Lucas said, a little too loudly.
“Yeah, mebbe I was.” Barry scratched the back of his shaved head then ran his hand forward across what little stubble remained.
“Violet parked the car a few bays away then broke into the Aston. I hopped in the back and locked it from the inside.”
“But how did she know,” whined Barry. “I didn’t know. Not until I got in there.”
Finally, Violet re-emerged from whatever back office area she had been in, and strode back out amongst the three of them. She had changed out of the little black dress and instead wore simple black jeans and trainers and a black biker jacket.
“Oh, come on, Barry,” she said. “It wasn’t that hard to know which one you’d go for. You’re a man of habit.”
Barry raised his middle finger towards Violet and then pretended to scratch the corner of his eye with it. Violet stuck her tongue out at him.
“Anywaaaaaay,” said Violet. “You’ll be wanting to know why I’ve chosen you, I expect? Well, as clichéd as this undoubtedly sounds, this is a high-risk, high-reward job. I’ve done some initial planning and we’ll need five people in our crew to pull it off efficiently.”
Barry, Lucas and Zoe drew closer, nodding, a seriousness descending upon all of them.
And then Violet explained to the three of them what Fegan had proposed to her: the Dali, the fakes, the banker, the security, the bunker. All of it.
Afterwards they stared at her with the faintest of frowns decorating each of their brows.
“So,” said Barry eventually. “And don’t take this the wrong way...”
Violet arched her left eyebrow and stared at Barry.
“But,” he continued, unperturbed. “You do have a plan?”
Violet continued to stare at him under the single raised eyebrow. “Nope,” she said finally.
Lucas’ mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he tried to process the enormity of doing this thing blind.
“Has today taught you
nothing? Of course I’ve got a fucking plan.” Violet lowered her stray eyebrow and winked at Barry. “When have you ever known me not to have a plan? In fact the final details of the plan crystallised as I was leaving Lucas’s office.”
“Thank Christ for that,” replied Barry. “Because Lucas here thought we were fucked, didn’t you boy?” Barry playfully slapped Lucas in the stomach with the back of his hand.
Lucas tried not to give away the fact that he might be winded.
“Not only that,” added Violet. “We’ve got a backer. Which means that all I need from you lot are your skills.”
“And on the down side our cuts will be considerably reduced?” Lucas laughed at the shared joke. No-one else did.
And then Violet told them how much they were each in for. Zoe giggled. Lucas and Barry just stared.
“So, right up front I’m going to need you to get floor plans for the place, alright Barry?” Violet engaging them, drawing them all in.
Barry nodded. “Course.”
“Everything. Gas, water, sewage, electric, phone. It’s a bunker, so even the air has to get in there somehow and, if it does, then someone has drawn it and filed it somewhere and I want them all.”
“I’m on it.”
“Zoe,” Violet continued. “Get this place set up and kitted out with whatever computer shit we’re going to need.”
“Computer shit?” Zoe put her hand on her chest as if wounded. “This is my art.”
“And that’s why you’re here,” said Violet. “We’ve got funding but it is far from unlimited. Also there’s one thing I can’t stress enough – I don’t want any of you pulling any cons or robbing anyone while we’re preparing. Not without my green light. And that goes double for you two gentlemen. Understood?”
“Understood,” Lucas and Barry chorused.
“I’m not above conning or robbing the extras we need but anything that I don’t specifically say yes to is strictly off limits. We can’t afford to get drawn into anything extracurricular. This is going to be hard enough to pull off without third party interest. Once you’re set up here, Zoe, I want you to collate everything Barry has pulled and I want you to take point on the security. Nothing needs to be cracked yet but we need to know what we’re facing.”
“Affirmative,” said Zoe.
“Lucas,” said Violet, and Lucas felt a swell of pride in his chest. “First thing I need you to do is introduce me to your forger.”
“Oh,” said Lucas, suddenly deflated. “Okay. He doesn’t live far from here. We can probably walk.”
“You’ll have to,” said Barry. “Cos that’s not leaving here until the plates are changed.”
“Oh yeah,” said Violet. “Couple more cars and a van please Barry. Clean them up, get them ready and bring them here. Everything clear?”
Everyone nodded.
“Any questions?”
Lucas slowly raised his hand and asked, “Who’s the fifth person?”
Violet tapped the side of her nose with her index finger. “All in good time, Lucas.”
12th September
* * *
4 weeks to go…
Chapter 15
“You see, that’s why I work with Lucas. He always has something interesting for me, don’t you son?”
“Son?” said Violet in mock-surprise. “You’re Lucas’ father?”
Damien ran his tattooed fingers through the grey mop of his hair. He stood in front of a half-finished painting, in streaked overalls and an equally decorated vest that had probably been white once upon a time. Through the gaps in the material Violet could see more tattoos. Full sleeve designs in bright colours, something that disappeared inside the vest and reappeared at the neck line, rising almost to his jawline. “Cheeky slag!” he said. “How old do you think I am?”
Violet began to respond but Damien cut her off. “It’s just a phrase, isn’t it? Like if I called you ‘pet’ doesn’t mean you’re a dog, does it?”
“Call me ‘pet’ and I’ll show you just how vicious this dog can get,” said Violet.
“Is this bitch serious?” Damien directed the question to a worried looking Lucas.
“She’s very serious,” said Violet calmly.
Damien put his brush down on a large table, then walked over to Violet, disregarding Lucas who had chosen instead to shrink away from the pair of them.
“I was asking him,” Damien sneered. He wasn’t much taller than Violet but this close she could see the muscles under the tats.
“And that was extremely rude of you,” said Violet, stepping forward the last couple of paces to save Damien the bother. “Speak to me,” she continued and then, saying the words slowly and letting them linger in Damien’s face, “I’m. Right. Here.”
“And what if I decide I don’t want you here no more? What if I decide that whatever you want me to forge is beneath me?” said Damien, calling her bluff. He lifted his hand level with his chin. This close, Violet could see the detail in the tattoos. The individual spirals, where the hair grew out of the bright blue ink on the back of his hand. “What if I take this fist and beat you black and blue with it?”
“Not. Going. To. Happen,” maintained Violet, unmoved.
Lucas looked like he might very well piss in his pants. He stood at the far side of the room, a look of complete panic on his face.
“Oh yeah, why’s that then, Miss Cocky-pants?”
It took less than two seconds. Violet grabbed Damien by the wrist and moved around him, twisting it up his back. In one fluid movement she slammed him down on the table then jumped forward, landing her knee in the small of his back. Damien gasped for breath, winded by the force of his stomach hitting the table.
As he rasped and struggled for breath, Violet reached her left hand into her pocket and brought a small aerosol out before finally leaning forward and bringing it level with Damien’s eyes.
“This is gunpowder-propelled pepper spray gel. If you try anything. ANYTHING,” Violet hissed, “like that, I will empty the contents into your eyes. At this distance, that isn’t going to be something that will just rinse away with a little eye bath. This will fracture your skull and pop your fucking eyeballs. You will be blind. You will have no eyeballs. Do you enjoy your eyesight?”
Damien nodded slowly, his breathing starting to return to normal.
“And I would imagine you need one or both of your eyes to do what you do here?”
Damien nodded again. He tried to flex slightly, seeing if there was any give in Violet’s grip. But there was none.
“So how about we try this situation again, only this time you cut out the parts I don’t like. How about this time you show me some respect?”
Damien didn’t respond. Violet twitched her index finger and the tiniest bubble started to form on the nozzle of the pepper spray aerosol an inch from his open eye.
“Fuck me, NO! PLEASE!” Damien screamed. He tried to writhe free but Violet’s whole weight was on his back so, although he moved her, the spray stayed firm in front of his face. After a couple of seconds he went limp again. “Alright, alright.”
“You’re sorry?” Violet asked politely.
“Yes. I’m sorry,” he said. “Now let me go.”
Violet hopped down and pocketed the pepper spray.
Damien stood up, shaking himself off like it was nothing. He turned to Lucas. “I like her. She’s fucking crazy.”
Lucas nodded and then, suddenly realising that might not have been the right response, looked over to Violet, who just rolled her eyes.
“You must be pretty good for people to put up with your shit,” said Violet to Damien.
Damien nodded, “Right back at you.”
“Really?” said Violet with a sigh. “You want to go again?” She reached into her pocket once more. “It’ll still hospitalise you from across the room...”
Damien held his palms up in surrender. “Whoah, I’m just kidding. We’re good.”
“Right then, shall we get down to busin
ess?” said Lucas, his voice cracking only slightly. “What’s this you’re working on?”
Damien shrugged. “Personal project,” he said.
Violet walked over to the canvas, which was daubed with bright streaks of paint. Behind it were prints of other pictures, some of them she recognised.
“Picasso?” she asked.
“The very same,” Damien replied. “Had an idea that there might be an undiscovered work out there.”
“Sounds like a decent con.” Lucas began to feel more confident and tried to keep the conversation on safer ground. “Reckon you can pull it off?”
“I dunno.” Damien stared intently at his partially completed work. “Not with this one. It’s harder. Well, don’t get me wrong, doing a copy ain’t no fucking picnic but at least you’ve got something to work from. Trying to convince the art world that one of the most famous painters in the world did something and they didn’t know about it…It’s a pet project. Might take a bit longer.”
“How long?” said Violet, picking up one of the photos from the table.
Damien shrugged. “Few more years maybe. So what exactly is it you want me to do for you?”
“A Dali,” said Lucas, eager to continue this new and less threatening tack.
Damien nodded appreciatively.
“Will I have access to the original?”
Violet shook her head. “We’ll get photographs. That a problem?”
“Shouldn’t be,” said Damien, putting down the Picasso pictures. “Is it a famous one?”
“Not really,” said Violet. “It’s blank. Almost.”
“Blank? And you need a forger for that. Lady you must be–” Damien caught himself and stopped talking. When he started again it was with a slightly softer tone. “Tell me more.”
And so Violet explained. Told a rapt Damien about Dali’s greed and about how he had signed and signed and signed. She told him about the fakes and the originals and how in some cases even the experts didn’t know which was which. And finally she told him about the canvas. The one that was different.
