Chapter 8
Tony's office phone rang. When he answered it he found himself talking to the irrepressible Jimmy Costard; his heart sank. It seemed to Tony that he had spent the greater part of his life avoiding people, pretty much all people and now here was someone he could not escape from. Tony was already on edge, Brinkman's had been crawling with police after the theft of the M3. Fortunately for Tony no one had linked him to the theft, it was assumed that he had left the premises long before the car had been taken. It looked as if Dave Barns was the chief suspect, he had been seen on the premises after hours by an accountant who had been working late. The mechanic was unable to satisfactorily explain himself. His preposterous story, that he had been with Samantha Vincent was given no credence by the police, especially when young Samantha had laughed the suggestion off as quite out of the question:
"Barnes is just a greasy mechanic, what would I possibly see in a boy like him?" She had said with an innocent smile. There was no way Tony was going to put himself in the frame to provide an alibi for his mate but consoled himself with the thought that nothing about the missing BMW could be traced back to Dave Barnes and that ultimately he was bound to be cleared. His thoughts were drawn back from Dave's romantic encounter and from the sexy young Samantha and her callous duplicity by Costard's gravelly voice bellowing down the wires.
"Tony, get round to the warehouse at about two this afternoon. I want to do trial run, you need to learn the route."
Tony's pulse rate rose to a dangerous level.
"I'm at work Jimmy, I can't just drop everything at a moment's notice, be realistic."
"Tony, Tony... you don't seem to grasp the situation you're in, you owe me big time. When I say jump, you jump. If I say two o'clock that's what I bleedin' well mean. I hope I don't have to come round there and give you a smack."
"OK, I get the message. I'll make some excuse, how long will it take?"
"It'll take as long as it takes... tell your boss not to expect you back."
The line went dead. Tony felt as if he had become a fish, hooked through the lip and being mercilessly played for Costard's pleasure. He hated the feeling of helplessness, as much as he hated the man who was twitching the line. Tony's desire to escape from his predicament grew stronger with each unwanted encounter with Costard. He needed money and the sooner the better.
He arrived at the warehouse ten minutes early and parked his wheezy Fiesta in the front yard of the building next to an overflowing rubbish skip. The side door to the warehouse was ajar and Tony entered cautiously. The warehouse smelled strongly of cigarette smoke and stale alcohol fumes. Tony's eyes fell on the BMW that was standing in front of the roller door ready for its mission, the tarpaulin had been removed and a set of false plates fitted.
"Here's the boy... on time as I expected. Come in Tony, you know Kevin and Darren, this is John Mason... you may have seen him the other night."
John held out his hand which Tony shook. Tony found him to be, on first acquaintance, in a different league to the others. More intelligent perhaps, certainly quieter in manner, better spoken, but there was an underlying menace which said that you would be well advised not to get on the wrong side of him. He spoke with an educated accent and had a military bearing, officer class rather than squaddie which seemed to give him a natural authority.
"John 'elps me out from time to time, on a contract basis... if you know what I mean. He's ex SAS so don't go ruffling his feathers Tony."
Tony was feeling increasingly out of his depth, this was not his world at all.
"Come and sit down for a minute, I'll fill you in with a few details."
All five of them took chairs and sat around an old Formica topped table, golden hits from the eighties were playing from a tinny radio somewhere; it was the sort of music that tended to give Tony nausea but that was the least of his worries. Costard pushed aside an overflowing ash tray, clearing a space in the middle of the table and exposing brown rings where coffee mugs had left their dribbled impressions. Three of the men were relaxed, at ease. John Mason was wary and alert as if expecting trouble at any minute. As for Tony; he found he couldn't stop his knees from shaking. Jimmy nudged Tony to attract his attention.
"Tony, I've decided it's time for me to retire, I think I've pushed my luck with the law as far as I can. What I'm going to do is pull off a couple big jobs, get some serious money together and then head for the Costa del Crime. Start enjoying my ill-gotten gains. Tony..." He looked at the young man with a message that was meant especially for him.
"If anyone gets in my way or spoils my plans... or stuffs up, they won't be forgiven, or forgotten. My plans don't just involve me; I've got others, people who have stuck by me over the years, to think about. I need you to do your part or there will be consequences. You get my drift?"
Without lifting his eyes from the table Tony nodded. He knew all about the consequences that Costard had in mind and if he did not know in exact detail what Costard had in mind, he could imagine very adequately indeed. Darren and Kevin nodded their silent complicity; Tony soon found out why the two clowns were so attentive.
"I'll be handing over my business interests to this pair of criminal masterminds. If you're lucky they may have some driving jobs for you in the future."
Tony's shoulders sank even lower; he could feel the first ominous pounding of a tension headache.
"OK, listen up... all we're going to do today is drive the getaway route; just nice and slow so you can get the feel of it. Practise makes perfect." Jimmy stood and went into the small office built awkwardly in the far corner of the warehouse like an ill-considered afterthought. He returned after a few seconds clutching a map and opened it on the cleared space of the table.
"You can see, Tony, I've drawn the route out. When we drive over it, you'll see it twists back and forth passing lots of side turns. Any one chasing would lose sight of us on each corner and not know for sure which turn off we had made. We then pull into this driveway..." Jimmy indicated the spot with the dab of a greasy index finger. "From there it's up the drive and into a garage. The doors will be closed behind us and we will be invisible. I got an acquaintance to take a short lease on this place a few weeks back; he gave a false name of course so we'll 'ave complete access. When we drive in, with the doors closed the cops, if they're still following, will just drive on past... Job done."
"Sounds easy when you say it like that Jimmy." Tony muttered the words without enthusiasm.
"Just keep your cool, and with your natural driving talent it will be a piece of piss."
As expected, the low speed run went off with no problem. They drove over the route three times so that Tony could memorise the turns and get familiar with any potential hazards. Tony had to admit that the route was well planned. Any police following would have to be right on their bumper or they would constantly lose sight of the M3. With the performance of the BMW, that was unlikely to happen. Then the idea of pulling into a garage by the side of an unassuming house, with someone waiting to close the doors behind them was a master stroke, certain to lose any chasing car. Only a helicopter could keep track of them and there would be no time nor any real motivation for that to be organized. Tony had some experience of being chased by the police; he and a school mate had occasionally done some joy riding in their youth. He had never been caught and on balance did not rate the driving skill of the average plod. If there was anything in this enterprise that Tony felt confident about, it was his ability to out-drive the police... especially when he had a far faster car. However, driving a route at low speed was one thing, doing it for real, in the heat of the moment, was another thing entirely.
As it turned out it was not long before Tony's natural skill behind the wheel was finally put to the test. It was a Tuesday evening with dusk not far off, maybe half an hour before the rush hour started in earnest. Tony drove John and Jimmy up the high street and stopped outside the Southern National Bank. The weather was grey and cold but the roads were dry. The pedestri
an traffic passed gloomily by without giving the illegally parked car a second look.
"Just keep the motor idling, son. John and me 'ave a little errand to run." John was carrying a large leather bag and walked through the door to the bank behind Jimmy. They walked at a casual pace and chatted as if they were just everyday customers. You might have taken them for a bookmaker and his minder coming in to deposit the day's takings.
Tony could feel his body reacting to the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He twitched nervously and scanned his mirrors for signs of police cars. It looked fine; the traffic was still light; in half an hour it would be packed with commuters trying to get home. Through the rear-view mirror, in the distance he saw the ominous shape of a traffic warden; she had just written a ticket and was looking down the street to where the BMW sat in blatant contravention of the parking laws. The icy fingers of panic grabbed at Tony's heart, squeezing as if he was on the verge of a cardiac arrest. He put the car into gear and blipped the engine, felt the power rock the car.
Despite spending all her working day walking the streets, the warden was a little overweight, her progress, in a rolling gait, was at plodding speed but inexorable. Tony's eyes were fixed on her reflection in the rear view mirror. She checked her watch and then looking up seemed to notice for the first time the BMW straddling the double yellows. She walked closer, not fast but steady her destination irrevocable.
"Come on hurry up... Christ." Tony twitched nervously... It was no good he would have to take off and leave them to it; he would face the consequences later. He turned his head back for a closer look, the warden was even closer than he thought...
Suddenly his two passengers re-emerged from the bank, walking at a brisk pace now, very brisk. John threw the bag onto the front passenger's seat and the two men slid into the rear, quickly doing up the seat belts.
"Gun it Tony!"
He didn't need telling twice, Tony revved the engine and let the clutch drop. The BMW stalled. Tony was flustered for a moment, he turned the engine over and when it caught, he gave it too many revs in compensation and the car surged off in an acrid cloud of rubber smoke. The traffic warden already had her ticket pad out but had not quite got to the point of recording the car's number. She shrugged, her shift was almost over any way, and her feet were killing her.
Weaving through the high street traffic with the engine racing at the top of its power band, the car squirmed on its new tyres. The passengers were hurled back in their seats as the car accelerated down the carefully selected route. Turning the first tight corner Tony held the BMW in an opposite lock drift feathering the throttle, and then flooring it when the car was balanced again, he powered down the short straight letting the engine scream against the rev limiter before making each up-change; the tyres squealing in protest as the clutch bit. By the corner shop Tony set the car up into a sideways slither with the handbrake and exited down the next straight with the car at full power. They hit eighty miles an hour on the short straight before the left turn and then Tony slammed on the brakes, savagely hurling the passengers into their seat belts but slowing the car before the speed hump. The car bounced over and landed squarely, just needing a touch of correction on the wheel before zig-zaging through the S bends with the unloaded front wheel pawing the air as the rear tyres scrabbled for grip. As they crested the rise at the top of Bingley Lane the BMW was approaching ninety. All four wheels left the road momentarily and the car crashed heavily on its suspension as it landed. Tony checked his mirror; there was no one behind him and he allowed a fleeting smile to cross his face. He scrubbed off speed on the next corner and powered through the hard left which took them directly to the waiting garage. It was over almost as soon as it had started. Jimmy's plan had been to keep the getaway route as short as possible so that there was no time for any nonsense like road blocks to be set up before they were safely tucked away out of sight. The garage door was open and Tony skidded to a halt a shaved whisker from the hard concrete of the rear wall.
Kevin closed the doors behind them and then Darren drove an old camper-van that had been waiting in front of the house, down the drive in front of the garage doors. It was a piece of slight of hand that would have impressed any stage magician.
Inside the garage, Tony turned off the engine and it was suddenly and shockingly silent. All three men in the car suddenly realized that they had hardly taken a breath since the drive had begun and gasped in lungs full of air. John still managed to look unflustered but wary as he always did. Jimmy Costard looked unusually pale. He sat uncharacteristically silent for a long moment, mouth slightly ajar, not quite sure that his stomach had caught up with him yet or if it still lay somewhere by the speed hump.
"Fuck me." Jimmy finally said, as he let go of of his breath. His eyes were wide in astonishment, all other words temporarily lost to the ravages of adrenaline. Tony was just glad it was over. He had to admit that the drive had been exhilarating.
The two other men joined them in the garage, Darren giving a thumbs-up sign and Kevin punching the air. "Sweet as a fuckin' nut!" he called out "You should have seen the speed you were doin' down the road."
"Yeah... we was in the car in case you hadn't noticed Darren." Jimmy said, his face still white. He got out of the car and found his legs were surprisingly wobbly.
"Jesus H Christ!" he said, holding onto the car door for support. "That ran as smooth as clockwork in warm honey. I knew you could drive Tony, but that... bloody fantastic... I think I need to go and change my fucking underwear."
Kev and Darren laughed in appreciation and even the dispassionate John Mason appeared suitably impressed by how well the run had gone.
"Well lads if the real run goes as smooth as that, then the bullion job will be a piece of piss. Come on indoors and let's have a drink, I know I need one after that!"
Tony was knocked sideways.
"What do you mean? Bullion job, real run?"
"Tony mate, we had to test you out under pressure, we had a little wager going that you would bottle it, but my money was on you coming up trumps... and I was right." He pointed a finger at Darren.
"That's a tenner you owe me Darren." he said though a lopsided grin.
"Anyway Tony old son, you didn't think I'd be robbing the high street bank where I do my everyday business and everyone knows my face. Have some sense."
The men made their way into the house and bottles and glasses were soon produced. John chose not to drink and had orange juice. Although it was not Jimmy's style, he respected John's position and never pressed him to anything stronger. Tony had a couple of beers and as the others slowly sank under the weight of a half bottle of recently liberated single malt each. As the scotch drinkers became mellowed, Tony engaged John in conversation, his voice low so as not to be overheard:
"It's not my place to say John, but I can't really see how you got mixed up with a crowd like this." He nodded in the direction of the three comrades who were now laughing and joking about trivia that they would struggle to remember in the morning.
"My life's been a complicated story Tony. As Jimmy told you I was in the forces, learned a certain trade that has little legitimate use in civilian life and drifted away from my, mostly, honourable past to where you find me now. I worked overseas for a time, spent a couple of years with the Bartoili family who ran a few business activities in Corsica. Let me tell you Tony, that was an eye opening experience."
"Bartolis... weren't they in the papers a while back?"
"They pushed their luck a little too far but I was long gone by the time they started taking out the judiciary. Jimmy Costard is a pussy cat compared to those people."
"I'll have to take your word for that John, I've never thought of him as a pussy cat."
"No maybe not... you should have known François Bartoli... on second thought maybe not... even I felt a little vulnerable in their company. But I earned a lot of money for doing what others can't. My disreputable profession sometimes means that I have to associate with p
eople that... well, I may not have a lot in common with. I think maybe you find yourself in a similar position with Jimmy's gang... maybe for different reasons."
Tony nodded. Despite his lifestyle drifting beyond the bounds of the law, Tony still did not consider himself to be a real criminal. He had found himself in this deep hole primarily because of his cocaine problem. Tony felt however, that the similarity between himself and John Mason was superficial at most; he could see that John Mason was an altogether more formidable and darker person than he ever could be, or wanted to be. He rubbed his finger round the lip of his half empty glass and looked for a moment at the fine stream of bubbles forming in the golden liquid. He had another question which he was reluctant to pose but fortified by the larger did so anyway.
"Are you saying that... you're you know... some sort of a hit man?"
John smiled. It was the first time Tony had seen the man smile. Instead of softening his features it seemed to Tony's eye, to increase John's look of menace.
"I do contract work Tony, and I have no boundaries. Jimmy Costard has employed me because of my reputation, my ability to eliminate obstacles. That's something that he prefers to farm out to a specialist when he needs to. He heard of me though contacts that we have in common. Frankly when this job is over, I doubt I'll be seeing his team again; their organization is just too undisciplined and amateur for my liking."
"It went well today."
"Yes it did Tony... But you know the old story, if you give enough monkeys enough typewriters... eventually they'll strike it lucky."
Tony couldn't help the chuckle before he became more serious again. He took a deep pull from his glass of lager.
"So... Just asking... If someone wanted to take advantage of your particular skills, how much would they have to pay?" Tony's interest was partly academic, but not entirely.
"Why, are you thinking of putting out a contract on someone?"
"No... no way. I'm just curious."
"It depends on what they wanted, the greater the risk, the bigger the fee. But I don't come cheap."
Tony felt chilled by the conversation. Here was a man who seemed on the face of it a decent, thoughtful person but who apparently had the ability to turn off his moral scruples at will. He had no doubt that he was talking to the most dangerous man he had ever met.
Outside, the dusk was thickening and as Tony made his way home still buzzing from the getaway drive he was desperately disappointed that it had only been a trial run and the ordeal was still not over. There remained the actual hold up hanging over him, twisting at his stomach. He felt in more need than ever to get out from under Jimmy's grip.
Tony let himself in and found his mother waiting. She wanted to talk and he was understandably not in the mood.
"Hello darling, you look a little flustered, is everything all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine" He smiled innocently, with not the slightest desire to reveal what he had been doing.
"Tony... can we talk for a moment? I was out with Kenneth Granger, you know the vet, Emily's boss. I talked with him about Emily. I know he's not a doctor, but he does have a lot of medical knowledge... anyway, he managed to lift my mood a little. He told me not to rush to a decision about Emily; he thinks there may still be a chance for her."
This was not what Tony wanted to hear. Suzanne caught a fleeting shift in his expression as he made a half hearted attempt to escape to his own room. He wanted the money from the cottage and his need was getting more desperate by the day.
"That's not what the doctors and I have been saying." Tony was suddenly caught by anger born of the two soul destroying emotions: frustration and desperation.
"That damned Granger man should mind his own business; giving you false hope like this is just cruel. There is only one way this will end and if you're honest with yourself, you know it too. You just can't face up to the truth... by prolonging it you are only increasing everyone's suffering, including your own and Emily's. Let her go for God's sake, do what the doctors have been telling you."
Suzanne was shocked by the outburst; she had hoped Tony would come to see her point of view or at least show a little sympathy for the agony that she had been enduring over the past weeks. She tried to hold his eyes as she spoke but Tony let his gaze drift down to his feet.
"Tony, all the doctors are not in agreement, you know very well that opinion is divided on your sister's prognosis. Nothing in this life will last for ever, but that doesn't make their time with us any less precious. You may be right in the end but I am not ready to give up on your sister yet. I wouldn't switch your life support off any more easily if the situation were different."
Tony shrugged he had no real counter argument, no real desire to hurt his mother. But Tony's words, spoken with a bitterness that Suzanne could not understand, cut into her like a scalpel.
"What I see is that you'd rather listen to the advice of a complete stranger than to your own son."
He left the house again and pulled the door shut with a slam as if he were still an angry teenager. In many ways, emotionally, he still was but through his turmoil he had come to the conclusion that he could no longer wait for his mother to do what was necessary. He now realized that he would have to take matters into his own hands.
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