by J. A. Marley
The question took Danny by surprise, and before he could answer, Cardell continued.
“I think it might be the closest feeling of being a God that man can ever experience. The thing is, if you do kill, you had better make sure that it is in God’s name. Otherwise, he might have a problem with you. Everything we do should be in God’s name. Let’s cut to the chase, Mr Franklin, shall we? You are a thief. We want something… appropriated. You will be handsomely compensated, should you decide to help us.”
Danny took a second to answer, still feeling nonplussed by Cardell’s words. “If I don’t choose to help you, Mr Cardell, that would make me, somewhat, a loose end. I’m sure you don’t risk leaving many of those lying around.”
June interjected. “In the past, we may have trusted in a few individuals too easily and too quickly. This has caused us to accelerate our game plan. But we think you are a more professional risk.”
Danny was getting a clearer picture now. They had to make their play as they had sprung a leak somewhere. The cartel they were stealing from was on to them. High stakes. Danny’s stomach did a little flip.
“You do leave loose ends lying around, then. Why should I help?” Danny enjoyed pretending he knew less than he did.
“And why shouldn’t you help us, Mr Franklin? Do you believe in Jesus? Did you gain any insights from this morning?”
Danny sighed. He felt like he had been explaining his relationship to God a lot lately. “Here’s the deal. I won’t talk to you about your God, and you don’t need to ask me about my feelings on the subject. You wouldn’t ask a car mechanic if he believed in UFOs now, would you?”
“The question still stands. This will be a relationship that, whilst professional, will require a large degree of trust, Mr Franklin. If we cannot gauge the mettle of your character, how can we be expected to place our faith in you?”
June’s eyes went wide. Danny could see that she had assumed this might be a little more straightforward.
“Do you like the cinema, Mr Cardell?”
Vincent and June both looked puzzled.
“There’s a great film called Angel Heart. In it, Mickey Rourke plays a private detective who takes on a missing persons case for Robert De Niro. De Niro’s character is called Louis Cypher. Ring any bells?”
Vincent opened his mouth to reply, but Danny didn’t let him.
“In one scene, he meets with Mickey. De Niro’s peeling, in a very deliberate manner, a boiled egg. Once peeled, he sprinkles the egg with some salt and says, ‘You know, some religions think that the egg is a symbol for the soul. Did you know that?’ And then, he takes a huge bite out of it, pure malevolence in his eyes.”
“This is all very well—”
Danny cut him off again. “As far as I’m concerned, you, and all your kind, are exactly like that. You’re all actors pretending to understand religion, God and souls. You are showmen, no better than actors playing a role. If God turned up here, right now, you’d just about shit your pants. Never ask me again about God, faith, religion or eternal damnation. As for being trusted? If I decide to collaborate with you, I will bear more risk than you ever will. I will have way more skin in the game. That should be your guarantee. Not whether I fall to my knees, join hands and sing alleluia.”
Silence descended on the interior of the car, tension sitting in the air. It was June who finally broke it.
“Whether you believe in God, fate or the collective consciousness, I know that you find yourself in front of people at certain times in your life, and their presence is no accident. You are that type of person, Danny. And we are the same for you. This is an opportunity for us all to benefit. You have a sterling reputation for this kind of work. My husband does not trust easily. He relies on meditation, prayer and divine guidance. But on this occasion, I’m going to ask him to trust me. Rely on me. I will vouch for you, Danny. And Vincent, if that’s not good enough for you, I don’t know why we’re married.”
The irony was supreme. Danny almost guffawed at what she had just said, but he recognised the play to be the right one. And Vincent didn’t disappoint.
“Very well. At least I have had the chance to look you in the eye, Mr Franklin. If June speaks for you, so be it. But remember one thing. I may be a man of God, but I am not to be underestimated. I have a greater plan… Nothing will stop me from achieving it.”
Danny wondered if that warning was as much for June as it was for him. “Okay, Mr Cardell. Tell me. What is it you want me to steal?”
22
How’ya?
The weather played ball. It was tricky enough piloting a boat in the dark of the night without having to contend with a swell or high winds. Danny thanked his lucky stars that the elements had decided to have a quiet night.
He’d reached the agreed co-ordinates with plenty of time to spare, and was now enjoying the bump of a gentle swell, having weighed anchor. He blew on the tea that he had poured for himself from a small flask. It wasn’t exactly cold out here on the Gulf of Mexico, but it was chilly enough to find comfort in the brew. And anyway, old habits die hard. He had always enjoyed the ritual of tea at certain times. It was why he liked smoking the odd cigar. The need to light it properly, turning the stogie in the match flame and timing your puff so that you gave it enough oxygen to light but not so much that you inhaled. He learned never to tap the ash end of a cigar into an ashtray, instead he left it to fall off as it burned naturally. Convention considered it vulgar to flick cigar ash.
The same with tea. He relished using loose leaf, pre-warming the pot and giving it time to infuse. Decanting it into the flask was not part of the normal process, but now, he was completing his own little tea ceremony, blowing on the brew, making sure that when he added a dash of milk he achieved the colour of the drink exactly the way he liked it. This wasn’t easy in the gloom of his boat at night, especially as he was moored in the middle of nowhere with all his lights extinguished so as to avoid attracting any unwanted attention.
As he drank his tea, Danny reflected that he considered pulling a job to be a ritual, too. It followed a pattern. The search for an opportunity. The planning, scouting the location, making meticulous notes, both mental and physical ones, being careful never to store them any place they might get found, no laptops, tablets or mobile phones for him… way too easy to trace and give you away. Following the planning with days of observation. Watching the patterns around a job. If there were security personnel, what was their routine? Their foibles? How often did the older guard need to pee? How distracted was a younger guard by their mobile phone or reception computer? Were there members of the public around and, if so, at what time of day? All of this type of information helped Danny to plan a job in his mind like a ritual. To build a picture so complete that he could readily begin to predict scenarios and how they might play out once his plans intervened. He could spot the patterns of human behaviour and predict changes and reactions in them with almost eerie accuracy. It was what made him an excellent thief. And he enjoyed the ritual of it all. Just like making tea or enjoying a fine Cuban Robusto.
And the most satisfying thing about these rituals? When they came together to form a plan that would go off without a hitch. That night was no different. When he had contacted his lawyer to set the wheels in motion, he had hoped that the help he was asking for would turn out to be available. Danny had been amazed at how quickly it had all come together. The last bit of that cry for help would be completed out here on the Gulf.
After an hour of waiting, Danny saw a single, solitary light in the distance. He was calm, but expectant, as he watched it grow a little larger, finally switching on his own single spot when he judged the time was right. In an almost old-fashioned gesture, he blinked his spot not once but three times. The oncoming light did the same.
Soon, a small fishing craft havered into view. A short man, dressed as though he were on board an ice-breaker instead of a boat on the Gulf of Mexico, stood at the prow. This made Danny chuckle as it reminded hi
m of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet in Titanic. He was even wearing a bobble hat and gloves.
The fishing boat pulled alongside. Danny used a boathook to steady the connection while the other pilot tied the two vessels together. Danny handed him an envelope that contained a sizeable wedge of cash. It was only then that the pilot stood aside to allow the heavily swaddled man to step awkwardly from the fishing boat onto Danny’s craft.
“Fuck me. Is that you?”
“Hmmph, fecking hmmph,” came the muffled reply.
“You know we’re on the Gulf of Mexico, right? Not the Arctic Circle. No Northern Lights round here, mate.” Danny was laughing.
The short man unwound the scarf that was wrapped high around his face and neck, slowly but surely revealing a truly electric shock of ginger beard. Danny was laughing, thinking it was the bushiest face fuzz he had ever laid eyes on.
“Jaysus… it’s not fecking natural… if we were meant to be out here over deep water, God would have given us fecking flippers. I was fecking freezin’. I felt like your man… Col Abram?”
Danny was howling. “What, you mean the eighties pop star who sang ‘Trapped’?”
“What the feckin’ Jaysus are you bletherin’ about? No, no, no, the boy who hunted the big fuckin’ whale.”
Tears were pouring down Danny’s face. “You mean Captain Ahab? Moby Dick?’
“I don’t care what size his dick was… I don’t like it… boats… floating… I’ve no webbed feet, ya know…”
“Ciaran, it’s a delight to have you back in my life…” He wrapped the Irishman in a bear hug. The pair of them thumped each other’s backs, genuine affection was obvious in their reunion.
“How’ya, Danny… is it yourself?”
“It is, Ciaran, I’m chuffed to bits that you decided to come. Welcome to Florida.”
“Ah now. Stop it. Don’t be getting ahead of yourself. I only came because I want to go to Disney World. I’ve always wanted to meet thon’ yoke Mickey.”
And they laughed heartily.
Danny wasn’t joking when he had said he was chuffed at Ciaran’s presence. They had a bond that had been strong for years, and the events surrounding the robbery and mayhem in London had only served to cement and deepen it for both men. Danny couldn’t think of a better right-hand man than Ciaran. And with his help, Danny could start to feel more optimistic about his chances of solving his Harkness problem and surviving to tell the tale. If Ciaran was still willing to be involved once Danny had laid it out for him.
It had been a bit of a long shot contacting Ciaran. After London, all Danny knew was that he had returned to the west of Ireland to keep his head low and enjoy the spoils of the robbery. He only had Ciaran’s mother’s address as a point of contact. He’d instructed his lawyer to FedEx a note to her from Danny himself and to include a plane ticket from Ireland to the Dominican Republic and, from there, a boat, to make the relatively short hop north to the Florida Keys. All the note had said was:
Ciaran,
Paradise has been lost. Unwanted company. Need your help. Use the ticket. You’ll be met and transported the rest of the way. May the road rise to meet you…
Danny.
The last line had been their agreed code. If they wanted to contact each other, they had to include the line from the ancient Irish blessing. That way, they would know the message was genuine. And even with such scant context, Ciaran had still come. The old double act was back together.
“Now, so, who has found ye, Danny? Someone I could guess?”
“Have a go…”
“Yer man, Harkness… he’ll be like a dog with a bone… can’t be botherin’ to let go.”
“Correct. Took him eighteen months, mind you.”
“I’m sure some of those were spent at her Majesty’s pleasure.”
“It seems the connections from his murky past managed to shrink that time to an almost insignificant period.”
“How’d ya think he found ya?”
“There can only have been one way. He followed the loot. I was having Barry Blount send the money in drips for about six months.”
“Wha? Yer man, the reality TV boy… he’s dead.”
Danny looked at his friend, a grim expression on his face. Had his actions added to an already long death toll surrounding the London job?
“Before she commissioned the robbery, Dexy had asked me to do a little number on Blount for a separate client of hers. I had him scared shitless. When I revisited him after we pulled Dexy’s job, I knew he would do anything I asked of him.”
“He died a few months back. All over the papers. They said it was an accidental drug overdose.”
But Danny knew better. Barry must have given up the address that he’d been sending the money to, a rented post box here in the Keys. From there, it wouldn’t have been that hard for Harkness to find his way to Danny’s door.
“Right, so, when are we going to kill him? I’ll enjoy doing that fecker. Especially after the way he played our boy Enda and his explosives.”
“Harkness may have manipulated him, but Enda still planted them, despite us asking him only to throw London into chaos, not blow it to bits.”
“Aye, right enough, but Harkness knew the buttons to push. He knew that Enda was still mad Irish Republican. ‘A nation once again’ and all dat. Feckin’ nuts about it, he was. But, sure, he got his comeuppance. I saw to that.”
They had both realised that Enda had to be disposed of in London. The amount of death and destruction he caused would have made him Britain’s “most wanted”. He had to be dealt with to protect the others. Danny had been willing to do it, but Ciaran felt it was his job, especially as he’d brought him into the robbery in the first place.
“So, if Harkness has found ye, why are you still walking round, breathin’ like?”
“Oh, he doesn’t want to kill me… yet. He’s wants me to pull a job.”
‘Ah, Jaysus, Danny… you must be fuckin’ kidding me.”
“I know… crazy, right? But he didn’t reveal his presence until after the people with the gig had contacted me.”
“But ye knew it was him, still?”
“Let’s say, he left a trail of breadcrumbs, and I followed them.”
“Wha’s the job?”
“Okay, stick with me on this. We’re going to rob a church.”
Ciaran’s eyes widened. “I know we’re going to burn in hell, Danny, but wha’? You tryin’ to make feckin’ doubly sure?”
Danny laughed gently. “The church is a bit of a big deal. The married couple who run it are evangelical celebrities. Every year, they hold this big mission in Miami. Thousands, and I mean thousands, show up and pray with them, get healed, whatever the fuck they do at these things, and…”
“They make donations… cash donations. The oul plate going round.”
“Yes, as old-fashioned as that sounds, that is exactly what they do. In their world, they call it tithing. You don’t buy tickets to these events, but you are expected to pay tribute once you’ve felt God’s holy light rustling around inside your wallet.”
In the distance, the lights of Key West twinkled gently on the horizon. They would soon be making land.
“And we’re going to steal from them? I don’t know, Danny… I still like the odd priest… My ma would kill me just for having this talk!”
“No, they want us to rob them.”
“Jaysus, the night and day! What now? They’re in on it?”
“Yes… kind of… It’s complicated.”
“I only arrived a half hour ago and my head’s already thumping.”
“The money they make at these services is mostly cash. One of the couple, Vincent Cardell is his name, harbours political ambitions to go with his religious fervour. In order to realise those, he needs a shitload of money. So, he has a bright idea. He decides that he can help a Mexican drug cartel launder their dirty money by swelling his donation coffers with it. They load their cash in, the Cardells process it th
rough their charitable foundations and, slowly but surely, through bogus initiatives, the money is cleaned up and trickled back to the cartel.”
“The sweet Lord Jaysus moves in mysterious ways here in Florida…”
“That’s not the whole story.”
“There’s more? Holy bejeesus.”
“In his wisdom, Vincent has been skimming off the top from the cartel money.”
“When’s the next flight to Ireland?”
“Oh, I’m still not done. Vincent’s wife, June Cardell, who happens to be English, suspects that the cartel suspects… and she wants me to rob the money and give it all to her, not to her husband. She was the one who knew Harkness, and he pointed her in my direction. Oh, and I’ve banged her too…”
Incredulity was painted all over Ciaran’s face.
“Jaysus Christ on a bicycle! If I’d known church was as good as that these days, I would still be goin’. You’re some boy, Danny Felix. And you, like a madman, are going to play ball with dis lot?”
“I have no choice. Harkness fingered me for the job. They revealed their hand to me. I’m a loose end now. If I passed, they’d have to deal with me, and Harkness would try too. But being involved gives me a shot at Harkness. It’s like you said. He’ll be like a dog with a bone until he kills me. It is hunt or be hunted now, plus, and I hate to admit this, but I’ve been feeling a little bored. I’m missing the kick.”
Ciaran nodded, as if Danny’s logic made sense to him.
“Now that you know all the complexities, do you still want to get that next plane back to Ireland?”
“No. Ye’ve promised I could meet Mickey Mouse. I’ll wait and do that. If ye need my help with your other crazy shit in the meantime, I suppose I’ll muck in.”
He grinned, his smile penetrating the thick ginger beard he had grown since Danny had last seen him. In that moment, Danny knew they were definitely back in business.
“Ye know me, Danny. I’d probably follow ye to the ends of the earth and beyond. You’ll do for me. Oh, but one other ting?”
