by J. A. Marley
“Hold it, mate!!”
Ciaran applied the brakes.
“Left hand down, Irish, then come forward a smidge.”
“What the feck is a smidge?” He shifted forward a little.
“Now right hand down, all the way. Then back.”
Ciaran did, and this time the prongs of the forklift were clear.
But it was a delay too far.
They both heard it at the same time. A car. A cop car.
The cop driving pulsed his siren to let them know he was there. Danny emerged from the back of the trailer. Ciaran stayed put. He hoped the lifting mechanism of the forklift was at the correct angle and obscuring the money from the policeman’s line of sight.
The cop spoke to them through his car loud hailer system. “Gentlemen, let me see your hands please.”
They both complied, slowly.
“Okay, now are you loading or unloading?”
Danny affected his best American accent. “Loading empty canisters, officer, lotta people drank a lotta soda tonight.”
“Did you guys see anything strange back here, tonight? See any unusual activity?”
“No, sir. We’ve been loading for at least thirty minutes.” Danny had no idea how long it usually took to load empty Coke containers, but he was trying to cover them off from their timeline. You never knew if someone in security had seen something they didn’t like from a camera they had missed.
“It got pretty wild inside, guys… women and men shedding their clothes. We think some kind of protest.”
Danny responded with a shrug.
“Okay, thanks anyway. If you see anyone suspicious, call it in, boys.”
And the car pulled slowly away. Ciaran took a very large breath and when Danny looked round, he realised that his friend’s hand had already been resting on the butt of the Sigma pistol.
“Close one. Let’s get finished.”
Danny jumped back up into the trailer while Ciaran returned the forklift to its parking position. He was careful to repair the wires he had earlier pulled so he could start the engine.
In the trailer, Danny covered the money pallet with the empty canisters and vats. He pushed the full ones, of which there weren’t many, to the back of the trailer. Once he was satisfied, he then set about re-securing the curtain siding of the tautliner, making it as smooth as possible.
When the job was done, Danny looked at his watch. From the moment the Prince song had started up, the job had taken a touch under forty-five minutes.
“We’ve been lucky, Irish. There were gaps here.”
“Isn’t it done? Give over, there’s always them tings, whatycallem? Intangibles…”
“You know me, I don’t like intangibles… Let’s get out of here.”
But as they turned to go…their cop friend was back. But this time at speed.
Again, from the loud hailer. “Gentlemen. Stop! I need you to put your hands above your heads and turn around. Once you’ve done that, kneel.”
Danny responded. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”
“Just do as I ask. We are getting reports of a violent crime. Now on your knees, guys.”
They were both puzzled. Had the counting room staff been discovered already?
A taser shock wouldn’t be enough to provoke this level of reaction from a cop, surely?
“We better do it. As he gets close, I can taser him, I think,” Danny whispered.
Ciaran shook his head ever so slightly. “No, mate. He’s seen us. He knows we were at the trailer.”
“No, Ciaran…”
“Danny, my soul’s black already…”
“Ciaran…”
But he had to shut up then, because the cop was creeping towards them, his gun drawn and pointed, a flashlight along with it.
“Okay, gentlemen. Just stay still and let me come round in front of you. Easy does it.”
“What’s going on, officer?” They could hear more sirens now. Danny’s instinct kicked in. He knew something big had happened. Something other than what he and his friend had been engaged in. And he knew. It could only be one thing.
Harkness.
The cop’s radio chirped on his belt. “Ambulance en route. Multiple casualties.”
He was in front of the two of them now.
“Okay, you on my left. I want you to slowly reach down and throw that bag to my feet. Slowly, mind.”
Ciaran started to bend. Danny could feel his heart beginning to race. His breath was laboured. Not now… for fuck’s sake not now… But he knew. He knew it didn’t matter how hard he wished it. He could feel the panic coming. He could feel the stress rising in his own chest. He heard it in his ears, and his arms, tucked on top of his head, started to shake. And then the tears. And suddenly he was gasping. Gasping for air… trying gulp in lungfuls of it, but nothing would come.
The cop looked confused then suddenly became alarmed. “Sir? Sir? Are you all right, sir? Please, can you stay still?”
“He has panic attacks, officer.”
“What?”
“Panic attacks. Severe anxiety attacks. They stop him breathing.”
The cop was both confused by Ciaran’s accent and by what was happening to Danny.
“If you would let me, officer. I have his inhaler. In me bag.”
“What? Oh, inhaler?”
“Sir, he’ll choke, if I don’t…”
“Okay, toss the bag to me. I’ll get the inhaler.”
Ciaran did as he was told, gripping just inside the bag. He had to get this right. There would be only one chance. He tossed the bag, but as he did so, he held onto the Sigma. The cop missed it, he was focusing on the trajectory of the bag itself. He registered the gun too late.
‘Jaysus, I’m awful sorry.” And Ciaran meant it, as he shot the cop square between the eyes.
First, he bundled the cop’s body into the back of his cruiser. Then, he went back to Danny. He was sitting in the middle of the road, staring dumbly into space, drying the tears that were streaked down his face.
“C’mon, Danny. We have to get out of here. We’re not taking the bikes, we’ll use the cop car. C’mon, up.”
Slowly, Danny stood. They had a change of clothing and two bicycles stashed nearby. They had reasoned that the convention centre would be evacuated, and they intended to calmly cycle away amongst the fading crowds, trying their best to look like disappointed attendees.
But that was all shot to fuck now. The cop car was the right call. It would transport them far enough away at pace. Reach their actual vehicles, the jeep and the Harley, where they originally were going to cycle to and then split up. They could rendezvous much later on.
As they drove away, Ciaran was fiddling, trying to identify the switch that would activate the siren should they need to really move at speed.
Danny was inconsolable. “I fucked up, Ciaran. I fucked right up.”
“Ye could never have anticipated that cop coming by and then coming back. We thought we’d dealt wit’ him.”
“No, no, no, no. It was Harkness. Harkness has done something. I gave him too much leash. We should have killed him the other night. He’s done something that brought more cops than was needed.”
“Like I said… it’s on me. My soul’s black as tar anyway.”
“No, Ciaran. It’s on him. This time. This time… he dies.”
Danny wiped the snot away from the end of his nose. He tried to clear his vision and started to think. He started to plan how he could execute what he should have done all those months earlier in London.
37
Judgement Day
Ciaran couldn’t believe the United States. You could buy almost everything across the counter. For a start, the Viperteks. They had a kick like a mule and could put a target down for at least ten minutes. Amazing. And what had they cost? Under thirty dollars. Seriously?
And when it came to discussing plans, it had come as no surprise to the Irishman that when he asked for a night-scope and a snip
er’s rifle, Danny had just shrugged and said okay. They’d then driven to a gun store, Danny had flashed a fake ID, and twenty minutes later – most of which Ciaran had spent like a kid in a sweetshop, having trouble making up his mind – they left with a Barrett M82 that could do amazing things from up to two thousand yards away. For a rifle that had been first manufactured in the 1980s, Ciaran was impressed.
Lying here on the roof of an abandoned house in the Florida Keys, waiting for the players to show up, he had to admit he was feeling a little nostalgic. He had trained with the IRA’s top sniper, a woman who turned the borderlands of Crossmaglen into her very own hunting ground. She was a legend amongst the paramilitaries on all sides, able to hit a target from a mile away without so much as missing a heartbeat.
He’d spent a week with her, both of them freezing their backsides off, picking off rabbits from thousands of yards away for sport. Only once was he given the opportunity to spot on a live target. Ciaran had been her watchman that day, keeping an eye on the target’s surroundings whilst she concentrated on assassinating a prison officer who had been known to sexually abuse those under his watch. The hit had been commissioned by both the IRA and the Loyalist UVF, such was the hatred for the man in her crosshairs. She had gladly done the job, and Ciaran had happily assisted. The pause between the report of her shot and the man’s head exploding was a testament to the distance and her skill. As soon as Ciaran had confirmed the kill to her, she popped some chewing gum in her mouth and told him she had to rush home. “The wee’ans will be wanting their tea.”
And that evening? Ciaran knew he would have the same cold expertise. To his mind, with the exception of Danny, any of the people he swept his sights over that night were worth a bullet. All he needed was a calm evening, a little luck and a direct line of sight. He could show them God’s retribution, teach them the meaning of biblical justice.
Lying on a rooftop in Florida was a lot warmer than a barn in County Tyrone. He bent his head, fitting his eye to the scope, slowly sweeping the area where they were due to meet. Some were expecting to divide up money. They were in for a shock.
He steadied the crosshairs on the back of the head of one of the bodyguards who had been there for at least fifteen minutes. He was sure they worked for the Mexican lady. Drug dealers. For feck’s sake. They had nothing but machismo to them. No training, no discipline. There were four of them and each of them had smoked at least two cigarettes since arriving, swaggering about the place with their TEC-9 machine pistols. They might as well have hung a sign over the heads saying, “Shoot here!”
He expected there to be at least another two when the Mexican lady showed up, but once he started shooting, he expected chaos to give him a helping hand. He had enough height to see over most things, and if the worst came to the worst he had distance, time and patience on his side. Danny knew the play; they had worked it out together. Between the two of them, they would rain down holy judgement as sure as the big man with the white beard would on the last day.
The only tricky one would be Harkness. Ciaran knew what he was about. Feckin’ bastard. But then, Danny wanted that pleasure. And who was Ciaran to deny him it? At the very least, he made for excellent backup should his friend run into trouble with the hateful ex-copper.
He continued to observe the scene through his scope, sweeping back and forth, left to right, watching to see what other vehicles arrived. He didn’t have to wait long. A big black car, an Escalade, bounced slowly across the waste ground they’d chosen for the rendezvous. The patch of land had been purchased by a developer who had been planning a luxury hotel until his wife caught him in bed with the office help… two of them. The divorce was still not through, but it was clear to all parties that the man wouldn’t be spending investment cash on a luxury anything any time soon. The house he was lying on was part of the purchase and due to be demolished to make way for a spa. It was set off to one side from where the main hotel would be.
Harkness emerged from the driver’s side, another bodyguard from the passenger seat. He opened the rear doors, and out came June Cardell and her ‘holy Joe’ husband. With each new face in his scope, Ciaran made a soft bang noise with his mouth.
“Welcome to the feckin’ party, ye eejits.” But then, “Uh oh, now who’s dis?”
The guard had brought a third person out of the Escalade, but this one came from the boot of the car and was slung over his shoulder. The person was smaller, and they had a black bag over their head, hands secured behind their back somehow, feet bound together, too. Ciaran zeroed in. It was a woman.
“Aw feck… That’ll be your copper, Danny.”
At that, another vehicle arrived, this time it was a Mercedes SUV.
“Now here comes La Mexicana… nice car, love.”
He swept the scope over Ines Zedillo’s face. “Bang…” There was also another bodyguard with her. He passed her a huge handbag once she was out of the car.
And then, last, but by no means least, he spotted Danny. He was on foot, a gun in his right hand, walking into the meet like the sheriff from High Noon. Gary Cooper walking to meet his fate. Ciaran watched him through the scope, marvelling at how calm he looked, especially given his new habit of breaking down in tears at exactly the wrong moment.
Ciaran counted up in his head. Four bodyguards over there, one with Harkness, another with the lady, the two Cardells, and Harkness. Nine targets, plus Danny and his lady cop. Everyone had showed up. He glanced to his left. Three speed-loading magazines with ten bullets in each sat on the roof next to him. More than enough.
“Okay, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen… I do believe it is fecking showtime…”
They were all gathered in a circle, the space illuminated by the headlights of the various parked cars. Danny was trying to regulate his breathing, especially after seeing Amparo. He knew it was her, despite the black bag over her head. She needed him to be buddha level calm and he intended to oblige.
“Where’s your little ginger leprechaun, Danny boy?”
Harkness… as always, the first to speak, enjoying his own fucking voice, Danny thought.
“He’s in the wind. He’s got his cut, he knows when it’s time to piss off out of it. What did you do, Harkness? Why did the cops come screaming in to the convention centre so quickly?”
“My orders were to secure Vincent and June. Ms Zedillo asked me nicely. Sadly, some security dicks and a preacher got in the way.” He made a gun with thumb and forefinger, pulled the imaginary trigger a few times.
Ines spoke up next. “Enough! I’m impressed, Señor Felix. You managed to blindside us all. No hit on the armoured van. You took the harder route, no? Inside the centre itself. Muy dificil. But where is my money?”
“We’ll get to that in time.”
Despite hearing and reacting to his voice, Amparo had said nothing so far. Danny realised her mouth was probably taped shut under the bag.
“No time like the present, Danny boy.”
“What’s going on here? What is all this about, what money?” Vincent was trying to act the innocent in front of Ines.
“Shut the fuck up, Cardell. Your race is run. Señora Zedillo, how many of these losers came to see you, to talk about this so-called robbery?”
She looked at Danny and shrugged. There was no need to play games anymore, they were all here now. “You did, Señor, as did Harkness…”
“In matters like these, a good copper’s instinct tells you to manage upwards. I felt I had to cut you in, Ines. As I promised. You have the Cardells, you have my thief. If only he would tell us where the money is.”
Before Danny could respond, Ines crossed the space between her and Harkness, with June and Vincent next to him. “Yes, you did promise me all of that, Harkness. So did Danny. But there was another who came to see me.”
Before she said it, Danny did. “June. June came to see you, too, didn’t she?”
“Clever. Your thief is a clever one, Harkness. And yes… June did come to see me. And yes
… we struck a deal. Didn’t we, June?”
Ines fished around inside her huge handbag and produced a large handgun from it. She handed it to June, who took it readily.
“Yes, Ines, we did make a deal.” June checked the safety on the side of the pistol.
Danny, Harkness and even Ciaran, watching from afar, realised what was about to happen all at the same time.
June Cardell raised the gun and shot Vincent. Right in the crotch.
He screamed and crumpled to the ground. His hands tried to cover the gaping wound that she had just inflicted on him. June stood over him and very deliberately spat on him.
“How’s that feel, Vincent? How’s that pain? I thought you liked a bit of pain? Is this not turning you on? Can’t you stop screaming, Vincent? Jesus didn’t scream, did he? He didn’t scream when they nailed him to his cross. Where’s your Jesus now? Where is he, now?”
Harkness had backed away a little. Danny had spotted it. He thought he knew what might be coming next. Harkness was reaching under his jacket.
Danny chose to speak up. “June?”
She stopped haranguing her soon to be ex-husband and turned, first to look at Danny who nodded in Harkness’s direction. She instantly understood.
Harkness had his gun only part way out of the holster he kept at the small of his back when June shot him. She was once again aiming for the crotch, only this time, she was a little high and the bullet took him right in the gut.
That’ll still work, was all Danny could think.
Harkness went down, dropping his gun in the process, his face twisted in pain.
“And now. It’s your turn, Harkness. You thought you could rape me? Thought I was a little woman, just playing at messing with the big boys? Isn’t that what you said? The big boys? All you fuckers… you can all be cut down to size. And I just did it. And I’m not finished.”
She walked back over to where Vincent was still curled up in agony.
“Vincent. Vincent… look at me.” Her voice raised to a shout. “Look at me!”
He swivelled his head. His eyes were full of tears, cold sweat across his brow, his skin the colour of concrete as the blood flowed out of him.
