Dividing Line

by Heather Atkinson

  “How long now?” repeats Jake.

  “About thirty seconds less since the last time you asked me. For Christ's sake will you relax?”

  “Sorry Terry.”

  Jake taps his foot again and to Terry’s disgust he’s sweating.

  “Are you up to this?” scowls Terry.

  “Yeah, yeah, course I am.”

  His eyes are wide and he continually runs his hand through his hair.

  “Will you please keep still,” hisses Terry.

  He is a heartbeat away from knocking Jake out when the light comes on in one of the rear windows of the house. That’s their cue. It means all four guards are together in the kitchen.

  Terry feels the familiar rush of adrenaline he always experiences before a job, the sense that he’s invincible. “Let's go,” he grins.

  The door to the warehouse is opened by Frankie McVay hurling Lord Davenport through it. He is followed by Danny and two of the Sugar brothers.

  “I like it,” says Frankie approvingly. “It's clever. Even if the polis did get a search warrant the lazy bastards couldn't be arsed going through this lot.”

  “Which container are they going to use this time?” says Danny.

  “Number two three three,” stammers Davenport, struggling to get to his feet.

  His face is battered and bruised from Frankie's ministrations. Danny had to use all of his persuasive powers to prevent Frankie from killing Davenport in his own home, after all they need the information he has. Luckily Frankie's business acumen came to the fore, the thought of a good profit overriding his burning desire for vengeance.

  They start scanning the containers.

  “Over here,” calls one of the Sugars.

  They all gather round the container and watch as Frankie opens it. It’s empty.

  “Inside,” he orders Davenport.

  Davenport is horrified by the prospect. “I can't, please, I'm claustrophobic.”

  “Inside or I'll rip your fucking tongue out. Your choice.”

  “I'll go inside.”

  Frankie shoves him in, closes the door and locks it. The sound of Davenport softly weeping inside is audible.

  Frankie bangs on the metal hard. “Shut up you fucking girl.”

  Davenport goes instantly quiet.

  Danny looks at his watch, it’s five o'clock. The robbery will be in progress by now.

  Terry picks the lock on the back door with great speed and precision. There is the satisfying click of the lock and with his shotgun at the ready he slowly pushes the door open. The hall leads straight down to the kitchen, the open door casting light into the hallway, the blare of a television audible. Cautiously Terry makes his way towards it, followed by Jake and the Devlins.

  Terry peers into the room, unnoticed by the four guards who are chatting and making their dinner. He nods at the others and with his heart thudding in his chest he leaps into the kitchen, shotgun at the ready.

  “Get down, get the fuck down,” they all yell as loud as they can.

  The guards are so shocked they just stand gaping at them for a moment. Then they hurl themselves to the floor, hands over their heads.

  The guards are gagged and bound and Terry can't believe how easy it is, not one of them puts up any kind of resistance. Pathetic.

  While the Devlins watch the guards, Terry and Jake commence the task of gathering the goods together. They don't need to search, Davenport has already done a reccy and garnered where the most valuable objects are. Terry never gets greedy on jobs like this. With all the attention the robberies are getting it’s important for them to be in and out as quickly as possible. They take the most valuable items rather than cram as much as possible into the vans. When you get greedy you get caught, as Frank was so fond of reminding him.

  It doesn't take them long and soon the Range Rovers are groaning beneath the weight of the stolen goods. Terry is pleased. He knows these valuables add up to a round twenty five million and a personal best for him.

  Before they leave they knock the guards out and leave them trussed up on the floor. It will be a while before they are able to alert anyone. By that time they’ll be long gone.

  They clamber back into the vehicles and speed towards the woods where they rendezvous with the sprinter van. Everything is hastily transferred.

  “Jake, you go back to the warehouse. I've some business to attend to,” Terry tells him.

  “Okay,” replies Jake, puffing up with his own importance, proud at being left in charge. But it is no compliment to Jake, a trained monkey could have done it. Terry has no worries about his men nicking the stuff. Only he has the details of the buyers, discreet collectors who will keep the items safely away from prying eyes. Anyway, by tomorrow the stolen objects will be all over the news so they will be too hot to touch.

  “You two, with me,” Terry orders Marcus and Ron Devlin. “We'll take the Range Rovers. We can dump them on the way.”

  Terry is breathing hard; he can't wait for what he is about to do.

  Rachel and Mikey look in every pub and club they can think of but there is no sign of Alex. Battler and Bruiser have no luck either, it seems he's dropped off the face of the earth and they all worry for his safety. She asks the brothers to keep an eye on Martina and Beth while she and Mikey head back to the club. Rachel's heart is in her mouth, the robbery should be over by now. She keeps glancing at her watch and Mikey watches her with a frown. He has no idea what’s wrong with Rachel but her agitation is beginning to worry him.

  “Why do you keep looking at your watch Rach?”

  She gives him her best reassuring smile. “No reason.”

  “Do you think I'm an idiot? Terry's lost the plot, Alex has disappeared and now you're as jumpy as a nun in a brothel. Tell me Rach, please, what’s going on?”

  Rachel stares at the steering wheel of her car, attempting to come up with a lie, then decides to tell him the truth. He deserves no less.

  “Okay, if you really want to know,” she sighs, leaning her head back against the headrest. “But you won’t like it.”

  When she’s finished explaining his green eyes are filled with utter astonishment and anger. “Why the fuck didn't you tell me?”

  “Simply because the fewer people who knew the more chance it had of working.”

  “You couldn't trust me to keep my mouth shut?”

  “Of course I could trust you but it's dangerous knowledge and I didn't want you involved. Terry's a frigging lunatic and I didn't want to put you in danger.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “I know you can but I didn't want you to have to. I wanted to protect you.”

  He knows she is speaking from the heart, she has always tried to protect him. His anger is replaced by pity for what she has had to go through.

  “All this time you had to make out you and Danny were finished and you weren’t…” His words trail off in wonder at it all. He hadn't a bloody clue.

  “I'm telling you this Mikey for one reason and that is because I trust you absolutely. In fact, other than Danny you are the only person I trust in the world right now.”

  Her words mean a lot to him

  Jake flings open the garage door leading into the warehouse and directs the van in. He is smiling, still pumping with adrenaline. The van stops by container two three three.

  “Alright, hold it there,” he orders the driver.

  The van's engine is killed, silence pervading the warehouse. Jake opens the container and cries out in surprise when Davenport comes stumbling towards him.

  “Let me out,” cries Davenport, shoving Jake aside.

  “What were you doing in there?”

  Davenport can barely speak, he's too busy taking in great lungfuls of air. “It's...it's…,” he pants.

  Jake draws his gun just as Danny, Frankie and the two Sugars emerge from behind the container like something out of a horror film. But rather than fight, Jake hurls himself behind the van just in time. Frankie shoots the driver of the va
n in the head and the other two men caught opening the van doors have no choice but to fire back. Danny ducks behind a container and takes aim, hitting one in the chest. As the shootout commences Jake runs into a line of containers.

  “Jake,” roars Danny and makes chase, pumping bullets after him. However all his shots miss and Jake disappears into the maze of containers.

  Finally the shootout ends as one of the Sugars kills the last heavy. Frankie throws open the van doors and gasps at the objects inside.

  “Fuck me it's the Antiques Roadshow.” Davenport had given up the buyers Terry had lined up and they’re going to sell the stuff to them instead and make a nice tidy profit in the process.

  “Jake got away,” says Danny. “And where the hell are Terry and the Devlins?” Then it dawns on him. “Rachel.”

  “You go,” says Frankie. “We'll sort out this little lot.” He stares hard at Davenport weeping on the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head with anticipation. “It'll be great fun.”

  Rachel stops in her tracks. Terry is stood at the bar of her club, drinking with Ron and Marcus Devlin and her brain goes into overdrive. What is he doing here? It doesn't make sense. She knows he should be at the warehouse. Fear almost overwhelms her. Where’s Danny?

  “What's up Rach?” says Mikey, almost walking into the back of her. He spies Terry and the Devlins. “Oh shit.”

  She is tempted to turn and leave but before she has the chance Terry spots them.

  “Rachel, Mikey. Come and have a drink.”

  Rachel's heart thuds in her chest as she slowly descends the stairs with Mikey following.

  “It’ll be okay Rach,” whispers Mikey in her ear, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

  She has no idea what to expect as Terry watches her with a sly smile.

  “Are you surprised to see me?”

  “Not surprised, just amazed that you've got the cheek to show your face around here after bringing Jake back.”

  Terry smashes his glass down on the bar with startling violence. “I'm head of the family and if I want to bring someone in on the business it's got fuck all to do with you. You obeyed Frank without question, why can't you do the same for me?”

  Rachel's temper is riled but despite her fear she can't hold back any longer.

  “Because Frank wasn't a petty little Hitler who needed to throw his weight about to make himself feel important.”

  “Rachel,” cautions Mikey, noticing the murderous expression on Terry's face.

  “It's okay Mikey. She has a right to her opinion.” Terry gets to his feet and stands inches from her. “What else have you got to say?”

  She refuses to let him intimidate her. “If you continue pushing to use the clubs for illegal purposes then you'll get us all nicked. Frank wanted them kept clean. You promised him before he died and you're going back on your word.”

  He grabs her by the shoulders and pulls her towards him. “I'm the fucking boss now and you don't question me. I can take all of this away in an instant, have you thrown out on the street.” He glares at her angrily, his head cocked to one side. “Come to think of it, you're not even a part of this family anymore.”

  “Frank said I will always be a Maguire.”

  “Frank is dead,” he bellows in her face. “When are you going to get that through your thick fucking skull?”

  “You're going to destroy everything he built up. You're desperately trying to fill his shoes but you're severely lacking.”

  “Fucking bitch.”

  He shoves Rachel over and Mikey hurries to catch her.

  “I might have known,” laughs Terry. “You're just a bloody lapdog.”

  “Piss off Terry,” says Mikey. “She's right. You're just a coward, backed up by your foot soldiers.”

  The sound of footsteps descending the metal staircase cuts through the air and they all turn to look expectantly. Rachel isn't sure how to feel when Alex appears before them. He is scruffy and unshaven, his hands cut and bruised from fighting.

  “Alex, glad you made it,” beams Terry.

  “What's going on ?” he says, looking tired and irritable.

  “I asked you here Alex because you need to make a decision. Which side are you on?”

  Alex is taken aback, as are Rachel and Mikey.

  “I thought we were all on the same side,” he replies.

  “Are we?” says Terry sharply. He glares at Rachel. “If we are then why is she still seeing Danny?”

  Alex stares at her in astonishment. However she retains her composure, her face giving away nothing, despite her shock.

  “You'd thought you'd shaken off the tail I put on you but there was a second one,” he says, eyes alight with triumph. “She met Danny at a hotel in Glasgow. They spent the entire time together.”

  “Rachel?” says Alex questioningly.

  “She's the traitor,” continues Terry. “Her and Danny. They want to take over. They even killed your Dad.”

  Alex's jaw drops open and his eyes flare with danger. “Is this true?”

  Rachel tries to keep her voice steady. “No Alex, it's not. Terry's the traitor. He thought Frank was too old fashioned so he decided it was time he was outed. He wants to use the clubs for drug dealing and stashing weapons and to move into the heroin market, which Frank was set against. He knew your dad was ill so he punched him in the stomach to rupture his ulcer.”

  When Terry’s eyes flicker she knows she’s hit on exactly what happened to poor Frank.

  Terry shakes himself out of it. “Come on Rach you can do better than that,” he laughs.

  “He gave Danny spiked coke to send him over the edge, that’s why he attacked me. He was so off his head he didn’t know what he was doing. You see, Terry knew Frank was going to pass him over and hand over control to Danny because he was getting too greedy. So Frank had to go.”

  Alex stares at her open-mouthed.

  “But Danny attacked you again when Dad had him locked up at his house and he came here and threatened you.”

  “The attack was a set up for Terry’s benefit. It was vital Terry think me and Danny were finished, that way I would be safe. Danny didn’t lay a finger on me. Frank became even more paranoid after he was nicked for possessing a firearm and he had all the premises swept for bugs. He found the ones Terry planted in my office here, among others, so it was vital me and Danny put on show to convince him we were enemies. It was all your Dad’s idea.” She looks pointedly at Terry. “Frank had you sussed all along. He always was the smarter one.”

  Terry’s eyes glimmer with malice.

  “You shouldn’t have planted that gun in Frank’s desk drawer Terry,” she continues. “It was such an obvious move Frank saw through it right away. You just wanted to wind him up so he became sicker and sicker. You could never have taken him down if he’d been at full strength.”

  “She's telling the truth Alex. Its been Terry all along,” confirms Mikey.

  “Told you that, did she?” says Terry.

  “Yeah and I believe her.”

  “You stupid little wanker.”

  Mikey's eyes are bright with anger. “You’re the traitor you bastard.”

  Mikey tries to charge at Terry but Rachel holds him back when Terry pulls a gun out of his jacket.

  “I've had enough of this,” sighs Terry. He holds the gun out to Alex. “Take it.”

  “Why?”

  “It's time to pick sides Alex. I want you to shoot her.”

  This was the last thing Rachel had expected. She retreats a few paces, her eyes never leaving the weapon.

  Alex is horrified. “No way.”

  “What the fuck are you playing at?” yells Mikey, putting himself between them and Rachel.

  Terry rolls his eyes. “I'm bloody sick of you.”

  Before Mikey can react Ron Devlin, who everyone has forgot is there, coshes him around the back of the head and he drops to the floor, unconscious. He smiles at Mikey's prone form with relish, he intends to get his revenge for his b
rother later.

  Rachel looks steadily at Alex, who stares at the gun in his hand, unsure of what to do but she refuses to let her fear show.

  “Do it,” hisses Terry. “She's the one who drove Danny away.”

  Alex glares at Rachel with hatred in his eyes and a shiver of fear ripples down her spine.

  “You think that's why Danny disappeared?” says Rachel, choosing her words carefully, aware that she is talking for her life. “But you're wrong. It was all your dad's idea. Danny had to be free to get himself sorted and build up contacts. Frank staged the escape so Danny could get away. Why do you think he came back when he did? Because I called him and told him what had happened to Frank. We had to pretend we hated each other to get Terry to trust me, to make him think me and Danny were finished but we're still together, we always have been.