R.I.P Robbie Silva

by Tony Black

  At Abbeyhill the roads eased a bit and I watched the punters legging it down Easter Road, duckwalking to beat the rain that was starting up. Felt my stomach churning; had a lot on my mind of late but there was a chance that could all change.

  You get a group of cons together and they like a good yak. They'll drive you round the fucking bend with tales of the one that got away. The Big Payer. I'd heard several versions of this story, the job that lets you retire on the proceeds and get the fuck right away from this rain ... Mexico, Costa. Doesn't matter. That kind of moolah and you're laughing.

  I'd never had a story to rival the cons' tales of woe. Never been part of a big enough firm. When you do a post office or a building society, you're only clearing the take from the cashiers. If you're lucky, you'll net five grand. Splitting that more than two ways and you're going to need to pull a job a week. But I'm no different to anyone else at this racket – I fancy a slice of the big take. I wasn't scared of doing another stretch, and the thought of earning a nice Big Payer had me tempted.

  The bus pulled round the roundabout in Porty, hit the main drag. I never much liked this end of the city – always reminded me of some skanky little Scottish town, one of those shit-holes in the west coast where all those fucking bluenosed soap-dodgers come from. Ones that looked like cast members from Zombieland, but with more scars.

  Silva had picked out a drinker, The Arms. I spotted it through the bus window and got off at the next stop. When I got out it had started to spit down; there was a waft of effluent blowing in from the sewage outflows in the sea and I felt my stomach tighten again.

  All I could think of as I walked down to The Arms was this better be fucking worth my time and effort – I'd vowed to hear Silva out – but sure as shooting the signs weren't looking good.

  I rumbled through the door, had my who-the-fuck-you-looking-at-cuntybaws face on. An old soak at the bar turned round and eyed me, thought again, turned away. The barmaid was in her bad fifties, bat-wings and a corned-beef complexion. Her over-dyed black hair was scraped back in a tight scrunchie and showed at least an inch of grey roots; when she smiled at me I wanted to heave.

  'What can I get you, love?' she said.

  I was about to say something about looking for Silva when I felt my arse grabbed, both cheeks in cusped hands.

  'I'll get his!' It was Gail.

  'What you doing here?' I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

  'Come on, you know ...'

  'No, I fucking don't.' I didn't even want to contemplate the fact that she might be on this job; after our last outing the possibility seemed insane. Beyond insane.

  Gail stretched round my waist, made an order at the bar. She had the hot-pants on again and was pointing her arse at me. She turned quickly, caught me checking her out and giggled. 'Get him a pint and I'll have a Bacardi Breezer.'

  As the order went in, the door to the snug behind me screeched open. Inside sat Silva and the gimp with the mullet. I was ushered in with a tipping of Silva's head. As I stared at the pair of them, still conscious of Gail's hyperactive antics behind me, I felt like walking straight out the door. Figured I had about three seconds of standing there like a spare prick before I had to make a move, one way or the other.

  * * * *

  You must've heard that phrase, hear it all the time, my heart was in my mouth ... That's where I was with these muppets. I knew the right thing to do was turn tail. Walk. I'd had first-hand experience of working with Gail and I sure as fuck wasn't for repeating it. The girl was so off-the-dial scripto I'd have to seriously consider giving her another balling. I mean, that type are as likely to have the billiards off you and hoiked in a handbag before you can say ''thanks for the memory''.

  I started to feel myself sway a bit, don't know why ... was I gonna keel? Maybe it was the bad guts again, but before I could move a muscle, Gail – drinks tray in her hands – was shouldering me towards the snug. I looked down at her and got those big eyes flashed at me; they seemed to stare through me for a moment and then the hooks were in and I was being dragged to the snug.

  The pub seemed cold, but in the snug it was warm. I remembered these sorts of places before the smoking ban; they were like fucking saunas – could hardly see two feet in front of you – you'd be padding about with your hands trying to find your pint on the table. As I sat down, Gail lifted my pint towards me.

  Silva smiled, took up a wee goldie. 'You won't know my boy, Ben, will you?'

  I looked over at the gimp in the Motorhead T-shirt and manky denims. He was a fucking greaser, real soap-dodger. I felt like dousing him with my pint and saying get a fucking bath, you stink! Instead I went with raising a brow in his general direction. 'Not Gentle Ben, is it?' I said.

  He arked up, 'You trying to be fucking funny?'

  I smiled; fuck, it was easy rattling his cage.

  Silva slapped my back and picked up a bottle of Beck's from the tray, handed it to his boy. 'Here, get that in your fucking mouth ...'

  'Like a dummy,' I said.

  Ben rose. Put a stare on me. 'What did you say?'

  'Oh, here we go ... toys out the pram already, are they?' He didn't know whether to piss his pants or poke his old man in the back and ask him to intervene. There was a stalled silence; the air in the snug seemed to have been drained and then Gail guffawed into her Breezer and I had to join in. 'Settle yourself, Benny ... I'm just pulling your chain!'

  'Yeah, sit the fuck down and shut up, would ya!' said Silva. 'We've got serious business to discuss.'

  The idea that there was serious business on the table with these chumps almost made me laugh again, but I kept it down; after all, I was a professional. And there could be an earner in this for me. Quite a good one. We'd have to get one or two things straight first though.

  'From the off, Silva, why the fuck are this pair here?' I waved a finger at Gail and Ben.

  Silva stretched out in his seat, sipped his whisky. 'They're family.'

  It didn't fucking cut it. 'So?'

  'So, they're my family and I trust them and that's why they're here.'

  I wasn't buying it, leaned over, put my pint down on the table. 'I want to know who you're crewing this firm with.'

  Silva took another little sip. 'This is it.'

  I couldn't believe my ears. 'Are you taking the piss?'

  He smiled, real wide one. 'Look, Jed, you don't know the particulars of the job yet ... I'm telling you, it's an in-and-out number and stone ginger to a man of your form.'

  I looked away. My mind had filled with hot fucking air or something. I couldn't process a thought. Still, I'd come all the way across town and I had a full pint sitting in front of me so I thought I might as well hear him out.

  Silva clasped his hands together, then separated them quickly as he twisted in his chair to face me. 'Okay, here's the deal ... I've got this contact. We'll call him Big Shug for the sake of it, right?'

  'Go on.'

  'Now, Shug works for one of these security firms, type that ferry money about all over the country ... you know the ones.'

  I did. They were notoriously difficult to knock off, and the biggest take was twenty-five grand – unless you were blowing the fucking roof off them – because that's all the guards were insured to carry at the one time.

  'I thought you said this was a payer, big job ...'

  'Oh, it is ...'

  'Sticking up a fucking security truck isn't.'

  Silva smiled; it was that leering lip-curling one. I could see the gold in his side teeth once again. 'I'm not talking about blagging a pony-bag, mate. You see, my friend Shug knows something that I found most interesting.' He leaned in; the hands were moving again. 'Whereas, like you point out, mostly it's a 25-er you'd be lopping, there's this one special route that this one special van does once in a fucking blue moon and it's a long run from up north to down south, with Edinburgh smack bang in the middle ...'

  Despite myself, I was warming to what he said. I got more comfortable in my seat, said, '
Keep going.'

  'So Big Shug, he's on the inside in the Aberdeen depot and he's letting me know when the run goes ...' Silva dropped his grin, looked all serious. 'Not any run ... They're carrying anything from upwards of a couple of million ... in cash!'

  My mouth dried over; I licked my lips. 'And how do you plan to get it out the van? Got some fucking Semtex, have you?'

  Silva laughed, turned to his boy. Ben let out a whimpering little grunt, fired a look in my direction. I wondered how much effort it would take for me to wring his fucking neck.

  'No need, squire ... no need! See, and this is the genius of it all. When I heard this I could have almost kissed Big Shug's Scotch fucking arse! The van only comes as far as Edinburgh before they stop off round about lunchtime at a very easy to reach Little Chef service station on the M8! And the fucking guards get out the van for a piss and a pie! It's their little routine. There's none of this worry about is the chump in the van gonna drop out the bags because if you've got the lot, they've fucking got to open up or they're gonna cop their fucking whack!'

  It sounded too easy. I'd learnt early on that when it sounds too easy, it's probably for a reason. 'How do you know the filth aren't all over this? Sounds like a set-up to me, bastards are known for it.'

  I caught sight of Ben turning to his old man; the thought obviously hadn't crossed their minds. Silva flared, his cheeks reddened. 'Don't mug me off, Jed ...' He pointed a finger at me now. 'You think I'm some kind of cunt who hasn't done his homework?'

  'You think I am? ... I checked you out, pal. I know armed-fucking-robbery isn't one of your regular earners.'

  'Yeah, you're fucking right it's not. And normally I wouldn't touch it. You know why, because I don't fancy doing a life tariff for some small fucking change to me. But this is different. This is a quality job, a fucking good earner and we can all get a nice drink out of it.'

  I shook my head. 'You haven't got the first fucking clue, mate.' He didn't like that, but held schtum. I fired in again. 'If you think you can pull this off with your raggedy-arsed boy and fruit-loop fucking daughter, then more power to you.' I took a sip out my pint and rose. Gail had those big eyes on me as I turned for the door of the snug. I felt a spike turn in my heart; she looked hurt.

  'Jed ...wait!' She stood up. I was already walking but she followed me out.

  * * * *

  On the street I stomped heavily back to the bus stop. The rain was coming down in sheets now.

  'Jed ... wait!'

  I heard Gail's heels clacking on the flags behind me. She grabbed my arm, but I pulled it away.

  'Fuck off, would you?' I said.

  'No, wait ... you didn't mean that, did you?'

  'That job's a non-starter!'

  'No, not that ... about me.'

  I stopped, turned. The rain flattened my hair as I looked at Gail; she was shivering. I reached out an arm to her. 'Get back inside.' I saw Silva and Ben appear at the door of The Arms. 'Look, your family's waiting.'

  'Ben's not my family ...'

  'Well, your Dad's there.'

  'Fuck him!' She'd raised her voice, to well within Silva's ear shot. 'You didn't mean that. You were just angry, right?'

  I felt my throat start to freeze; she looked so felled by my words. I couldn't bring myself to hurt her; I'd hurt too many people in my time and always the most vulnerable ones. 'No, I didn't mean it.'

  Gail reached out, grabbed my arm. 'I knew it.' The smile was back on her face. The rain was so heavy now that I delivered her back to the boozer.

  Silva was sparking up a tab as we arrived.

  'Jed, you don't want to be too hasty ... this is a nice bit of work. I've had it checked out. There's no fucking filth attached; I've had this van under obbo for the last three trips and I swear to fuck each and every time I was tempted to do it myself ... they're chumps. Two lardy-arsed melts who can't pass a fucking Little Chef without nipping in for a plate of egg and chips!' He was cringing at me, the creases in his brow and cheeks deepening with every new plea. 'I tell you mate, I've checked it out. I've checked you out and everyone I know says you've got the minerals for this lark so what do you say?'

  I watched Gail ease past her father in the doorway; she was dripping wet now.

  'I don't know,' I said. 'I have a bad feeling in my gut about it.'

  Silva took a drag on his B&H, cusped it in his hand, prison-yard style, then leaned over to me. 'Jed, this is a heavy bit of work. We're talking quite a few shekels here. I'd be fucking worried if you didn't have your doubts ... but don't go looking a gift horse in the mouth because your bottle's tested.'

  I turned on him. 'Fuck off, don't give me that. There's fuck all wrong with my bottle. I'm a professional, that's all!'

  'All right, all right ... you have your pride, and I admire that. So, to show I'm a fair bloke, I'll put you at the head of the crew.'

  'What?'

  'It's your say all the way. I'll fill you in on the recce I've done and all the ins-and-outs from Big Shug and then you can make the final call.'

  I was far from convinced, but there was that part of me that always said fuck-it. 'Okay, and we split it 50/50.'

  'I wouldn't have it any other way.' Silva flicked his tab into the wet night, reached out a hand to my shoulder and dragged me back into the pub. 'Welcome aboard, lad ... now let's get a pint down. Only one mind, got a big day ahead of us tomorrow.'

  I looked him in the eye. 'What's on tomorrow?'

  Silva grinned, 'The job, mate. The fucking job's on tomorrow!'

  * * * *

  Jasper was packing a holdall when I got back to the flat.

  'What's up, rent-man catch up with you?' I said.

  'Eh?'

  'Looks like you're doing a runner ...' I pointed to the bag he was stuffing with socks and jocks.

  Jasper straightened himself. 'Got a bit of work on, going to be out of town for a bit.'

  I nodded. 'You too?'

  Jasper turned back to the bag. 'I'm off to sunny, sunny Spain.'

  'Oh aye, Viva España!'

  He finished packing, zipped up the bag and flung it on the floor. 'Not till tomorrow though.' He stood over the bag, kicked it under the kitchen table, then put his hands on his hips. 'What about you – picked up a bit of business, have you?'

  I didn't want to tell him about the job – he'd only talk me out of it. 'Something like that ... fancy a pizza?'

  Jasper's face lit up like a five-year-old's. 'Fucking right!'

  Job done.

  I called Pizza Express, got two large meat feasts on order. As we waited for them to arrive Jasper told me about his latest boat trip. Seems he was going out to pick up a load of gear that wouldn't pass through the proper channels. It sounded very last minute to me but who was I to question him on his business. Fuck me, if he'd asked what I was planning to do next it was sure as shooting he'd be poking holes in it. A hoor of a business.

  When the pizzas arrived I fired into mine, but I didn't really have an appetite. The Silva job was bothering me. I knew it was all a big gamble, but I tried to shove it to the back of my mind because I knew life was all a gamble and living like a square-peg was no life at all.

  Jasper cracked open a bottle of Chianti, said 'Suppose I better get used to this before Spain!'

  I eyeballed him. 'That's from Italy, you muppet!'

  He smiled. 'Oh, yeah? ... Well, they drink it there too.'

  I shook my head.

  Jasper poured out a couple of big glasses. 'You know, if I didn't know any better I'd say you had something on your mind, Jed ... that bit of stuff is it?'

  'Silva's daughter? No danger.'

  He looked eyes on me. 'Oh, aye? ... You sure about that?'

  I was in no mood for this shite, and I knew I needed a clear head for the morning. I stood up, picked up the glass and drained a good belt, then, 'I'm turning in, got a big day ahead tomorrow.'

  'Come on, I'm only pulling your leg – have a bevvy with me!'

  I turned away. 'Another
time.'

  'I'll be in Spain!'

  'Well, when you get back then.' As I went through to my room I hoped I'd still be around when he got back, and not banged up after another performance by Gail.

  * * * *

  I kicked off my Timberland boots, dived onto the bed. I lay there staring at the ceiling as a little light crept in from the street signs. It was still raining – suited my mood.

  I couldn't put my finger on it – I swear for the life of me I couldn't – but there was something about the way this Gail bit looked at me that made me think of Jody. My sister was gone, but the look she used to have in her eye when I'd come back from that garage, that first fucking job I had as a grease monkey. She would put those eyes on me, those big staring, pleading eyes like she wanted to tell me something, but ... well, she did in the end, but I almost wished she hadn't.

  When I found out what had been going on, what my old man had done to her, everything changed. I couldn't live with myself in that borstal. I was fighting everyone, even the screws, and I was still only a lad and they were grown-up. I just hated the world and it had holed-up in me. My only comfort was that I had Jody; she hadn't visited ever, but I knew she was there. Well, I thought she was.

  I don't know how long it was after they told me Jody had been moved to another town, with the foster family, maybe six months, maybe a year, but that was when the sky came down.

  They put two screws in the room with me when they broke the news.

  'Sit down would you, Jed,' said Mr Parker, he was the Governor, he was a doctor and wore a white coat sometimes, but not today; he had a tweed jacket on, I remembered the elbow patches on it, leather, brown leather they were, and frayed at the edges. I wondered who had sewn them on for him. Funny that, the things that stick in your mind sometimes.