The Holdup: (Charlie Cobb #3: Crime & Action Thriller Series)

by Rob Aspinall

  A sunny day.

  Not to a pot roast, but a roast beef sandwich.

  I remember sitting out on the porch steps, biting into a white, home-baked doorstop. The sandwich had thick-cut onion and a spread of cold gravy over the beef. It was around two weeks ago and I'd just finished clearing out the stables.

  9

  I finished my sandwich and drank a tall glass of lemonade. Damn, it was good. I got up off the porch, fixed my cap on my head and wiped my hands on the seat of my jeans.

  Collins' two sons got up and stretched. They were strapping lads, fed on a diet of beef, milk and farming chores.

  Collins appeared around the corner of the house, carrying a rifle with a telescopic sight and a brown leather shoulder strap. "Okay boys, back to it," he said.

  "That's a nice rifle," I said. "What is it?"

  "It's a Ruger," he said. "You know how to shoot?"

  "I know a little."

  Collins looked at me. "Come on," he said.

  "Where are we going?"

  "The target range," he said.

  Me and Collins' two sons followed him out to a large boulder by the side of the barn. The sons walked to another boulder about three hundred yards away. I couldn't see what they were doing, but when they were done, they jogged clear.

  Collins handed me the rifle and a ten-round magazine. I jammed it in and worked it back so it stuck in place.

  I took the safety off and leaned forward on the boulder. I looked through the sight and saw three tin cans on the boulder in the distance.

  I hesitated.

  "Go on," Collins said.

  I aimed the gun at the can on the left. Let off a shot and missed. I re-focused and pulled the trigger. Boom. The can flipped up in the air and landed on the ground. I let off two quick shots. The remaining cans spun up in the air and landed on their side on the boulder.

  "Three hundred yards. That's some shooting," Collins said.

  I put the safety on and stood up off the boulder. "Takes a bit of getting used to," I said, "But this'll shoot five hundred yards, easy."

  "You reckon?" Collins said.

  "Sure," I said, detaching the magazine and offering gun and clip to Collins.

  He folded his arms. "How are you with a moving target?"

  "Like what?"

  "Like a wolf or a coyote."

  "I've shot a few animals in my time," I said, neglecting to mention they all walked on their hind legs.

  "You ride, too?" Collins asked, nodding towards the stables.

  "Sure I can get the hang of it."

  "Good, then follow me," Collins said.

  We all stood outside the stables. Janice, the boys and me.

  Collins led a horse out by the reins. A great big stallion with a glossy chestnut coat and a mean look in its eye. It snorted loud. Collins had it saddled up ready.

  "This is Blaze," Collins said.

  "You got anything smaller?" I said.

  Collins laughed. "Big fella like you, scared of a horse?"

  "Course not," I lied, stepping forward.

  The closest I'd been to a horse was the severed head of a thoroughbred an old boss had got me to leave on a trainer's pillow. That I could handle. But a big, live, edgy thing was a different story.

  I put a hand on the saddle grip. Put a boot in a stirrup. The horse took a step sideways and I hopped along after it.

  I heard one of the Collins boys snigger.

  The horse snorted and settled. I pushed off my standing leg and swung the other over the saddle. But the saddle was worn and slippy. I slid right off the other side, landing in a heavy heap.

  Cue laughter from the entire Collins family. I could swear even the horse was chuckling to itself. I picked myself up and dusted myself down. I grabbed the saddle again, put my foot in the stirrup and went for a second go.

  The horse lurched forward as I tried to swing a leg. I clung on to the side. It trotted around fast in a circle, I pushed myself up onto the saddle, lying belly down and sideways.

  Suddenly, the horse bolted.

  The Collins family doubled over laughing. Blaze took me for a tour of the stable yard. I hung on for dear life—the scariest thing I've ever done—cursing the horse and yelling at it to stop.

  Collins stepped out and grabbed the four-legged fuck by the reins.

  That's when I slid straight off, eating straw for the second time.

  I staggered to my feet and brushed the dust off my white t-shirt and jeans.

  Collins handed the horse off to Janice, who stroked and kissed it on the nose like it was a baby.

  "Maybe we can find you a different kind of ride," Collins said.

  Next thing I knew, I was riding a dirty red quad bike at speed across the fields. Collins' rifle strapped to my back and a ride lumpier than my old mum's custard.

  But I'd take it over a horse, any day. And it was actually quite fun, the wind cooling me down as I sped towards the outer reaches of the ranch.

  I weaved through a bunch of cattle and came to a stop. I turned off the engine and pulled the rifle off my back. I removed the safety and looked through the telescopic sight. I scanned half a mile of horizon, left to right. Saw little more than rocks and scrub and long, wild grass.

  That's until I caught a glimpse of something. I brought the rifle back the other way. I stopped on a pair of ears, sticking out of the grass. The low-slung back of something covered in brown fur--white spotted. A long, lithe body moving slow through the field.

  Moving towards the herd.

  It raised its head and sniffed the air. The long canine snout of a coyote. No doubt after the calfs. I took my eye away from the sight. Saw a calf straying away from the herd.

  I leaned forward on the bike. Used the handlebars for stability. Lined up the shot, the coyote in my crosshairs.

  My finger lingered on the trigger.

  Bollocks. I couldn't do it.

  I moved the barrel an inch and pulled the trigger. The rifle echoed across the open landscape. The shot missing the coyote by a distance. It turned and bolted for the mountains. I looked up and saw the calf bounding towards the herd.

  The coyote was doing what it does. Trying to get by. Didn't deserve a bullet.

  And I don't kill animals.

  I eat em', but I don't kill 'em.

  Besides, my daughter's a hardcore veggie and sharper than a knife. She'd have sniffed me out in a heartbeat.

  "This'll be our little secret, my friend," I said, watching the coyote disappear.

  10

  So that's what I've been doing. Mucking out stables. Fixing tractors. Riding around pretending to shoot coyotes. And earning just enough money to move onto the next stop along my journey.

  Back in the present, I push my plate away, stuffed from arsehole to teeth.

  "As usual, that was wonderful, Janice," I say.

  "You sure you don't want any more?" Janice asks, clearing away the plates.

  "I want, I just can't fit any more in," I say, standing out of my chair. "Here, let me wash up."

  "Don't be silly," Janice says. “I told you, you’re a guest . . . Besides, haven't you and Bill got some talking to do?”

  I look at Collins. He nods towards the hallway.

  "Of course," I say, rubbing a hand over my swollen belly.

  Collins opens the fridge and takes out two cans of beer. He hands me one and we make our way out to the porch.

  The sun has dropped, replaced by darkness. Fireflies zip in and out of the light on the porch. Beyond the spill of the porch light, we're faced with a vast blanket of darkness and the vague outline of mountains against the sky.

  There's a quarter moon above and a night full of stars. Collins offers me a seat. A wicker chair with a white cushion. I take it. He takes a wooden rocking chair. Cracks open his beer.

  I fizz mine open and take a sip. "Always room for one of these,” I say, relaxing in the chair.

  The night is warm, but no longer suffocating. We sit in silence a while. I can s
ee why Collins wants to keep hold of this place.

  Where else can you get a view like this? And who else can say they're the master of all they survey? It's like being a king.

  "You know how long this land's been in my family?" he says.

  I shake my head.

  "Seven generations."

  I sip on my beer. "That's some innings."

  "The ranch doesn't belong to me, Charlie. It belongs to the Collins name . . . The corporates see a business, with a price. They think it's about money. It's not about money. It's about . . . Ah, hell. I don't know. Somethin'."

  "I get it, Bill. You don't wanna be the one to break the chain."

  "Exactly," Collins says, rocking soft in his chair. "If I can't make that payment come the end of the week, all the work the family have put in down the years . . . It'll all be for nothin'." Collins sighs and stares into the night. "Shit, maybe I should have taken the company's offer. Now I'm gonna lose it all. Me, Janice and the boys'll be out on our butts."

  "Not even a home?" I say.

  Collins shakes his head. "Not even a damn horse." He stops rocking and turns to me. "So you see, Charlie, I need that money."

  I finish my beer and set the can down beside my chair. I turn to face Collins. "I know where the money is."

  Collins sits forward in his chair.

  "Got it buried outside of town. Not all of it, though."

  "How much?"

  "If I had to guess, I'd say half."

  "What happened to the rest?" Collins says, on his feet, the chair rocking empty without him.

  I stand up and lean against the porch railing. "How much do you need?"

  "You know how much," Collins says.

  "Yeah, well, that's the thing, Bill. I don't."

  "What do you mean, you don't know?"

  "Took a bump on the head," I say. "The last two weeks are a bloody fog. Some of it's coming back, but slow. So if you could fill me in . . ."

  "Shit," Collins says. "Well, the short end is, Mainline Oil, they've been buying up land all around here. All going like clockwork. They assume they're gonna buy this place, too. Only, half the town's kicking up a fuss about the impact on the environment. And then I tell 'em for the thousandth time I'm not gonna sell."

  "The church meeting, I remember," I say.

  "Well, it all goes quiet for a few days," Collins says. "Then we get a letter in the mail from the bank. Says there's been a miscalculation on a business loan my old grandpa took out fifty damn years ago. Back charges adding up to two million."

  I almost choke on my beer. "How much?"

  "I know," Collins says. "And they want it in full by Friday."

  "You're joking," I say. "Is that even legal?"

  "Oh, it's legal," Collins says. "I got it checked out with a lawyer in Mitchum."

  "Mitchum?"

  "The nearest town from here," Collins says. "Much bigger place." Collins perched himself on the porch railing and looked out across the fields. "No way I've got that kinda money. No one in Rattlesnake got that kinda money."

  “I take it you called the bank?”

  "I called 'em, sure. I said how can it be a final demand when it was the first I'd heard?"

  "And what did they say?"

  Collins gave a wry smile. "They said the others must have got lost in the mail, Mr Collins. The demand still stands."

  I blew the air out of my cheeks. "Tough break. Couldn't you sell the ranch?"

  "That's just it. Much as it galled me, I swallowed my pride and called Welch, the guy from Mainline Oil. He said they'd cooled their interest."

  "They must have got wind of the demand." I say. "They know they can get it cheap."

  "Yep," Collins says. "And there's no way I'll find a buyer by the end of the week."

  I shake my head. "Bloody hell."

  "Yeah and worse still, this whole place was used as collateral for the loan," Collins says.

  "Jesus," I say.

  “Grandpa must have had no choice," Collins says. “Guess he woulda lost the place anyhow without the loan."

  "So where do me, a wrestling mask and a bag of buried money come in?" I ask.

  "Al's wife Loretta works at the local branch in Mitchum. Big old place, lots of cash moving in and out along the highway."

  "Let me guess, this money rolls in on an armoured truck. And Loretta's sympathetic to your cause."

  "Al's a good buddy and Loretta's a good woman. She's on the anti-fracking committee."

  "So you decided to steal the money?" I say. "You naughty boy, Bill."

  "Only the two million," he says, "which I'd then pay back to the bank to square off the loan. The plan was to give the crew members a two-hundred thousand cut and return the rest of the cash after the heat was off."

  "What, drop it on the doorstep?" I say.

  "Hadn't figured that part out," Collins says. "But yeah, something like that. Loretta said the money was insured, so the shortfall wouldn't hit anyone in the pocket."

  "That leads us to the other three guys in the car," I say.

  "Out of towners with records," Collins says. "I sourced 'em through Wallace for a fee. He'd done some time with one of 'em."

  "One of 'em a blonde guy with a beard?"

  "Yeah, you remember him?" Collins asks.

  "Vaguely," I say.

  "He was the leader. His plan was to wait for the guys to start unloadin' outside the bank and then hit the truck."

  "That's a terrible plan," I say.

  "Yeah, that's what you said at the time. Don't you remember?"

  Now he mentions it, I do.

  I was on the ranch, riding the quad bike back over the fields, enjoying the cooling wind in my face as I bumped up and down over the fields. I rode the bike past the farmhouse. Noticed a car out front. A dusty old Toyota Camry saloon in maroon.

  I kept on riding up to the barn. I pulled up outside, turned off the engine and climbed off. I opened one of the big barn doors so I could push the bike inside. But I stopped when I heard voices.

  I held the door open a few inches and peered through the gap. The barn was lined by hay bales and with a green tractor parked over to the left-hand side, Collins stood in an empty space, talking to three men. The blonde guy who'd tried to hire me in town and two others. One with a shaved head and Hispanic features. The other with black hair slicked back on top and shaved at the side. Tattoos on the neck, the hands and probably everywhere else.

  They were all six footers, with bodies built in prison yard gyms. The kind of guys you didn't mess with. And didn't trust. Certainly not if you were an ordinary working Joe like Bill Collins.

  As they talked, I listened in unseen.

  "So what's the plan?" Collins asked.

  "Simple," the blonde guy said. "Your contact at the bank finds out when the next delivery is due. Can she find out the amount?"

  "Yeah, she's a supervisor, or assistant, somethin'," Collins said.

  "Somethin' won't cut it," said the Hispanic guy. "We need to know."

  "Al says she's got access," Collins said.

  "Okay then," said the blonde guy. "Then we wait for the truck to unload in Mitchum. We hit it hard, fast and preferably early. You've got your money by mid morning and we're long gone by noon."

  "You done this before?" Collins asked.

  "Course we fuckin' have,” the guy with the slick hair said.

  Collins tucked his hands in his pockets and nodded to himself. "Alrighty then, sounds like a good plan."

  I couldn't hold myself back any longer. Couldn't let Collins get involved in something like this. With people like that.

  So I pushed the barn door wide open and stepped inside.

  "Sounds like a great plan," I said. "If you fancy a ten-year stretch."

  The four men turned to look at me as I walked across the barn.

  "And what would you suggest, smart guy?" the Hispanic one said.

  "For one thing, you're hitting the truck outside a main branch in a busy town in broad daylight o
n a street that's bound to have CCTV."

  The guys looked at each other, dumb.

  "They'll be drilled for a hit during unloading," I said. "And just out of curiosity, where's the nearest cop shop to the bank?"

  "Huh?" the blonde guy said.

  "Police station," I said.

  All I got was a collective shrug.

  I shook my head. Looked at Collins. "I wouldn't do this, Bill."

  Collins threw out his hands. "Got no choice, Charlie."

  "Well hands up who's ever robbed a bank," I said.

  Not a single arm in the air.

  "An armoured truck, then?"

  Still no hands.

  "Breaking and entering?"

  Three hands went up, sheepish.

  I turned to Collins. "That's the level you're playing at."

  Collins closed his eyes and cursed to himself.

  "Then help us," the blonde one said.

  "Yeah, Einstein," his Hispanic mate said. "What should we be doing?"

  I looked at Collins. I liked him. He'd given me work. He and Janice had treated me like part of the family. And Wallace aside, the people of Rattlesnake had been good to me, too. It was a beautiful part of the world. Seemed a shame to ruin it. And that's exactly what would happen if the bank took Collins' land. Mainline Oil would be straight in there, snapping it up for a knockdown price. And you'd soon have all this fracking bollocks going on.

  The Mainline CEO could talk a good boomtown game all he liked. He and his cronies didn't give a crap about the people or the scenery.

  And no one knew better than me. I'd helped to arrange plenty of land grab deals in my time. Strong-arming people out of homes and businesses. Threatening rival bidders and paying off council officials. I knew better than most, the artist's impressions rarely matched the reality.

  So yeah, it looked pretty grim for Collins and the people of Rattlesnake. This job might be the only thing standing in the way.

  Plus, the money would be insured. Not like the bank or their customers were gonna miss it.

  We stood in silence for a while. I stared down at the toes of my work boots and chewed on my lip, torn between two stools.