The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  ‘Sit in that other chair, fag,’ he says, grinning.

  Fag? Have we just rewound the clock by a decade?

  The prick ties Ryan to the chair in much the same manner he tied me, but then proceeds a little further. Ryan’s ankles are also taped down and I figure he must have missed that part of the process with me.

  ‘We’ll cooperate with you,’ I finally manage to say. ‘We’ll do whatever it is you want, just don’t hurt us, please!’

  He walks over to me with a grin gurning across his face.

  ‘Too fuckin’ right you’ll cooperate with me. Whether I hurt you or not. Now shut the fuck up.’

  Turning his back on us, he reaches further into his bag. My eyes widen. I have no idea what he has in store for us. I look over at Ryan again. He looks like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. At this moment I am more worried about him than I am for myself. And that’s unusual. My default is normally selfish. At least I can admit that. Ryan’s much weaker than I am. I’m relieved to see that the kid has only removed an old mobile phone from his bag.

  He walks towards Ryan and wraps more tape tightly around the back of his head and across his mouth at least eight times. Ryan keeps his head still, but he can’t help grunting in fear. When he’s done, the smug fucker strolls towards me.

  ‘This is for you, big boy,’ he says, shoving the phone into the breast pocket of my shirt before falling back onto our couch.

  ‘Here’s what’s gonna happen,’ he says.

  Ah … I know what’s going on.

  07:20

  Jack

  I take a quick peek at my watch as I lean against a lamppost on Horse Fair across from their apartment. It’s less than five hours until the deadline. I know it’s still early but I’m agitated. I take the mobile phone out of my jeans pocket and stare at the home screen again. Still no missed call. For some reason I don’t believe the phone and click into the call history to double check. I notice a strange number that makes me squint for a second before I realise it was me who dialled it. It’s the number for the reception on the ground floor of the apartment building. I rang there ten minutes or so ago asking for a form that I knew would make the receptionist turn around. But since then there’s been no activity on my phone. I hope everything has gone as it’s supposed to. I can’t stop worrying. More things could have gone wrong in the first ten minutes of this morning than I believe they will over the next five hours. My mind races through all possibilities.

  Did the receptionist see Darragh? Did he fail to open the staff door? Is he still making his way up the stairs? Did Vincent or Ryan get the better of him after he pushed his way into their apartment?

  I dismiss these notions and conclude that I’m just being way too impatient. Darragh will ring me when he’s ready. I wish I was a fly on the wall up there. I’d love to see Vincent and Ryan’s faces as Darragh explains to them what a tiger kidnapping is.

  I check my watch again and sigh loudly. Only one minute has passed since I last looked at it. I decide to take a slow stroll around Sir John Rogerson’s Quay to try to relax. I catch a glimpse of myself in a car windscreen as I cross the street. A beard suits me. I don’t like the black wig so much but it’s amazing how many years the beard has taken off me. I thought it would have made me look older. I might grow one for real, but I suppose that would defeat the purpose of why I’m wearing one today.

  Checking out the Sir John Rogerson’s Quay area over the past few months has made me dig deep into my memory bank. I was eight years of age when we moved out of this place. It looked a lot different then. My da used to work in a bakery on the corner of Lotts Road, near the dog track. His boss rented us the small flat above it. Every time I smell cinnamon, it brings me back to my tiny bedroom; just enough room for the bed itself and a tiny cabinet. This area has changed so much in the four decades since we lived here. It’s a nice modern area of Dublin now, but back in my day it was quite rough. At least I was led to believe it was rough. I don’t remember seeing anything bad happen around here. My ma did her very best to make sure we didn’t become friends with the Luciano kids. Their father was supposedly involved in the Italian mafia. I’m pretty certain that was just a rumour. They were the only Italians in the neighbourhood, so they were just labelled ‘mafia’. They may well have been the nicest family around, but nobody knows because nobody got to know them. My parents would come down hard on me if I wasn’t improving at school. They both took a big interest in anything I did. When my da forced me to join the local underage GAA team, he made sure I didn’t miss one training session. It wasn’t that he thought I was going to be the next Kevin Heffernan or anything like that, he just wanted to make sure I wasn’t mixing with the wrong kids. My folks spent hundreds of hours of my young life making sure I’d grow up to be a respected member of the community. I was always grateful for that. I wonder what they’d think of me now, if they were looking down from whatever heaven my ma pretended to believe in, as I orchestrate the greatest bank robbery in the history of this old country of ours.

  During my stroll around the block of City Quay and Grand Canal Street, and making my way back towards the penthouse, I manage to calm down. Morning fresh air is a remedy for almost all head-fucks. Darragh’s not a bright lad, but he’s determined and loyal. He’ll do exactly as I tell him. He’s loyal to a bad cause. If he thinks it’s criminal, he’s in until the end. He’s a weird little boy. I couldn’t have a weirder little boy on this job. He’ll see it all through for me, I’m certain of that. I’ve been anxious over the past month or so and didn’t really sleep last night; I was rolling around in bed desperate to get back to my dreams. Ironically, today is the type of day I have dreamt about for years.

  07:20

  Darragh

  I can see the terror in both of their eyes. Ryan looks the most frightened though. He doesn’t know whether to stare at me in fear or at Vincent for help. Neither of them has any idea what I’m up to. It’s hilarious. They nearly shat themselves a few minutes ago when I went searching in me bag for the first time. I was only lookin’ for the tape. Fuckin idiots. Vincent keeps trying to speak up but I’m keeping control. Ryan is too stunned to open his mouth. Whatever he’d try to mumble wouldn’t make sense anyway. He’s all taped up now. But I need to talk with Vincent. That’s why I’ve only taped his hands to the chair. I reach back into the bag and take out the second mobile phone.

  ‘This is for you, big boy,’ I say, shoving it into the breast pocket of his shirt. At least this gay fucker is dressed. The other fag only has his boxer shorts on. It’s actually a bit sickening to look at. I take a moment, on purpose, to sound as cool as fuck as I fall back onto their couch.

  ‘Here’s what’s gonna happen. Vincent, you’re going to withdraw two million euros from each of the four branches of ACB you run and return to me here with all eight million by midday. If you don’t, I’ll kill your little fuck buddy here.’

  I deliver my lines perfectly, just as I’ve rehearsed hundreds of times over the past few weeks. Vincent looks stunned. His jaw is practically on the floor.

  ‘But … but … I, eh,’ he stutters. I don’t have time for this shit. Well, he doesn’t have time for it. Time ain’t on his side.

  ‘Shut the fuck up, ya little cunt,’ I demand, as I sit more upright on the couch. I need to get angry. ‘I know for a fact that you are authorised to take two mill from each bank so don’t even pretend you can’t or I’ll shoot you both dead right now.’

  Perfectly delivered again. That stopped Vincent in his tracks.

  ‘You need to get this all done within the time frame, d’ye hear me? You have until midday. Not one minute past. Any wrong moves and he’ll get a bullet straight to the head. And then we’ll come back for you. Do you understand me, fag? If this doesn’t go according to plan you’ll both be killed. Tick, tock!’

  I’m delighted with how cool I’m handling all of this. This is the first time I’ve ever carried out a kidnapping. JR calls it a tiger kidnapping.
I’d never heard of it before. It makes perfect sense. JR is a fuckin genius. That’s the hardest part of my morning over. I have both of these fags in place now.

  I’ve tried to play out how the morning would go in my head countless times but there’s not much I can predict. I’ll be sitting here keepin’ an eye on Ryan until I’m told otherwise by JR. While the two fags are taking in everything I’ve told them, I take a look round their apartment. It’s pretty cool, I have to say. They’ve got one helluva massive television screen. I guess that’s what my eyes will be on all morning. JR has been drilling into me for months about not lettin' Ryan get into my head. But what can he do? He looks a lot more terrified than Vincent. I was told this would be the case. Vincent already seems like a bit of a smug cunt. I bet he’s one of those fuckers who just thinks he knows it all. I hate that sort of prick. Ryan just looks like a little rent boy. That’s all he is now anyway. A kept little fag. It’s almost sad. What a shitty life that must be. They’re both surprisingly silent as I pace round their couch. They don’t know what to do. I go over everything in my head again, one final time. I’m pretty sure I’ve explained it all perfectly. Vincent knows full well what he has to do and he hasn’t flipped out. I get the impression he feels he can do this. The excitement seems to be getting the better of the anxiousness in my stomach at last. It looks like me and JR are gonna be millionaires in just a few hours’ time.

  07:25

  Vincent

  I get into character straight away. The culchie is still mumbling some big-man bullshit but I’m just thinking of the task in hand. I need to get around each of the four branches of ACB in the next five hours and take two million euros from each of the vaults. I have access to those vaults, of course, but I can’t get in there alone. They can only be opened with a double key card system. I have one key, being manager of all four banks, while my assistant managers – who work at each of the branches – have the sister keys. I know for certain that three of them won’t even question me, but I’m wary of Noah Voss, who is the new assistant manager of Church Street. He was appointed about three months ago against my wishes; the board felt his experience as head of a successful branch of Barclays in London made him the ideal man for the job. I still haven’t figured him out. He asks a lot of odd questions. Plus, he’s a Christian. I can’t stand Christians. How can you trust somebody who believes in fairy tales?

  I’ve totally calmed down since the prick smacked me across the face earlier.

  ‘Any wrong moves and he’ll get a bullet straight to the head,’ I was told as our captor nodded towards Ryan about five minutes ago. ‘And then we’ll come back for you. Do you hear me? If this doesn’t go according to plan you’ll both be killed.’

  I’ve figured in the past few minutes, after the shock receded, that I can handle the task at hand. I just need to get into character. I’m playing myself like it’s any other day. That can’t be hard. I just need to keep calm despite the surreal situation. If I stay cool, I can do this. There should be no need to worry.

  ‘Is there a route you want me to take?’ I ask our captor to his surprise. He was just pacing around our couch muttering to himself at the time.

  ‘Well … what’s the quickest way?’ he asks me as an answer.

  ‘Nassau Street, Camden Street, Church Street and then back to the IFSC branch,’ I reply rapidly. I’ve been thinking about it.

  ‘Alright,’ he says, looking a bit flustered. ‘That makes sense. Work your way around that way. I don’t really care what way you work it once you come back with all the cash. But I don’t want any mistakes, d’ye hear me?’ he asks, his Cork accent coming through the angrier he gets.

  ‘I’ll be back with the money before midday,’ I assure him. ‘Just please don’t hurt him. I promise I’ll be back.’

  ‘If you’re not back at midday … boom!’ he says, mock shooting Ryan.

  I stare over at my boyfriend. His eyes aren’t as wide as they were a few minutes ago. I think he’s been calmed by the fact that I seem confident I can do this. A tear that I noticed running down his face earlier has dried into his skin. He hasn’t been able to say anything, but what could he say that would interest our captor? This is all in my hands. I’m the one who has to carry out the robbery. I’m acting composed because I want to be in character. If I give anything away to any of my employees then this will all fall apart. I’m also selfishly thinking that there is no immediate threat to my life. I will be getting on with my day, free as a bird, as if it were a normal Tuesday morning. It’s Ryan’s life that is directly at stake this morning, not mine. That sounds harsh but it’s an honest feeling. My stomach may be in knots, but I won’t let that be known on the surface. Not to Ryan, not to our captor, and certainly not to anyone in ACB.

  ‘What time is it?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s almost half past. You leave for work in about fifteen minutes, right?’

  Wow, this fella knows my routine off by heart. I nod a reply before eyeing my taped hands. He gets the gist. The kid walks over to me and bends down to undo the tape. He begins the process with the pistol still glued to his left hand. But after struggling for a few seconds he decides to leave it on the ground beside him. It’s about a yard away from my left foot. Once my hands are free, I’m pretty certain I can make it to the gun before him. The possibility races through my mind as he releases my right wrist before turning his attention to my other arm. I stare up at Ryan. He knows what I’m thinking and shakes his head in a disapproving manner. He’s right of course. Our captor still has an advantage over me. The gun is nearer to him even if I genuinely feel I could get there first. I have no intention of doing it, though. He unties my left wrist and reaches for the pistol straight away. The only muscles I move are in my hands to ease some of the numbness. Then I stand up.

  ‘Calm down, big boy,’ I am told. ‘Where you off to?’

  ‘To finish getting dressed for work. I assume that’s why you untied me,’ I reply smartly.

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ he says. ‘But on my fuckin’ terms, okay?’

  I figure our captor isn’t that bright. It disappoints me somewhat. How could the two of us have been turned over by this loser?

  ‘I’ll follow you. Where are your clothes?’ he asks.

  I point towards our bedroom. I already have my shirt and trousers on. I just need to knot my tie and throw my jacket, my shoes and my glasses on before I’m all set. I stare at myself in the bedroom mirror as I slide a dark blue tie under the collar of my shirt. I can see my captor behind me pointing the gun at me. He appears nervous. But he’s also unpredictable. Trying to take him on wouldn’t make any sense. He could unload the barrel of that pistol into me without hesitation. I finish the process of getting dressed and turn to him.

  ‘How do I look?’ I ask, surprising him again.

  ‘Like eight million euros,’ he replies, making a tiny laugh shoot out of my nose. Not a bad retort. Perhaps he isn’t as stupid as he looks.

  07:35

  Ryan

  I can’t breathe. My nose can’t take in the amount of oxygen it needs right now. I have to get this tape off my mouth but nobody seems to be listening to my muffled screaming. I wonder what those two are up to in the bedroom. I’m not surprised how calm Vincent is acting while I’m all tied up. That’s his character in a nutshell. Some little prick has broken into our home and is pointing a gun at us, yet Vincent is still going on like he’s in control. I decide to stop focusing on my breathing and think this whole thing through. I stare at the digits on the microwave oven that I can see from where I’m sitting – 7.35. I do the maths in my head. Vincent has four and a half hours to go to his office, make some phone calls and then visit the four banks he plans to rob of two million euros each. My breathing becomes panicky again. My head shakes back and forth frantically. I need to calm down. I think of the yoga classes I used to attend years ago before I even met Vincent.

  Breathe in slowly, visualise each breath coming in through the nostrils, filling the back of th
e throat and drifting slowly down the chest cavity before it enters the lungs. Feel the lungs expand. And then visualise the air going in the opposite direction as you breathe out.

  It seems to be working. I miss yoga. I miss a lot of things from my years gone by, even if my past was mainly a huge struggle.

  Every time my breaths get panicky, it brings me back to the afternoon I sat in my bedroom determined to tell my folks that I fancied men. It was about time I told them. I was nineteen years of age and I’d known I was gay for at least five years. I’d sat on the end of my bed with my head in my hands, breathing just as I had been seconds ago, too heavy and too panicky. My chest ached but that wasn’t going to stop me. I stood up and walked down the thirteen stairs of our terraced red brick house before entering the sitting room. Me da was watching horse racing, annoying me ma with tuts and sighs as she tried to read some tabloid rag. Our sitting room was the same scene every Saturday afternoon.