The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set

by David B Lyons

  I pick up the framed photograph and finally remove Chelle from her discomfort. ‘How’s Jake?’ I ask.

  ‘He’s doing well, thanks,’ she replies with a smile. ‘He’s away on business today. Up in Belfast at a big consultancy conference.’

  ‘And the kids?’ I ask.

  ‘Good. Oliver is gearing up to start school this September and George is just happy once we put a football at his feet. He did really well in his first school exams.’

  I wink at her to relieve the tension. I actually don’t care about her kids that much. I don’t really care for any kids. Like everybody else, I find bold kids repulsive but I’m not a fan of good kids either. I just happen to be one of those people who can’t stand children. Unlike Ryan.

  I see Janice before Chelle does. It’s only twenty past nine. She must have run to Frederick Street and back.

  ‘Hi, Michelle, hi, Mr Butler,’ she says breathlessly as she enters the office. ‘I’ve got the ink.’

  ‘Well go put it into the printer,’ Chelle says firmly, passing my original annoyance back on to her personal assistant. ‘And get me those papers in the next three minutes.’

  Filling out paperwork for such a task seems old school considering the evolution in digital technology. However, every transfer from branch to branch needs to be accounted for in both hard copy and in our complicated computer system. It’s a lengthier process than is actually required but I can understand the board’s strategy in this regard. It works. It’s very rare for any money to get mixed up between the banks. Every new and used note is accounted for in both of our systems. It’s used notes I’ll be taking from the banks today. Ryan’s captor told me what he wanted. Used notes can’t be traced outside our branches. Once they leave our banks they can be used anywhere. The dizziness seems to enter my head once again as the thought of the robbery takes over my mind. I’ve got to get my feelings under control. I’ll have to go through some simple paperwork with Chelle here in her office before we take a little trip to the vault. There, we will have to count out the amount of cash between us. We have to do that four times before updating the computer system. I should be out of here in about twenty-five minutes’ time, I reckon.

  ‘Two mill is a hell of a sum,’ Chelle mentions once again while we await the paperwork. ‘Are you sure you’re okay transferring it yourself?’

  ‘Ah, it’s fine,’ I say. ‘John is at the doorstep waiting on me. Plus, someone’s gonna have to chop my hands off, aren’t they?’ I say, wiggling the two handcuffs chained to the cases.

  ‘I’d cut your hands off for two mill in used notes.’ Chelle laughs.

  ‘Yeah, fuck it, so would I.’ I giggle back before noticing Janice is standing in the doorway to the office. I normally act super professional around all employees. I’m not sure whether she heard me swear, but she certainly doesn’t let on that she did.

  ‘Here you go, Michelle, Mr Butler,’ she says, placing the paperwork in front of us. She then picks up a pen from Chelle’s desk and hands it to me. I take a deep breath. Here we go.

  09:25

  Darragh

  The football is making me reflect on the time I first moved up to Dublin. I really missed home for a month or two. I’ve only ever driven through Cork since I’ve been in the capital, I’ve never actually gone back. Us Galligans don’t do holidays. The fact that I’m watching Man United is quite ironic. Me old man used to make me watch them in the early days, but I guess I didn’t show enough interest. I’m enjoyin’ this though. But that’s probably all down to the coke. I noticed that I was smiling ear to ear just a few moments ago and had to check meself before squinting towards Ryan, making sure he didn’t catch me in the moment. He was talking me through the game earlier but he seems to have gone quiet now. I’d love to know who he buys his coke from.

  After about four months of selling on the streets of North Dublin, part of the profit seemed to be winging its way into me pockets. The Boss would only ask for about ninety per cent of what I’d taken and would wink at me as he handed back some of the notes.

  ‘You’re doing well, Darragh,’ he said to me one day. It was unusual to get a compliment from him. ‘We might get you involved in some of the fun stuff, huh?’

  ‘I’d love that,’ I said. ‘I want to get involved as deep as I can, like.’

  The fact that I passed the mock arrest test with flying colours seemed to get me closer to the lads. I got the sense that The Boss was hesitant in involving me any further but the rest of the gang seemed to put in a good word for me. Pretty soon afterwards I was being called into their meetings to discuss shipments. They knew they could trust me. I began transferrin’ large quantities of the drug to Belfast. It was a long three-hour drive to Clifton, but I was happy to do it alone. At times I’d have up to twelve kilos of coke in the boot of a rented car, which would have resulted in me spending around fifteen years behind bars had I been caught. But I felt invincible. I didn’t even go to any great lengths to hide my merch. I would just pack the trunk of the car with the bags of coke and throw a blanket over them. I wasn’t being paid well, but the few quid I did pocket was enough for me. The Boss also didn’t mind me skimming the odd bit of coke from the packages for myself as long as I didn’t go overboard. The rental on the car was legitimate but The Boss had sorted me out with a very convincing fake driving licence. I didn’t need to produce it at any stage of my dozen or so trips over the border. But for some reason, I ended up doing a run to Limerick one Wednesday morning and ended up almost shittin’ me cacks.

  The Boss asked me to drive to an estate to deliver ten kilos of coke to a new connection of his. I had a fear that something would go wrong from the outset. I never felt comfortable. I had to try to convince meself that I was just out on a drive. What could possibly go wrong? A broken fucking tail light! I was literally ten miles from the estate when I heard a siren blare behind me. In a split second me mind flipped between stepping on the accelerator and stepping on the brake. The fact that the siren only sounded for a second and so asking me, rather than telling me, to pull over made me mind up. I figured that the cop must have just noticed me committing a minor road offence I didn’t even know I’d committed.

  ‘Licence,’ said the grumpy-lookin’ fuck after he’d strolled slowly up to my rolled-down window.

  ‘Here ya are, Garda,’ I responded politely. ‘Did I do something wrong?’

  He squinted looking at me licence. ‘That a Kerry accent, Mr Chomsky?’

  I was about to reply with a polite ‘no’, when I realised that was exactly where Grant Chomsky was from.

  ‘Eh, yes,’ I say with a smile. ‘Dingle.’

  ‘Ah, my wife’s from Tralee,’ he replied. ‘You know your driver’s side tail light is out, Chomsky?’

  I felt such a relief with his words. I had stayed composed but I could still feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead as he held that licence.

  ‘I’m just heading to Limerick city for a bit of a work errand,’ I said. ‘I’ll stop at the first mechanic I find on me route and make sure I get the bulb sorted. I promise.’

  ‘Wouldn’t get it fixed in Limerick city, if you know what I mean,’ he replied. I think he was joking. So I laughed. Maybe I laughed too loudly. It made him look up at me for the first time.

  ‘You got bad dandruff or is that cocaine on your shirt?’ he asked, poking his head closer to me.

  Shit! I’d been doing a couple of lines on the drive.

  ‘Get out of the car.’

  I managed to brush some of the powder from me chest as I got out, but I knew he was going to search me. I had a tiny bit of powder in me jeans pocket. It was nothing compared to what was in the boot. After asking me to rest my hands on the top of the car he searched my pockets. He held the small plastic bag up in front of me face. I focused to look at it and gritted me teeth. There was literally enough for two decent-sized lines left in it.

  ‘Just to get me through Limerick city,’ I said, smiling. My joke didn’t work.

/>   He opened my car door and knelt inside to have a look around. He didn’t find anything but sweet wrappers and an empty water bottle. I was delighted to see him crawl his heavy ass back out without having reached for the boot popper. But then he asked me to turn around and face him.

  ‘Open your boot for me,’ he said as he walked to the back of the car.

  Bollocks.

  ‘Sure,’ I said kneeling back into the car. I stared at him in the rear-view mirror before I swung me legs into position in the driver’s seat and lashed on the ignition. I clicked the gear stick into reverse and heard the bumper crash against his kneecaps before I sped off. At no time did I feel afraid. I was lovin’ it. The thrill of a car chase is insane. I watched in the rear-view mirror as he called for assistance on his walkie-talkie while hobbling to his car. I easily had a quarter of a mile head start on him. His sirens were in full flow but he didn’t make any ground on me. I wasn’t sure whether he’d recorded me licence plate. I had to assume he did, so I knew I needed to get out of the car as quickly as I could. I made a sharp left off the motorway towards Clyduff and sped into a kip of an industrial estate. There were dozens of cars parked in and around the warehouses. As quickly as I could, I parked my car up, broke into another and switched the coke over. I was out of there in two minutes. The Boss had taught me how to do that. I delivered the merch as expected and even made it back to Dublin in a different stolen car. The gang were fuckin delighted. I’d been in touch with The Boss the whole ride through, keeping him updated after I’d nearly got done. He was filling me in and helping me get back safely by recommending different routes and opportunities to change cars. He hugged me like I was his brother when I returned. These gangland guys really don’t respect you until you nearly get caught. It’s incredible. You have to be bad enough to almost get arrested before they will realise you’re good enough.

  ‘You’re a fuckin superstar, Darragh Galligan,’ The Boss said, kissing me on the forehead. ‘Let’s have a celebration. You got any plans tonight?’

  ‘Nah, nothin’,’ I said, high as a kite.

  ‘Well you do now. We’re taking you out, kid.’

  I’m certain it’s not my fondness for Manchester United that has my heart racing. I’m enjoying the match but I know I’ve probably taken too much of this shit. If I was lying about at home I wouldn’t be panicking about being high but I need to keep a level head today. I fuckin swore to meself I wouldn’t overdo it this morning. I look at Ryan. He hasn’t budged an inch. He’s just sitting there enjoying the game. I puff out me cheeks before getting up off the couch. I need to splash some water on me face. The last thing I need to do right now is have a full-on fuckin panic attack.

  09:25

  Ryan

  I can see the greasy little shit out of the corner of my eye. He’s grinning to himself as wide as I’ve ever seen anybody grin. He’s super high. You can snort coke every day of your life and still not be immune to a new batch. It’s the same with most drugs. Some new formula that you haven’t tried before can really fuck you up. Unfortunately, he’s only taken two lines of the stuff so far. That’s not enough to tip him over the edge. But I don’t think he’s going to have any more. He can’t be that stupid. Either way, I need to somehow release my right ankle before turning my attention to my left side. The coke is probably giving me the focus I need to get this tape off my wrist and ankles, but it may also be responsible for me eventually getting caught. I can’t get too erratic with my approach. It’s important I stay calm. I’m trying to figure out in my head whether I can reach the gun if I just release my right ankle. I’d have a clunky kitchen chair holding my left side down and I wouldn’t be able to put one foot in front of the other to walk. But if I could leap forward and somehow grab the gun, I’d hold all the aces. My gut feeling tells me I would make the leap towards the gun and end up falling flat on my face against the corner of the glass table while this prick laughs at me. The table is about three large strides away from where I’m sitting now. It’s just too far to leap in one go. I need to release both sides from the chair. After ten minutes of picking away I’m making good progress on my right ankle, but this could take a while. I peek at the clock on the microwave again. 9:26. Two and a half hours left. Reaching my right hand back down I try to tug at the tape instead of scraping at it. But it’s just not doing me any good. The tape is just too strong. I need to pick away at each layer of it with my nails, and work my way through it that way. There must be at least ten layers. This’ll take a while.

  To my surprise, the fantasy night with Ruairi didn’t make things awkward between us the following day. I texted him in the morning with a feeling of dread, thinking he wouldn’t get back to me. But in a matter of seconds he replied telling me he enjoyed the night. When we met in the office later that evening he winked at me. Butterflies filled my stomach. I felt just as excited as I did when I first fell in love with Vincent. Ruairi and I ended up going for drinks on a regular basis. It normally ended in us fooling around, but we never had full-on sex, despite my pleas. We were both enjoying our new relationship, even though Ruairi would often piss me off with his ‘I’m not gay’ insistence. The guy fuckin’ loved cock. About one month into our affair I began to dream of a life with him. It wasn’t fair on Vincent at all. Vincent had turned me from a nobody into a somebody and I owed him all the joy I had in life. Besides, I was living in one of the hottest and trendiest places in the whole of Dublin. There was never any guarantee that Ruairi would leave his girlfriend for me, but it didn’t stop me thinking about the possibilities. My relationship with Vincent wasn’t in dire straits. We weren’t arguing or even that sick of each other. Our bond just seemed to plateau after a few years. We weren’t keeping things fresh enough. Fooling around with Ruairi gave my life the spark it needed. That was why, when he came to me to say he no longer wanted to see me outside the office, I spiralled into depression.

  ‘Listen, I’ve enjoyed it and had some fun, but it was just experimental on my part,’ he said, staring into my eyes while at our favourite pub one evening. ‘I’m in love with my girlfriend. I can’t do this anymore.’

  I stayed silent initially. I had a million ways to approach this with him but I couldn’t figure out which one to choose. In the end I opted for defensive and arrogant.

  ‘Your girlfriend will find out you’re a fuckin’ cock lover eventually, you piece of shit,’ I shouted at him as I stood up to leave. Everybody in the pub turned to face us. I was too hurt to care.

  My anger soon turned to bitterness before genuine heartache set in. It was only a swift affair but I got caught up in the emotion of it all. What made it even worse was having to work with him. Although he worked shifts, I’d still have to see his face and hear his voice in the office at least three times a week. I made excuses to not turn up in the early days of the heartache but soon after I had to face up to the torture. The worst part about getting your heart broken from an affair is the fact that you can’t actually confide in anybody. I couldn’t talk to any colleagues about the fling nor could I tell any of my friends. All my friends were Vincent’s friends anyway. I tried to immerse myself in my computer screen when I was at work, but at home I’d just curl up into a ball on either the bed or the couch and cry myself to sleep. I’d wake up each morning and convince myself that today was the day I would finally get over Ruairi but I knew deep down I was kidding myself. To numb the pain, I promoted cocaine from a social drug to a daily habit. I contacted an old student friend of mine who made the greatest coke ever, to get so wasted I would forget Ruairi’s handsome face. Vincent could tell I wasn’t myself but he believed me when I told him I was just dejected with my career. That was partly true. I had, after all, fallen out of love with PR way before I’d fallen in love with Ruairi.

  I’m getting a bit paranoid that my captor will notice my right hand missing any time he looks up at me. I have to reach lower now, right to the bottom of my ankle, to finish the job. If he looks over at me he’ll notice I’m slightly hunche
d, but I suppose my posture isn’t anything out of the ordinary. My face is still towards the screen, watching the match as I pick away at the tape. The high definition big screen and the sound the fans are creating in the stadium seems to be distracting him. It’s imperative I get this tape loosened as soon as I can. I freeze, though, when I notice him sit more upright. After rubbing his eyes, he stares over at me before standing up slowly. He takes a walk behind the couch and heads towards our main bathroom. He’s left the gun on the glass table right beside his phone. This guy is a full-on fucking moron. When I hear the tap turn on in the bathroom I think about making the leap towards the gun. I won’t reach it in one go, but with him at least fifteen feet away from me, I’ll have a few seconds to crawl my way towards it. I need to do this now. I force the balls of my feet deep into our carpeted floor and begin to count myself down.

  09:25

  Jack

  My ass is growing numb perched on this wall. I’ve stood up to stretch my back so many times that I’m starting to get paranoid somebody has noticed I’m up to no good.

  I check my watch again. I’ve estimated that Vincent should be coming out of the bank at around nine-thirty; that’s only five minutes from now. I’m afraid to go for a walk, in case I miss his exit. I just need to know he’s doing okay. His collapse is continuing to worry me despite Darragh confirming everything is back on track. I know Vincent’s next port of call is Camden Street. That’s another twenty to twenty-five-minute walk for me. He’ll arrive there with his driver, John, before I do. In an ideal world I’ll observe Vincent entering and exiting each bank, but I can’t physically stay on his tail too much. I’m wary of getting public transport because there are cameras on buses, and taxi drivers will be asked about their fares as part of the investigation into this robbery. I’d made a decision early on in this process that I would walk to each of the branches and I must continue to follow through with that. It’s a long walk and a lot of effort, but the pay-off will be oh so worth it. Sticking to the plan is paramount. I’m absolutely sure there is no way I can get caught. I’ve covered each and every possibility. Another look at my watch causes me to blow out my cheeks. Only seconds have gone by.