‘Hi, Mr Butler,’ calls out one of the junior members of staff as I enter. I can’t think of her name, despite sanctioning her employment about a month ago. I offer her a nod in return.
‘Vincent!’ Jonathan calls out a little bit louder than normal.
‘Hey, Jonathan,’ I say offering him my handcuffed hand as we make our way towards each other.
‘Everything in order?’ I ask before the small talk can begin.
‘Yeah, yeah. You mean for the collection?’
‘Of course I mean for the collection, Jonathan. I told you I needed it all as soon as poss—’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he interrupts me. ‘I have all the paperwork ready.’
He wraps one of his palms over the top of my left shoulder and practically escorts me into his office.
‘Everythin’ alrigh’?’ he whispers to my annoyance.
I don’t show that in my answer though. But I am pissed off that he’s asking questions. This was supposed to be an easy branch.
‘Of course, I’m just in a hurry. I can’t believe Michelle’s got so low. I could do without this today, to be honest,’ I say, justifying why I’m coming across agitated.
‘Ah … it happens,’ he says. ‘Not to the tune of two mill often. But it happens.’
‘You’ve got a tan,’ I say, changing the subject. It wasn’t exactly seamless.
‘Ah, the golf course does wonders for a tan,’ he replies.
I didn’t say out loud what I was thinking, but I would love to see Jonathan’s reaction if he knew I was aware he uses sunbeds. Belinda told me. Jonathan is a nice guy, but he is definitely the sort that thinks he’s a little more successful than he really is. There’s plenty of these guys around Dublin. They’re harmless. He likes to talk the talk. I don’t really mind that to be honest. I think he’s good at what he does. Just not as good as he thinks he is.
‘Here ya go,’ he says, handing me a pen. The paperwork is all ready on his desk. Perfect!
‘Thanks, Jonathan,’ I reply, offering him a wink. I could be out of here in the next twenty minutes.
10:15
Jack
I’m absolutely sweatin’. I’ve paced here way too briskly for this kinda heat. I hope my walk didn’t look suspicious. If anything, it looked nothing like my normal walk, so that’s good, I suppose. Nobody would have been able to recognise me. I keep thinking people are suspicious, but it’s just a pinch of paranoia. It’s understandable I’d be slightly paranoid this morning, even though I’m one hundred per cent confident my plan will go perfectly. No one has any damn clue that this robbery is taking place. Two million is already gone and not one person in this city is any the wiser. My heart rate slows the more I think about how soundproof the whole plan is. I don’t walk directly onto Camden Street. I walk up Harcourt Street and turn at the corner of the Bleeding Horse pub so I can stare down at the ACB branch. It’s an odd-looking building. The first two floors are surrounded with black glass while the top floor has clear windows. It looks like a stubby pint of Guinness. I place myself at the entrance of a large apartment building with the phone to my ear. I don’t look suspicious here at all. It’s a massive apartment complex built over four buildings. There are so many people living in this place that nobody knows who their neighbours are. I could easily be one of them. I’m out of sight of the CCTV and I’m blending in with the passers-by. I planned this position months ago. I can see Vincent’s car parked outside. I wonder what time he arrived at. It couldn’t have been much before ten o’clock.
‘Hey,’ calls out a woman from inside the apartment building.
‘Hi,’ I reply, turning around. Holy shit! It’s Antoinette. I’m staring at Karyn’s cousin as she struggles to open her mailbox in the hallway.
‘All good with you?’ she asks. She can’t possibly know it’s me. Can she?
Harry and Yvonne cut their visits down to roughly one a month. The intimidation Harry used to invoke in me receded dramatically after Karyn’s passing. He never mentioned business to me, but would often ask how I was getting on at the factory. If I hadn’t flat-out refused more money from him years ago, he’d still be offering it to me now, I’m sure. I think Harry’s a bit embarrassed to offer me money now. He totally understood that I wanted to fend for Frank on my own terms. Myself, Harry and Yvonne would sit and talk about golf for hours while Frank played around our feet. Yvonne’s a bigger golfer than Harry, and probably me if I’m being honest. She’d be able to call Rory McIlroy’s swing changes before I could. She had a real eye for the strategy of the sport and would often amaze me with her insights. Yvonne was a very interesting woman. She loved being a gangster’s moll. She thrived on it. But I’d mostly describe her as having a decent heart. She loved Frank as if he were her own grandchild. She either really liked me or felt sorry for me. I could never quite figure out which it was. I think we got on well. Yvonne’s only eight years older than I am. Harry has a good sixteen years on her. I’m pretty sure Yvonne’s Dublin accent grew stronger the more she spent time with Harry. It was like she grew into her role as a gangster’s wife. It was the only irritating thing about her, but Karyn and I used to laugh about it. A lot of men would probably find Yvonne attractive. I never did. She’s not natural looking at all. But she’s Harry’s type and that’s all that matters. Their marriage is still going strong after all these years and that doesn’t surprise me one bit. I was impressed that Harry didn’t mind Margarite being around Frank so much. He did ask me if we were an item at one stage, suggesting it in a jokey manner, but I answered him honestly. I also re-emphasised the point to Yvonne the next time they called over just so they knew for sure that I hadn’t replaced Karyn. I used to get odd pangs of paranoia about Harry, but on many occasions, he let it be known that he appreciated what I was doing with my life. He said being in his line of business wasn’t obligatory. When I asked one day if it would be obligatory for his grandson, he looked disappointed in me.
‘He’s your son,’ he said. ‘You raise him how you want. He’s my grandson and I will love him whatever he does with his life.’
I felt instant relief when he said that to me. It was all I’d ever worried about. But days later the words ‘whatever he does’ started to reignite my paranoia. Did he mean Frank would be offered a choice?
I grunt a reply at Antoinette which was meant to sound like a polite way of saying ‘I’m not interested in talking’. But she is still behind me going through her mail. She’s changed somewhat. You would know she’s middle-aged but she’s still pretty. She has deep lines either side of her eyes but the eyes themselves haven’t lost their sparkle. They’re not unlike Karyn’s. I had no idea she lived here. My heart is now racing quicker than at any moment it had done this morning. I keep playing what she said to me over and over in my head. Hey. And All good with you? Does she know it’s me? She can’t. Can she? My whole face is covered. And she barely even saw my face. She greeted me from behind. Shit! Perhaps that’s where I’m recognisable. From behind. I didn’t do anything to disguise myself from the back. Is my back even recognisable? Maybe I’m going mad. What if she does know it’s me? The whole plan is fucked. Too many questions are spinning around my head. I feel like I need to talk to her, to find out for sure she doesn’t know who I am. I check my watch. 10:21. I doubt Vincent’s exit is imminent. Surely he’ll be another ten minutes at least. I think I’ll have to talk to Antoinette. I can’t let her go not knowing for sure whether she recognised me or not. I take a bite of my bottom lip. I have seconds to make up my mind, then I find myself spinning towards her.
‘Is your name Lisa?’ I say, changing the pitch in my voice. Antoinette stares back at me.
‘Sorry?’ she asks. Shit! I’ve to repeat that.
‘Is your name Lisa?’ I reply. I think the pitch sounded the same.
‘Oh.’ She giggles. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you the first time. No, my name’s not Lisa. Are you looking for somebody in particular?’
I feel relieved. She has no idea she’s t
alking to me.
‘Oh no. My neighbour upstairs is called Lisa and I have yet to meet her. I thought you were her. Sorry.’ Brilliant. I have nothing to worry about. And I nailed the pitch in my voice again.
I hope she doesn’t want to keep talking. I stare out of the apartment archway looking down the street as if I’m waiting on somebody to come and pick me up. Antoinette hasn’t said anything in reply. She just offered a smile before turning her attention back to the envelopes in her hands. I can still hear her ruffling paperwork in the background. She must get a huge amount of mail. Or maybe she’s just back from holidays and is getting her mail for the first time in a week or two. She looks glowing, she might have been away in the sun. To relieve myself of the discomfort, I pretend to make a call, surprising myself with my improvisational skills.
‘Hey, sweetheart,’ I say. Pause. ‘Can’t wait to see you.’ Pause. ‘I know it is going to be a long time. But just think how much it’s going to be worth it.’ I pause for ages this time, taking a glance to see if Antoinette has left the building. Shit. Maybe I’m pausing way too long now. But who am I pausing for? I look around and see nobody in earshot. It doesn’t stop me from finishing my charade. ‘Okay, I love you. Ciao.’ I even pretend to hang up with a fake press of a button. My finger misses the phone by about two whole inches. It’s unusual I make myself laugh. But I did this time. I’m still smiling when I finally look back at the apartment entrance and see Antoinette heading straight towards me with a smile of her own. Bollocks!
10:15
Vincent
Jonathan seems as eager as I am to read through the paperwork. I’m supposed to be following along as he mumbles the jargon, but I can’t help but look around his office. He thinks highly of himself. But it doesn’t show on the walls of his workplace. It’s a very muted office, painted what I could only call magnolia. It’s probably some other bland shade of cream with a fancy name like pertwee off white or something or other. But I know it as magnolia. The only piece of artwork hanging on his wall is in contrast to the wall itself. He told me before who painted it, but I can’t recall the name. I like the painting. It’s like a 3D mix-match of colours that seems to form an eyeball, I think. I like how the blue evolves into purple down the bottom before it meets with red. But that’s about as far as my art knowledge goes. I like colours, that’s about it. The only photograph in the room sits on his desk. I can only see the back of the frame from here, but I know the photo. I’ve seen it before. It’s a family portrait of Jonathan and his wife Sabrina with their two sons.
‘Two million is a huge amount, Vincent,’ he inevitably says to me as he gets down to the finer details of the paperwork.
‘You’re telling me?’ I reply, rolling my eyes before taking a look at my watch. He knows too well that I just want to get a move on. We’ve both signed two pages so far.
‘Don’t worry,’ he gurns. ‘I’ll get you into the vault soon.’
I like Jonathan. He doesn’t run his branch as effectively as Chelle because he’s too concerned with being liked rather than being successful. But he still runs a steady ship here at Camden Street. The only thing that’s ever really pissed me off about him is his fascination with Belinda. I wonder what she’s up to now as I take a genuine glance at my watch. This time I actually want to know what it reads. 10:17. I wonder if Belinda’s finished sorting my paperwork into alphabetical order. Perhaps she hasn’t even started. Even if Jonathan gets me in and out of his vault in the next twenty minutes, I’d still be behind time. But I’m catching up. As Jonathan continues to murmur through the paperwork, I reach for the frame on his desk and turn it my way. I don’t ask him how Sabrina, Kai and Taylor are, I just assume they’re okay. I’ve often wondered if Sabrina really is okay. I think she’s besotted with her two sons, but I wonder if she knows her husband isn’t totally devoted to her. Jonathan and Sabrina have been together since they were both twenty-one. They met in their final year at UCD. I think couples tend to stay in the same mentality they are in when they first meet. Jonathan is a mature, professional man and Sabrina is very bright and articulate. But they seem to rub each other up the wrong way like twenty-one-year-olds do when they’re together. They’re still petty to each other. I’ve often heard Jonathan being short with Sabrina on the phone and have observed them at office get-togethers in a huff with each other. I’m sure Jonathan was very much in love with Sabrina once upon a time. Maybe he still is, but he doesn’t show it – not to her. I’m not sure how she feels. I know Jonathan has cheated on her in the past. I watched him leave clubs with strange girls many years ago and he once hooked up with Ryan’s cousin at one of the parties at our penthouse. Given a chance, I’m sure he’d fuck Belinda without a second’s thought. But I do wonder if he’d ever leave his wife and kids for her. That’s played on my mind often.
‘They’re keeping well,’ he says to me.
‘I didn’t ask,’ I joke back. ‘You nearly done?’
‘Jeez, you really are in a hurry. You okay?’
‘I’ll be happy when this morning’s over with.’
‘Ah, one of those days, huh?’ Jonathan replies. ‘You, eh … you just want me to sign this?’
‘Jonathan,’ I say really slowly, allowing myself time to think. ‘Read through the bloody paperwork for me, let’s sign all the pages and then get me out of here. Please.’
I’d love to skip all the obligatory reading and for us to get into the vault, but I have to toe the professional line. He knows I’m a little more tense than usual and I’ve let him know I’m in a hurry. I can’t risk evoking any further suspicion in him.
‘I’ll be five more minutes,’ he says, flicking through the rest of the papers. As I stand up to impatiently pace around Jonathan’s office, I feel the cheap mobile phone buzz in my pocket. I immediately dismiss any notion of answering it, and then decide I can’t take any more of Jonathan’s murmurings.
‘Sorry, Jon,’ I say. ‘Need to take this. Keep on reading. Finish it off.’
I walk outside his office and hit the green button on the phone.
‘Gimme one second,’ I say before palming the phone and pacing through the bank floor towards the exit. I don’t want anyone to see this old thing. I wait until I’m buzzed through the first door before putting it back to my ear.
‘I’m just in the Camden Street branch, what’s up?’
‘Don’t “what’s up” me, fag,’ says Ryan’s captor. ‘What the fuck’s going on? It’s coming towards half past ten – you’ve gone beyond time.’
A rage fills up inside me.
‘What the fu …’ I say, and stop myself. ‘Listen … I can’t do anything more than I am. I can’t make this process quicker. This is just how—’
‘They’re your fuckin’ banks. Get the eight mill back here by midday or I’ll splatter Ryan’s brains all over this place.’
‘I’ll get back with the eight mill,’ I reply, trying to catch my breath as I’m finally buzzed out of the second door. ‘Forget about the time. I’ll get it back once the whole process is done. Let me—’
‘Midday,’ he snaps down the phone at me. ‘Get it back by midday or that’s fucking it, boy.’
‘I’m doing the best I can. Just … just … please, extend the time by another half an hour and I’ll definitely be back,’ I plead.
‘Mid-fuckin’-day!’
I stare at the phone after he’s hung up. This guy sounds like a lunatic. Fear engulfs me for the first time since I left Chelle. I’m not sure why I’ve been so relaxed over the last half an hour. I pace slowly back to the bank’s entrance taking in my reflection once again. The reality of the whole situation flows through my mind as I stare into my own eyes for what seems like an age, until the mobile phone buzzing in my hand snaps me out of it.
‘I’ll ring you back in two minutes with an answer to your request,’ he raps in his mongrel accent. Then he hangs up again.
I’ve no idea what to do. Do I go back inside to Jonathan or do I wait out here? I take a
look towards my car but John isn’t paying any attention to me. All I can do is stare past my reflection into this horrible black glass. If anyone could see out, they’d see a confused man. I remove my glasses and wipe my face to try to defuse my current state of mind. I wish I was throwing handfuls of cold water on my face. I need to chill out. I breathe slowly to stave off any signs of panic.
Think, Vincent, think.
I try to focus on the positive, but my stomach is starting to turn. So much for this being the easy branch to take money from. Jonathan was eager to get me in and out as quickly as possible and everything was going smoothly. Now I must look a little panicked and out of sorts. Jonathan will be wondering why I left at the tail end of a contract read-through. Especially after I’d just insisted we must follow protocol. I’m wondering why I left too. I wonder if he’s finished reading through the paperwork. My phone doesn’t seem to be ringing back. I’m not sure staring at it will help. The longer I stay out here, the more suspicious I look. Rather than think it, I say it to my reflection: ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ I can’t stay out here much longer. I decide to stroll back into the bank, get the money out of the vault and then deal with any deadline discussions when I finally exit. I refocus my stare to look at myself one final time before heading for the door. I can see Jonathan eyeballing me after I get through the first entrance. He must have been on his way out to me. As I stand trapped inside the two doorways I don’t know where to look.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 14
