by Emmy Ellis
“Same as with the Tripper job years ago, we get the safe combination, we take the cash, and we fuck off once we’ve tied everyone up.”
Len had lengths of rope in his trusty rucksack, and this time, everyone had handguns. Shotguns, Benny had decided, were too cumbersome when they had to get in and out quickly, and tucking them in their waistbands would leave hands free for punching folks if they butted in. Why they couldn’t just wave the guns as usual she didn’t know. Rule number one: Never question Benny.
He pulled up in the staff parking area around the back of The Loft Club and killed the lights and the engine. “Now we sit tight until the right time.”
Rebecca lost herself in thoughts of being a normal person enjoying an evening in a club. Drinks, music, dancing, lots of laughter. She’d never been to one, Benny forbidding it, only allowing her a bevvy in The Flying Scotsman around the corner from Justice Road. He said she’d meet a bloke and end up leaving the gang, and that wasn’t on. She didn’t go to work like normal people either, her only job the ones she did for him. None of them lived in the real world, theirs centred around the house, the places they robbed, the street corners drugs were sold from, yet Benny had his other business and regularly mixed with people. What was all right for him wasn’t all right for them.
If Rebecca left home, what would she do for work? She had no experience anywhere, so who would take her on? She’d been saving for the day she ran, topping her stash up, each time staring at the money and knowing what it could buy her—freedom—yet at the same time telling herself she’d never get it. She’d become somewhat resigned, sewn into the fabric of gang life with no hope of using the scissors at her disposal in the form of her savings to snip at the cotton holding her in place.
“It’s a go,” Benny said.
Rebecca drew her balaclava down over her face—there’d be internal CCTV they didn’t want to get caught on—and they got out of the van, leaving the doors unlocked for a speedier getaway. Will sat in the driver’s side, ready to reverse once they were inside so the front of the van pointed towards the exit.
At the back door, she held her breath, wishing the man inside didn’t bother opening up. Unfortunately, he did and stepped away to allow them in. Benny leading, the fucking Pied Piper, they filed down a carpeted corridor to his tune, then he faced a door that had a small square of glass in the top. Through there and up some stairs that had a left elbow turn, up some more, and out through a swing door into another corridor ahead. A camera peered down at them, a red light blinking, and Anthony reached up and positioned it so it pointed at the carpet. If someone was vigilant and doing their job properly, they’d be out here any moment.
Benny power-walked down the corridor, signalling right. He stopped outside a wooden door, and they flanked the wall either side, Mum and Benny joined at the hip with Anthony close by, Len, Trev, and Rebecca a trio together. Benny nodded, then Len opened the door and barged inside. Benny, Trev, Anthony, and Mum followed. Rebecca held the door open with her outstretched foot so she had a view of inside, plus the corridor, her usual task to stand guard.
A man sat behind a large desk, the office opulent, tastefully decorated in creams and beiges. A solid white triangle, the length of a Toblerone, had his name on it: Mike Levy. He leant back in his fancy leather chair as if he encountered a gang in balaclavas all the time, a smile tweaking his thin lips.
“What do you want?” he asked wearily.
“The combination to the safe,” Benny barked.
“I don’t have it.”
“Don’t you bullshit me. You’re the fucking owner, of course you have it.”
Mike shrugged. “Whatever. It doesn’t have a combination, it’s opened by a key. You can have that, if you like.”
“Sarky bastard. Get it.” Benny waved his gun. “Nice and slowly.”
Mike raised his eyebrows. “This is the bit where I tell you it’s in my desk drawer, and you come over to make sure I’m not taking a gun out. So, if you would…” He held a hand up beside him, indicating where Benny should stand to keep watch.
He wouldn’t like being ordered about, and he certainly wouldn’t like it that Mike wasn’t shitting himself. Rebecca stared at the tableau. How could Mike be so calm? Why weren’t Anthony, Len, and Trev stepping in to add a bit more menace, forcing him to show fear? Why was Mum admiring a painting on the wall instead of concentrating on what was going on?
“That’s a copy. The frame’s worth more than the painting,” Mike said.
Mum spun to glare at him. “Shut up.”
“Oh, a woman. How novel.” Mike smirked.
Benny finally got into gear and moved close to the chair. “Open the fucking drawer and get me that key.”
Mike obeyed, pulling it open slowly, pausing so Benny could see inside—presumably no gun—and he dipped his fingers in and produced a key. He held it up, and Benny snatched it, tossing it to Len, who rushed over to the safe and inserted it into the keyhole.
“It might stick,” Mike said. “Bit of a bugger, that. The mechanism probably needs oiling.”
“Be quiet,” Benny ordered.
Len opened the safe.
It was empty.
“Where’s all the fucking money?” Benny shouted.
“Well, you didn’t specify which safe.” Mike chuckled.
Rebecca couldn’t get over him. He had no fear, despite Benny now jabbing the gun at his cheek. Mike didn’t even flinch. The thought entered her head that he was buying time, maybe hoping whoever was supposed to be watching the CCTV monitors would get with it and alert the police. Where was that office based? On the ground floor? Up here?
“You’re seriously pissing me off, mate,” Benny said. “Where’s the other one?”
“Behind that painting.”
Mum grabbed it and threw it on the floor. A safe had been built into the wall, a number pad on the door. “What’s the code?”
“My birthdate,” Mike said.
“Do you want to fucking die?” Benny jolted the gun so Mike’s head leant to one side. “Because I’ll kill you in a second if you keep on dicking about.”
“Then you won’t get any money. It’s only me who knows the code.”
“And that is?”
“Zero, five, seven, one.”
Mum prodded the buttons, and the safe door swung open. This time, the spoils were there to be had, and Len produced a length of rope, threw it at Trev, and got on with ramming the money inside his rucksack. Trev squeezed past Benny and stood behind Mike’s chair. Benny gripped Mike’s wrists, and Trev tied them. Anthony stood by, watching for trouble.
“You might want to get a move on,” Mike said.
“Why’s that then?” Benny asked.
“Because that code is the one used in scenarios like this. It sends an alert to the police station. Oh, and Len?”
Len froze, then recovered and continued filling his bag.
“I thought it was you. Those eyebrows of yours give you away.” Mike chuckled insanely and looked at Benny. “He’s in most weeks for the card games, although now I realise why. Scoping the place out.”
Trev gestured for Benny to move, and the pair of them came to stand close to Rebecca. Mum joined them, and finally, Len had as much cash as the bag would hold.
Benny swivelled and shot Mike in the arm. “That’s for being a smug prick.”
Then they were out of the room to the sound of Mike howling, and ran along the corridor, through the door, down the stairs, through the other door. In the next corridor, Benny raced towards the fire exit, the man who’d let them in long gone. Footsteps pounded behind Rebecca, and she spun to jog backwards, checking who was there. Three people in security uniforms bore down on them, and she raised her gun.
“Don’t. Just let us go,” she shouted.
They kept coming, the front man staring at the orchid brooch on her chest, and she knew he’d remember it, tell the police about it.
Fresh air breezed past her—Benny must have the exit
open—and she checked over her shoulder to see if they’d left her to deal with the problem on her own. Only Len stood at the door, and he nodded: You know what to do. No, she didn’t want to, couldn’t, but when she looked ahead, the men and woman approaching in a single-file line, Rebecca panicked. She aimed and fired, the bullet going into the first man’s stomach. He dropped to the floor, and the woman in the middle dropped, too, then the bloke at the back. Fuck, she’d shot them all with one bullet, three possible deaths on her hands as well as Mrs Didders’.
“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry!” she screamed.
“Come on, sod them,” Len shouted.
She fled, bursting outside, disorientated for a moment, forgetting Will would have moved the van. He stared out at her, the interior light bathing him in a harsh white glow, and she was frozen with guilt and fear, with shame and the sense she’d crossed the line into more evil territory, a place she’d never wanted to be.
Len grabbed her arm and yanked her along. “Don’t be a fucking dick or a liability. Get in the van.” He shoved her in the back and climbed in behind her.
She scrabbled to move out of his way, pressing on Mum, hating the feel of her warm arm against hers. Will sped off. Heat seemed to pour out of Rebecca, her face sodden beneath the balaclava, her skin immediately going wet with the heat switching to sweat.
“Three down, courtesy of Rebecca,” Len said.
“Fucking hell.” Benny looked over his shoulder at her from the passenger seat. “What were you thinking? One shot would have been enough to distract them.”
“It was one shot,” she screeched at him. “It went through all of them.”
Benny laughed, a proper throaty one. “What are the fucking odds of that? A hat trick without even trying.”
Rebecca shifted away from Mum, blessed space between them now, and bent her legs to lower her head to her knees. Those people had families, would be missed if they died, and if they didn’t, their folks would have untold worry until they got better. She cried, holding in the sobs—if she let her family hear them, they’d rip the piss out of her apart from Will.
They switched vehicles twice, leaving the burning shells behind, and Rebecca left a part of herself behind, too, the remainder of her innocence. At home, money counted, celebratory drinks poured, glasses raised, she wandered into the living room, Mum feeding their clothes to the open fire in there. Rebecca stared at the orchid brooch melting. It was for the best. Mum hadn’t even taken it off the top anyway, probably enjoying the fact it was in the flames.
They ignored each other, and someone put the radio on in the kitchen, Len and Trev singing to the song currently playing.
Rebecca tried to drown them out, closing her eyes, but the sight of those three people dropping one after the other filled her head, and when she opened her eyes again, they were still there. Would she always see them? Would they follow her in her head for the rest of her life?
“It’s made the news already,” Benny called.
Rebecca’s stomach lurched, and she got up, stumbling towards the kitchen. She stared at Benny, who winked at her.
“One of them died at the scene,” he said. “So you’re a proper killer now.”
She blinked. “What…what about the others?”
“On the way to hospital. Doesn’t look good, apparently.”
She took her stash off the table and trudged upstairs, adding it to her secret bag. Her earlier thought of wishing she’d be arrested so she could be free suddenly vanished, the need for that not so strong now she’d be on trial for murder instead of armed robbery. She’d wait until they were all asleep then leave, never to return. She could no longer remain in the city where she’d killed, where her sins were always there to remind her of what she’d done. Her love for Will was no longer enough to keep her here.
She had to do a Benny and think of number one.
Chapter Twenty-One
Early mornings, Len didn’t function well. He especially didn’t do well waiting around at home until the next train to London, twiddling his bastard thumbs, Trev pacing and muttering over Will’s messages, getting on Len’s bloody wick. They’d packed an overnight bag in case they needed to stay over. Benny had taught them to plan for every eventuality, so balaclavas had gone into the side pocket. Then they’d sat in the kitchen drinking coffee until it was time to leave.
The train platform had been a surprise, busy, all those commuters out at sixish in the morning, some of them bright, chipper, and far too ‘in the land of the living’ for Len’s liking. He was in dragged-through-a-hedge-backwards mode, tired from lack of sleep, jittery from caffeine, and grumpy as eff.
Trev was of the happy variety, keen to get his teeth into something different. Nothing much fazed him, he took shit with a pinch of salt, and Len couldn’t recall a time Trev had ever revealed his inner feelings. Len had tried to get him to open up once when they’d been drunk, to encourage Trev to verbalise his thoughts on their mother, their lives, how they were so different from other families.
Trev had scowled. “Shut up. There’s nothing to be gained from chatting about things we can’t fix.”
That was telling, wasn’t it? Had Trev really been saying: “Yeah, I agree, Mum’s a fucking weird bint, but she’s always been that way and won’t change.”
Now, halfway to London, Len had a mind to close his eyes and try to get a nap in, but every time he did, their situation threw up the same questions, preventing him from dropping off.
Why hadn’t Benny told them he’d sent Anthony to London?
What was the secrecy all about?
Why was the bloke so obsessed about Rebecca and bringing her back?
Len reckoned they worked better without her anyway, and her killing three people… Christ, she’d been sodding stupid. At least his kill on the casino heist was justified, because without him shooting David Buchanan, they wouldn’t have got any money. They’d already had it when she’d blasted that bullet.
Why had Will decided to go to London and be the big man?
Why hadn’t Mum and Benny said they were going down, too, instead lying and saying they were having a couple of days away in Brighton?
Didn’t they trust Len and Trev?
That last one bit him hard, naffed him off more than anything else. He’d thought they were at the top of the food chain along with Mum and Benny—all right, Anthony had been a main player an’ all—but it seemed they weren’t privileged enough to be given certain information. And as for Anthony getting himself offed, what a fucking neophyte. He was the last one Len thought would mess up, yet he had. All those years of being harped at by him, how to be careful, how to make sure you stayed safe. He hadn’t heeded his own words.
And Rebecca. She’d always rubbed him up the wrong way. He remembered her being brought home after she’d been born, this tiny pink bundle in a just-as-pink blanket, which marked her out as different from the start. No father who stuck around for a few months this time, like his had, and Trev’s. Mum had barely cared for her beyond the basics of nappy-changing, feeding, and sometimes popping her in the bath. Nan came round and gave the cuddles, gave the love, and Len had taken his mother’s cue and treated Rebecca like she did—with distaste and more than a little disgust. She was Nan’s favourite, he’d convinced himself of that, although he’d admit he got a fair bit of attention off her, too, as did Trev. In his memories, he preferred to skirt around that bit of info, enjoying the idea of being an outcast, the downtrodden one, woe is me the mantra of the day because it got him noticed by Mum who at least asked why he had a face like a smacked arse.
Then Mum’s stomach had ballooned again, and Len had wondered what she was playing at, having another kid she claimed she didn’t want, no bloke in sight. Will had arrived, the blue blanket swaddling him giving Len a sense of calm: Will wouldn’t be spoilt or fawned over by Nan because he was a boy. Yet he was, and Len had never asked himself whether Nan had been the same with him and Trev when they were babies. He didn’t wan
t to admit she treated them all the same, like Rebecca had said the day he’d wrecked her orchids.
He hadn’t been able to help himself there, had to get her back for something she’d done, although he’d never explained his reason. She’d been given Len’s role, selling drugs, and although he still sold them, it was like she’d stepped on his toes. Okay, Benny had ordered it, and you didn’t go against him if you had any sense, but still. Len had been in her bedroom staring across the road at one of their target’s homes and watched her going past to Benny’s, dutifully carrying the money, money Len should have been delivering, and something inside him had snapped, hatred leaking out, hot and thick in his veins.
So he’d thought how he could upset her. What did she love most apart from Will and Nan? Those fucking flowers. He was jealous of them, of plants, for fuck’s sake, the way she’d cultivated them, kept them alive, blowing dust off their petals, and if he were really honest, her doing that highlighted the fact their mother didn’t have that bone in her—the nurturing one—and he resented Rebecca for being what Mum wasn’t. Caring. When he’d picked the petals off, he’d recalled various instances of Mum withholding affection, and anger had built until he’d swiped those flowerpots to the floor. He’d been cruel with his words to Rebecca, anything so he didn’t have to acknowledge he was no better than their mother, being wicked for wicked’s sake.
He could admit now, in this half-empty train carriage, that they’d all longed for a proper mother, for her to love them how they deserved, but throughout the years he’d consoled himself with her version of caring: the trust she put in them to do the jobs right, the pats on the back if they’d done one particularly well, and the gleam in her eyes whenever Len took the spoils out of his rucksack and presented them to her. Look, Mum, look what we’ve got, what we risked doing for you.