‘I think that we’d need to be able to conceal them; initially at least,’ I added.
Raymond nodded, ‘for the crowd control – would they be just for show?’
‘Eh? What, like fakes?’ I asked, looking to Rich.
‘No, no – you misunderstand me. I mean, do you want them to look scary but not necessarily be the best handling weapon in the world?’ said Raymond. He looked to us and seeing our blank expression he put his finger to his chin.
‘We don’t exactly subscribe to Guns and Ammo,’ I said, Raymond smiled.
‘Okay, for instance,’ he said, ‘a Desert Eagle is a very impressive looking pistol but is actually quite difficult to use – you need large hands and it also requires very specific ammunition.’ He paused, ‘it is also quite a difficult weapon to shoot well, I think.’
‘Okay, I see – what would you recommend?’ I asked, ‘to be honest, I don’t know a massive amount about guns.’
Raymond tugged his shirt cuffs clear of his suit sleeves, you could tell that he was mentally smacking his lips at the prospect of talking about guns and ammo. ‘I would suggest using riot guns or shotguns for the crowd control– I think they make more of an impact.’
‘I dunno…’ I shrugged, ‘aren’t we going to look like pig farmers from the Countryside Alliance or something?’
‘No, these are pump action semi-automatics – you will very much look the part.’
‘What if we meet up with some professionals?’ asked Rich.
‘We’re fucked then, aren’t we?’ I said quickly.
‘I don’t want to go to Jail, Dan,’ said Rich.
‘Neither do I, but I’d prefer jail to being dead or spending the rest of my life with one eye or something…or no nads.’
‘Nads?’ asked Raymond, watching us like a tennis match.
‘Bollocks, testicles,’ said Rich. Raymond nodded.
‘Rich, we just need to get in there, do the job and then fuck off – whatever happens, they won’t have time to send in an armed response unit or any of that bollocks, it’ll just be a couple of transits and a panda and some megaphones.
‘what we need to really worry about more is getting away rather than having a shoot out. If they send professionals we’ll die, simple as that.’
‘I think that your brother is right,’ nodded Raymond, ‘unless you hire professionals, ex military or law enforcement, then I think the best option is to intimidate.’
‘Okay, so what does that mean in terms of what we order now?’ asked Rich.
‘I still think that shotguns are a good idea, ‘ said Raymond, ‘very simple to use, effective at short range, easy to obtain, ammunition is widely available.’
‘Would an Armed Response Unit be called if we were using shotguns?’ I asked Raymond.
‘I don’t know the procedures intimately, but I think yes,’ he said, ‘I believe it’s called the Firearms Unit.’
‘What are you thinking, Dan?’
‘Just thinking out loud, but if they send one of these Firearms Units we’re kind of screwed basically?’ I asked.
‘I suppose so,’ said Rich.
‘Could we delay it? Raymond?’ Raymond smiled and tapped the side of his head.
‘Richard, I think your brother is very smart.’
I smiled,’ I wouldn’t go that far, you don’t know what I’m thinking.’
‘Well, spit it out then,’ said Rich.
‘If we were carrying, say, machine guns or assault rifles or – better yet – explosives, would that add a couple of minutes to the response time?’
Raymond nodded, shot his cuffs again, ’you are quite right. The unit would handle anything that might involve explosives or automatic weapons completely differently; it would slow down the response time. Not a lot, but a little, maybe ten minutes, maybe more’
‘Okay, I see what you mean – they’d think we’re terrorists or something, with some kind of agenda,’ said Rich.
‘Certainly,’ nodded Raymond, ‘but the addition of explosives would require the services of a bomb squad and four potential terrorists carrying automatic weapons is tactically more complicated than If they were carrying shotguns.’
I slumped back into the seat, deep in thought. Does it matter? it’s not as if we’re going to use any of this stuff.
‘Okay, let’s get some explosives – ‘
‘Wait,’ I said, interrupting Rich, ‘aren’t explosives traceable? Doesn’t C4 have a signature? We wouldn’t want to drop you in the shit, Raymond.’
‘You are quite correct, C4 has chemical markers to help identify the source.’ Rich looked at me, his eyebrows arched quizzically.
‘I’ve read more than one Tom Clancy,’ I said winking.
‘I have read them all,’ said Raymond, his eyes sparkling, ‘I am a great fan,’
‘We’ll reconvene the book group next week,’ muttered Rich, ’so what do we do?’
‘Fake it - I don’t want to blow up anything. Do you?’ I said.
‘No.’ said Rich, thinking, ‘so, what? we just get some blue play doh and stick some wires in it? I think it’s more complicated than that.’
‘All those evenings playing Ghost Recon and you still think C4 is blue?’ I shook my head sagely. Raymond coughed quietly.
‘Gentlemen, faking them is a little more difficult than using play doh, and Dan is quite right, C4 is white, not blue,’ Raymond looked at Rich, saying quickly, ‘I think that it’s time for another drink?’
Carrie had suddenly appeared at our table, ‘more drinks?’ she said clearing the table. We all shook our heads, ‘okay, no problem. Dan, can I have a word after your meeting?’
‘Sure, ,’ Rich raised his eyebrows at me as she walked away, ‘you were saying?’
‘C4 smells - they would send dogs in first.’ Said Raymond, pausing, ‘I think that the hardware should fit the brief and not the other way round. It seems to me that you don’t know what you’re doing yet.’
‘You’re right, but time is a bit of a factor here, so I thought we’d get our order in early – I don’t know how long these things take to get hold of,’ said Rich.
‘It depends, shot guns are easy, but automatic weapons are normally quite difficult, but I have some MP5s. I don’t have any explosives, but they are quite easily obtained, especially in the middle east.’ He paused, ‘when do you require them?’
‘As soon as.’
Raymond tutted, ‘it’s going to have to be the MP5’s, I’m afraid; I have some pistols as well – that is all…in the timeframe.’
‘Fuck me,’ I said, adding. ‘Are MP5s difficult to use?’ I asked.
‘They require a certain amount of instruction, yes,’ said Raymond.
‘They’re quite full on, they must be super traceable? No?’
‘MP5s are actually a widely used weapon, many police forces use them and you would obviously destroy them after the…project,’ he answered.
‘Obviously’, I snorted. Rich shook his head at me and sighed.
‘I can also get you some packaging from some C4 – it won’t be missed or be traceable but if you wrap some plasticine with it it will fool the dogs. The triggers are quite inexpensive and not really regulated as tightly as the C4 and I can show you how to assemble an approximation of a plastic explosive device.’
‘Okay,’ said Rich, ‘I guess we need to talk about money.’
‘We must,’ said Raymond. He reached into his inside pocket and produced a notepad and a Mont Blanc fountain pen.
‘Nice pen,’ I said. Raymond twirled it around and uncapped it, blowing on the nib.
‘It is actually not a very nice pen to use, but it was given to me by a client…’ he shrugged, holding it above the paper, ‘but I never use ballpoints, not in this business anyway, so it’s a good working pen, nothing more.’ He etched some figures on the paper and slid it over to Rich.
Rich blew out a jet of air and slid the paper over to me, the figure was pretty startling but I was expecting wor
se. Raymond looked elsewhere as we looked at the figures. He seemed so disinterested and I wondered if he’d feel the same if we were middle eastern or if we wanted biological weapons or nuclear weapons.
‘What now? ‘I asked.
‘I will get the items and give you keys to a vehicle that contains them and it’s location and you do the same with the money– spend no more than £500 on a car.’
‘It’s like Top Gear,’ I muttered. Raymond chuckled.
‘No one loses, there is no risk and no people are involved, we merely swap keys. Try to park it in a safe location, I have never had a problem before but there is always a first time.’
‘How do we know that the keys you give us are genuine?’
‘you don’t,’ he shrugged.
‘Raymond, do you know a man named Barney Gibbons?’ said Rich
‘I do, I haven’t worked with him, but I know of him.’
‘We are buying this equipment on his behalf, he doesn’t like to get directly involved,’ I said, in my best I-mean-this voice.
‘That is of no consequence to me,’ said Raymond, tilting his head.
‘We just need to ensure delivery,’ said Rich. Raymond stared long and hard at Rich.
‘I understand the implications for both of us,’ he nodded
and looked at his watch. ’Gentlemen,’ and stood up, ‘I must be somewhere before seven, I will speak to you in two, maybe three days time for the exchange unless there is anything else?’
Rich looked at me and shook his head and then shook Raymond’s hand, ‘thanks Raymond, you’ve really helped us out.’
‘I wish you both luck.’ He turned to me, ‘Dan, a pleasure.’
‘Raymond, the only other thing I was wondering about is helicopters.’ Raymond arched his eyebrows.
‘Dan…’ muttered Rich.
‘No, we don’t want to buy one. I was just wondering how we get rid of one?’
Rich sat across from me, spinning a coffee spoon between his fingers, he sighed.
‘Dan, we need to have a bit of a serious chat about what we’re getting into here,’ Rich looked worried and idly pushed at the cuticles on his fingernails.
Mondays at the club were much more of a bar like experience, more about cocktails and short order food. The clientele was a young crowd spilling out from the design companies dotted all around here. I looked at them with a mixture of regret and pity – regret at where I was now and pity at what they had yet to go through. At the moment I feel fifty years of age, its as if so much stuff has happened that it can’t be possible that I am this young. I turned back to Rich.
‘What can we do?’ I asked. Rich looked away towards the door, a couple walked in. Young and beautiful, the man laughing at something the girl said, they joined another couple, kisses all round.
‘Barney’ll be here soon,’ Rich looked at me and it looked like he was going to cry. I got round to his side of the booth and put my arm round him.
‘Rich, it’s going to be alright…’ my words sounded hollow as I said them, but I had to say something.
‘All this talk about guns, and…jesus, it just kinda of hit me, you know? What we’re getting into, it’s…’ he put his hands through his hair,’ we need to get out, I feel I kind of pushed this and…’ he looked at me.
‘Rich, if we pool everything we have, then we can pay him off, yeah?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What do you mean maybe? Easily, Rich, we have loads of assets.’
‘Like what?’
I spread my arms, ‘well, my place – sell that, pay off the mortgage and I reckon I’d clear four hundred thousand – shit, that is a lot of money.
‘I have savings and share options with the agency – oh, and a pension scheme. I don’t know, maybe a hundred grand? My car – another ten grand? That’s loads.’
‘Dan, it’s still not enough, not even close,’ he said, looking away.
‘I still can’t believe that I am worth over half a million, I could retire to Thailand and live like a lord,’ I said.
‘Maybe you should do that,’ he said.
‘What about this place, there must be something you can salvage from it? Stock, or furniture or something that doesn’t belong to Barney?’ He shook his head.
‘Your flat? Nice location, loft style living, plasma screen on the wall – dude, you live like a bloody footballer – that place must be worth at least three quarters of a mil, no?’ Rich shook his head. ‘Half a million? A quarter?’ Rich kept shaking his head. ‘Alright, I’ll buy it if it’s less than that.’
‘It’s rented,’ said Rich looking down at his hands.
‘Car?’
‘On the never-never.’
I couldn’t believe it. Even a monumental bullshit artist such as myself has managed to make a few bob over the years either through luck or judgement. I don’t even have a financial advisor.
But Rich, from my point of view, seemed to have a wallet full of fifties most days of the week. He drove a bloody nice BMW – well, better than my car with it’s array of indicator lights on the dash that tell me what’s broken; they are currently all lit –and he lived in a bachelor pad to die for. He owns a club and mixes with a crowd of people so good looking that they make me feel like lurch whenever I hang around them.
I used to look at him and wish a life swap. My money pit of a house and my crushing mortgage left me a meagre existence pulling fiscal weeds from between the cracks of these two financial fat lasses sitting on my life’s lap (This is obviously relative, and I’ve never been close to swapping Ocado for Asda,) But now it seems as if that is all a sham.
‘Rich, where has all the fucking money gone?’ I asked Rich, he just shrugged.
‘Did you buy anything tangible, something that is worth something?’
‘I have some lovely suits, and this,’ he showed me his Patek watch, ‘is worth maybe twenty grand.’
‘Really,’ I said grabbing his wrist to take a closer look, ‘I thought it was a knock off from Thailand.’
‘The real deal,’ he sighed, ‘but that’s the lot.’
‘What did you do with the rest?’
‘Well, there was a lot lot of drugs,’ he said, as he scratched his nose unconsciously, ‘and that flat in Farringdon don’t come cheap, or the car and my bar tab at the club is pretty nasty.’
‘But you own the club!’
‘Not this one, a private club in Soho,’ I made a face of agonized confusion, ‘everyone needs a change of scene.’
‘Were you buying drinks for everyone?’ he shrugged.
‘I went on a few outrageous holidays, travelled like a rock star, took friends and girlfriends,’ he said.
‘I thought you were gay,’ I said.
‘What?’ he said, smirking.
‘I’ve never seen you with a girl, I dunno, I though you batted for the other team…’
‘Just because you’ve never seen me with a girl, then I am automatically gay?’
‘Well, it’s more than that,’ he raised an eyebrow, ‘you are pretty plucked – ‘
‘So’s David Beckham,’ protested Rich.
‘Your flat has a certain interior designed aura of…gayness.’
‘It came like that!’
‘You dress a bit, you know, well for a straight bloke,’ rich shook his head.
‘You are such a dick sometimes,’ said Rich, smiling. Still smiling, Rich swirled the spoon some more. ‘Thanks Dan,’ I nodded, ‘maybe we should just put the money on the table and see what happens, shall we?’
‘He might go for it,’ I said.
‘He probably won’t.’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘What can I get you?’ asked Carrie coyly. I scratched my chin and just couldn’t decide, I looked at my watch. Ten to seven.
‘I don’t know, what do you suggest?’
‘You’re meeting Barney later, right?’ she said with a tight smile.
‘Yeah, at eight.’
‘I de
finitely want to take the edge off if I was meeting Barney,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t want to be drunk. I think a martini would be about right – ‘
‘ – and a beer,’ I opted, she laughed.
‘Yeah, and a beer.’ She popped a Beck's and placed in on a coaster in front of me and went to work on the Martini, mixing the measures by experience. I took a long drag of the beer and set it down.
‘Apparently, I make very good martinis but I never drink them – hate them, always have, even my own, ‘ she said, squeezing the lemon.
‘So, what’s your favorite, what would you drink out of choice?’
‘That’s easy – long island iced tea.’ She wiped her hands on a cloth and pushed the glass towards me, ‘there, finished.’ She watched as I sipped, ‘good?’
‘Very, but I’m not a massive fan either,’ she threw the cloth at me, ‘you should have said.’
‘Sorry. You know what? a long island iced tea would be really good. Once you mentioned it I just kind of want one, you know?’ She smiled, and flicked the martini down the sink.
‘Actually,’ she said looking around furtively, ‘I’ll join you, it is a Monday and it is my bar.’ She began mixing again.
‘So, Barney Gibbons…’ she left it hanging. Carrie really was a good bar jockey, and whipped together cocktails with such speed and flair. What makes a good barman (or woman in her case) is the ability to not panic at the work load, even if it is seven deep at the bar and the music is at volume eleven, it is still just a job that when done quickly and calmly is easy. You make mistakes when you try and speed up.
‘Yeah, gonna meet him for the first time. What’s your take on him?’ Carrie undid her apron and walked around the bar and plonked herself on a stool next to me. She sipped her drink.
‘Needs more lemon,’ she looked off into space for a bit. ‘Gibbons is a strange one, he looks so – I’m not sure how to put it – meek…no, that’s not right. He looks apologetic, that’s how he looks, as if he worries that what he says might offend you in some way.’ She looked at me and laughed a bit. ‘I know, he sounds weird. But what really wierds me out is that he scares the shit of everyone, but I just don’t see it.’
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