Insecure

by Michael Shevlin

  Rich fumbled with his key a bit and eventually slotted in home. He swung the door open but we were pushed in hard from behind. The room was dark and Rich hit one of the single beds and flopped in between them with an oomf. I felt a hand grab me under my arse and grab me between the legs, that led me to believe for the shortest moment of time that we were going to be gay raped in Zurich. I was lifted into the air and thrown and head hit the corner of the bed and whip lashed backwards. I bounced off and my head hit the floor hard.

  Our attackers still hadn’t said anything, and the door shut shrouding the room in darkness. I rolled over and crawled away from the direction of the door but was grabbed from behind by my armpits and dragged backwards, straightened and then punched hard in the stomach which needed little encouragement to void itself, projected into the face of one of my attackers, who made guttural sounds of disgust. I doubled over, but felt strangely better for having vomited.

  I looked up to see Rich swinging a lamp at the attacker who was holding me but the cord took up the slack and Rich just looked at it comically, held in mid-air, and then my captor quickly punched Rich in the face. I used this opportunity to grab his leg and bite with all my strength. A copper taste flooded my mouth as my teeth scraped against bone.

  ‘Fuck!,’ said the man and his hand, instinctively, went to his leg. I then bit that and he cuffed me on the side of my head but I pushed him and he want over hard, unbalanced. I pulled at the side console for a weapon and in the end pulled out the draw and hit him hard, twice on the head.

  On my knees, I turned to see Rich jumping from bed to bed as the other – vomit covered – attacker tried to get a swing at him. He lunged in between the bed and I took the opportunity to push them together, he stuck and flailed comically and Rich took a swing which connected hard with a nose and I heard a sharp crack. I was trying to clamber onto the bed, but they were cheap bouncy beds and I just couldn’t get a purchase and the pinned attacker swung his left in a backhander and caught me square on the cheek. It made a loud slap and caused me to fall off the bed and land on his assistant who made a groan when my boney arse connected with his head.

  I pulled myself to my feet and saw Rich being grabbed and he let out a yelp of pain. I grabbed a chair and swung it at the man’s back and it connected fully but didn’t break, which I was a bit disappointed with. Sensing he had the upper hand Rich head butted him hard and man, who’s nose was already broken, just moaned and sat, but toppled off backwards.

  The room was silent apart from the panting breaths of the three conscious men in the room. I had finally put two and two together and figured that we were attacked by our two watchers, who must have needed to get some information to Barney pretty desperately.

  I staggered to my feet, and fumbled for the light switch. The bright bulb pinged on and our room looked a little trashed. With blood on the beds and the lampshade of the lamp Rich had tried to swing, unwrapped like a skirt over the side of the bed. The man, unconscious, had his face to the wall and was breathing easily. Rich was standing in between the beds, blood streaming from his ear where he had been bitten. The other man was sitting up, his arms limp between his legs. Blood was flowing down from his nose. He was wearing a dark jacket but we could only guess at how sodden with blood it was.

  ‘You alright?’ asked Rich. I nodded. He put a hand up to his ear and winced. ‘He fucking bit me!’ The man on the floor just looked at Rich blankly. I had managed to escape out of this fight without too much injury and the surge of adrenalin made me feel a bit fresher. I walked into the bathroom and grabbed a hand towel, ran it under some water and gave it to Rich who put it under his ear. I thought it was a bit unfair, so I got another one for the man on the floor.

  ‘Why you getting him one? He bit me.’ Rich stuttered. The man just took the towel, but didn’t put it to his face.

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ I said, sitting down on the bed.

  Rich sat down too, he kicked out at the man’s outstretched foot. ‘Oi, twinkle toes? What the fuck was that all about?’ The man said nothing and just looked at Rich. I got up, walked over to him and stood on his hand with the heel of my shoe, he screamed out and I heard a snap as one of his fingers went. I didn’t mean to do that.

  ‘Jesus Dan,’ said Rich, shocked, ‘steady on.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I looked down at the man, who was hiding his hand protectively. ‘We know Barney sent you. Why the hell did you have to start swinging at us?’

  ‘Barney, wanted some news,’ mumbled the man nasally, ‘we lost you and thought that you’d rumbled us – Barney’ll have our bollocks for this.’

  ‘No he won’t,’ said Rich, ‘don’t be soft. Look at us you dickhead, you must have just missed us, we went out and got lashed.’

  ‘You’re up to something, and Barney want to know what,’ said the man.

  ‘We came here to open bank accounts, nothing more than that – several secure, private accounts,’ I said, ‘tell Barney that and he’ll know what it means.’

  ‘You’re still in the shit, you cunts,’ said the man, angrily.

  ‘No, you are mate – once Barney know’s you fucked up, he’ll put your balls in a pickle jar for sure,’ spat out Rich. The man processed this, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. ‘You better get your mate up, we need to get some sleep.’ The man didn’t move, so Rich kicked his foot again. ‘Come on, we haven’t got all night.’ The man creaked himself to his feet and went and shook his mate.

  ‘He’s out cold,’ he said. I picked up a glass of water that was remarkably still standing on the console table and threw it on him. He moaned at rolled onto his back.

  ‘Fuckim….hmm….’ he moaned, ‘…cunt.’ He flipped open his eyes and fixed on his partner. ‘What the…oh, my fuckin’ ‘ead.’ He pushed himself onto his elbows and looked at us, said nothing, and got to his feet.

  ‘Time to go,’ said his partner. His partner went for me, but vomit man held him back and pushed him out the door.

  ‘I thought it was all Toblerones and cuckoo clocks in Switzerland,’ said Rich, rubbing his ear. I looked at him and started laughing, he started laughing too.

  We laughed hard for about five minutes and every time we looked at each other we started laughing some more. We laughed because we were on this crazy ride together and every time something was thrown in our path we managed to jump it together, sometimes helping the other one over it.

  For the first time in years we were doing something together, as brothers, and whatever the outcome, we’d finish this as brothers.

  CHAPTER 13

  The warehouse was in a dreary industrial estate on the edges of Perivale, a suburban enclave of west London. It was a dull Sunday, cold and very quiet. Rich and I were sitting on stained, orange plastic chairs drinking instant coffee from paper cups. An industrial air heater was doggedly pumping warm air into the thankless void of the warehouse. In front of us were stacked cardboard boxes, like an installation at the Tate, trying to create the interior and immediate exterior of the bank. Henry had also used corrugated iron to create dividing walls

  We’d completed our trip in Zurich by visiting the bank that Raymond had a contact in, in full view of our battered escorts. We’d opened accounts, in a few different names. It was easy, like visiting Lloyds on the high street, except less forms and fewer morons.

  Henry was pacing up and down the alleys and corridors, in and out of rooms and cubicles, double checking the layout to the plans in his hands. He used a laser measurer every now and again to double check things. We were forbidden to explore until he was finished.

  Henry had arrived in the UK the same time as us and we had done away with swapping cars and Henry had done the pick up himself in a rented transit from a warehouse in Dover. Currently we had a small arsenal in the back of it but Henry seemed relaxed about driving it around London.

  We’d already had a couple of MP5s out and had impressed Henry with our ability to strip and rebuild them with such speed and confidence. We had sp
ent an hour doing that before our tired fingers had given out.

  ‘Done,’ said Henry walking over. ‘I know it seems like a bore, but it’s damned useful to know the layout. These red boxes, here, these are the important bits – these are where the panic buttons are located.’

  We walked the interior and after a while you did forget to see boxes and corrugated iron and started to see the interior of an office. Henry had also put up spotlights that indicated where the CCTV was inside and out. We wouldn’t be able to avoid them so we had to try and use them to our advantage.

  Barney had promised us two men. Sam, the ex-paratrooper and a guy called Denzel. He wanted his nephew to be as detached as possible, and when we were in the bank we could call him, but that was it. Neither of his guys had turned up yet. If this was to work then we had to be co-ordinated, so their absence might create problems.

  Putting our plan through Henry was more useful than we could have thought possible. At almost every juncture he had made obvious, simple alterations, forever streamlining and honing our plan until what we had was uncomplicated and decisive.

  ‘Listen chaps, when I was in Somalia –‘he’d said.

  ‘Oh, here we go...’ started Rich.

  ‘…those dashed Somalis are tricky little dervishes,’ I continued, in a posh accent. Henry chuckled, he was getting used to us taking the piss, and I think that he must be well used to it. I’ve always thought that it is only people with great confidence and surety that can handle being deprecated all the time. I also thought that this job had given us all a certain sort of camaraderie that maybe he missed from the forces.

  ‘Okay, settle down. When we planned an assault, or a house clearance, we always made a total arse of it when we over-elaborated,’ he said, ‘the trick is to go in there hard and quick – surprise is a powerful weapon – even trained soldiers lose their training when presented with overwhelming force and intent.’

  ‘Henry, these are just civilians, I don’t want to…you know?’ I said.

  ‘I know you find it distasteful, but look at this way. If a Joe is standing there and wants to be a hero and you crack him in the side of the head with your gun butt – what’s the worst that’s going to happen?’

  ‘He gets a head injury and spends the rest of his life watching Antiques Hunt?’ Henry chose to ignore me.

  ‘He will get a nice story in the Sun, a medal off the Queen and a huge payout from the personal injury insurance the bank has – everybody wins,’ said Henry smiling, ‘if he still gives you grief, shoot him in the leg.’

  ‘I don’t think I can do that,’ said Rich.

  ‘Me neither,’ I echoed.

  ‘It’s hard to die from a leg would in a city like this,’ we both grimaced, ‘it won’t come to that, really. Five chaps with MP5s is enough to make most people wet their pants…besides, most of the people will be investment bankers, you should try and enjoy it.’

  We needed to be at the terminal for about five minutes, tops, to do the transfer. Crowd control and whether or not someone managed to press the panic button would alter the amount of time we’d have. We’d start a count the second we got in the bank. Henry said that we should add three minutes to whatever time we estimated – so we were talking five minutes to do the transfer, three minutes to get to it and three minutes for acts of god, mistakes and unforeseen events. Eleven minutes.

  The bank was around the corner from Tower Hill and was on a one way street – this again added to the complications, but if we didn’t get rumbled, and no panic buttons were pressed it wouldn’t be an issue. Henry, though, said we had to assume that a panic button would be pressed. We also had to assume that something would go wrong; a stray copper would walk by, a truck would be double parked, blocking access or an SO9 team would be local and there in three minutes.

  Henry just wanted us to be realistic. This is why he wanted us charging around the cardboard boxes. If we could take two minutes off of the eleven, well, then anything was possible. But we had to be organized, slick and co-ordinated: Barney’s goons were starting to piss me off.

  ‘Rich, ring Barney,’ I said, irritated, ‘we need his muscle here now.’ Rich got out his mobile, found Barney’s number and dialed.

  ‘Hey Barney…no, we’re all set…don’t worry about that…that’s what I was calling about, Sam and Denzel, they’re a no show…okay,’ Rich looked at me, he had his tongue pressed into his cheek and shook his head, ‘okay…but where are they?...okay, I’m not saying that…’ I grabbed the phone off of Rich.

  ‘Barney, Dan here,’ I said. There was a pause on the line.

  ‘Hello Dan,’ said Barney, ‘I was talking to your brother, not very nice to interrupt a conversation, is it?’ After all that was said and done since our meeting, and what we were about to do I felt a bit ambivalent about Barney now.

  ‘You’ll get over it,’ I said quickly, ‘Listen, Barney, we need your guys here now, we’re doing a practice run and, well, they’re fucking it up.’

  ‘Well, well, who went and got a set of balls in Switzerland?’ said Barney, ‘sorting out how to spend your money?’ I left a deliberate pause.

  ‘How’d you know about that,’ I asked, hoping to sound meek. Barney chuckled.

  ‘I also know you have some posh cunt doing the job with you, I hope he knows how to handle himself,’ said Barney nastily, ‘you’re playing in the big boys yard now, best you remember that.’

  ‘We just want to complete the job and walk away,’ I said, ‘that’s all we want to do.’

  ‘When I see the money in my account, you can walk away,’ said Barney, ‘until then remember who you’re fuckin’ talking to.’ I handed the phone back to Rich. He looked at me with a frown.

  ‘Rich here…yeah, you know…I do, and we know that…’ He looked to the ceiling and snapped the phone shut. ‘Sometimes, Dan, you need to think before riling a bloke like Barney Gibbons, you of all people should know that.’

  ‘Sorry, Rich,’ I said, ‘I’m just tense, I just want to get on with it.’

  ‘Me too, but if Barney decides to hack our thumbs off for a laugh it’s not going to make it any easier, is it?’ Rich’s phone made an annoying sound, a twanging, indicating that message had arrived. ‘Ten minutes,’ he read, ‘from Barney.’

  Five minutes later there was a rap on the double doors leading into the warehouse. Rich went to answer it and Barney’s two men sauntered in, they took in the stage set.

  ‘What the fook is all this, then?’ said Sam. Sam put his hands on his hips and surveyed the set, grinning. Sam was well over six foot and if he was in shape once, he wasn’t anymore. He spoke with a Yorkshire accent that had been softened by years in London.

  Denzel was a slim black man, wearing a denim jacket and black jeans. He looked at the stage set and then looked us over. I went over to them and shook Denzel’s hand, he muttered a quiet alright and I offered my hand to Sam, who ignored it.

  ‘It’s a mock up of where the job is at,’ I said.

  ‘What? We robbin’ Ikea?’ Sam laughed. I was starting to dislike him intensely.

  ‘We need to be quick,’ said Henry walking over, ‘so this helps us practice. I’m Henry, I’ll be dealing with crowd control.’ Henry didn’t offer his hand but appraised Denzel and Sam closely. Sam looked back and made a guttural sound and spat on the floor, close to my feet.

  ‘What you doing? Accounts?’ he said to me grinning. Denzel said nothing and just merely looked from face to face, seeing where the power struggle would go.

  ‘Me and my brother, Rich,’ I said pointing, ‘are running the job. I’ll be handling the money and Rich will look after the entry point.’

  ‘From what I hear, you know fook all,‘ said Sam crossing his arms. I turned away and went to the van and took out a case holding three MP5s.

  ‘Your first job is to oil and build these,’ I put the case on the table, ‘can you manage that?’ he peered into the box and then back at me.

  ‘You fookin’ do it,’ he challen
ged. I took the pieces out in order and assembled the gun quickly and with no mistakes, I checked the safety and charged it. The grin had slowly disappeared off his face

  ‘There, easy,’ I looked at him flatly, ‘there’s two more, and five Sigs in the bottom.’ I pushed the case towards him.

  ‘I don’t know how to do that,’ said Denzel, the first words he had spoken.

  ‘I’ve only ever done Armalites,’ sniffed Sam.

  ‘I say,’ said Henry, ‘Armalites are not really standard issue.’

  ‘Well, it’s been a while since I served…’ muttered Sam.

  ‘It’s the same principal,’ said Henry, ‘you were in the Paras weren’t you?’

  ‘A few years,’ said Sam, ‘yeah.’

  ‘What Battalion? I know a couple of Paras, maybe you know them?’

  ‘Seventh Para,’ said Sam.

  ‘Seventh? I thought there were only four?’ said Henry, ‘where did you serve?’

  ‘What’s with all the fookin’ questions?’ he spat.

  ‘Just trying to match your skills to a role, is all’ said Henry.

  He pulled a packet of Benson and Hedges from his jacket pocket and lit it with a Zippo. ‘You’re tooled up for this, what the fook are these? Uzis?’

  ‘They’re MP5s, aren’t they?’ asked Denzel. I was showing him how to build it, he was trying to put things in the wrong order.

  ‘They are,’ said Henry.

  ‘Fookin’ paras don’t use this foreign shit,’ said Sam, blowing smoke out.

  ‘MP5s are possibly the best MGs in the world,’ said Henry, ‘that’s why we chose them.’

  Sam snorted and looked around the stage set, ‘when I do bank jobs I just get in, shove a shotgun in someone’s face and they hand me the money.’