Jaggy Splinters

by Christopher Brookmyre

  ‘Naw I never fuckin’ got them ya stupit cunt. Fuckin’ Scottish Widows must’ve changed the delivery day or somehin’.’

  ‘Aye, awright, dinnae take it oot on me.’

  ‘Well stop askin’ fuckin’ stupit questions.’

  ‘But what are we gaunny dae?’

  ‘Shut up, I’m tryin’ tae think.’

  Parlabane looked to the front of the shop. One of the uniforms was pointing into the shop and talking to someone out of sight down the mall. Three men in matching kevlar semmits filed into place in front of the sports shop opposite, taking up crouching positions and raising automatic rifles.

  Parlabane swallowed. Not everyone was going to be home in time for tea, he feared.

  ‘Giros!’ Jyzer announced. He turned to the teller who had most recently joined the ranks of the illegally detained.

  ‘Giro money. Pensions nawrat. Hand it ower.’

  ‘I don’t think that should be your number one priority right now,’ Parlabane said, pointing at the front window.

  ‘Who asked… aw fuck.’ Jyzer took a step back, like that extra two feet would put him out of a bullet’s projectile range.

  ‘This is the police,’ announced a hailer-enhanced screech. Whatever it said next was lost as Jyzer finally showed a spark of dynamism.

  ‘Right,’ he stated. ‘Staun up, aw yous. An’ line up across the shoap, facin’ away fae the windae. That’s it.’

  They got to their feet unsteadily, most of them turning their heads to cast an eye upon the assembly outside. Jyzer and Tommy stepped behind their human shield, out of the police marksmen’s sights.

  ‘Terrific,’ muttered one of the crusties. ‘Now we’re the filling in a gun sandwich.’

  ‘Noo, go an’ get us aw the cash in the shop,’ he commanded the teller, handing her the sports bag that already contained their wallet harvest.

  ‘We have all exits covered,’ resumed the loud hailer. ‘Please put down your weapons, release your hostages and come out with your hands on your heads.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Parlabane tiredly. ‘Do what the man asked. He said please, after all.’

  ‘You think we’re fuckin’ stupit, don’t ye?’ Jyzer observed, accurately. ‘Smart-arsed cunt,’ he added, hitting a second bullseye.

  ‘Well, maybe you’ll prove me wrong by explaining how you were ever planning to get out of here, with or without your, ahem, Insurance Bonds.’

  ‘Stop windin’ him up, mate,’ warned the crusty who had earlier proffered the highly constructive wallet suggestion.

  ‘I’m not winding him up. I’m just curious to know the secrets of how true professionals work.’

  ‘Want me tae slap the cunt, Jyzer?’ Tommy offered.

  ‘Just keep the heid and keep your hauns on the gun, Tommy. Dinnae let him distract ye. He’s up to somethin’, this cunt.’

  A telephone started ringing on the other side of the counter as the teller returned with the sports bag, presumably now containing cash and very possibly a dye-charge, seeing as Jyzer had made Mistake Number Fuck-knows by leaving her alone to fill the thing.

  ‘Get that,’ Jyzer commanded. ‘No you,’ he added, as Tommy made to reach for the receiver.

  ‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘The police.’

  He gestured to her to rejoin the human shield, taking hold of the bag as she passed, then picked up the phone. Tommy stayed in place, sweeping the gun back and forth along his line of vision like it was a searchlight. The crusties’ skinny dog ambled lazily over to him, yawned once and began half-heartedly shagging his leg.

  ‘Get tae fuck, ya wee shite,’ he hissed, kicking out at it to shake the thing off, his eye relaying between his prisoners and his foot. ‘Fuckin’ dirty wee bastard.’

  ‘TOMMY!’ Jyzer barked, placing a hand over the mouthpiece, ‘will ye fuckin’ keep it doon – I’m on the phone here.’

  ‘Aye, awright. Fuck’s sake,’ whined Tommy, hurt.

  Jyzer shook his head and took his hand off the blue plastic.

  ‘Sorry, what were ye sayin’?’ he resumed. ‘Naw, naw. You listen. Fuckin’ just shut it an’ listen ya polis cunt.’

  The Morningside contingent tutted in stereo either side of Parlabane.

  ‘Before we even have this conversation, I want to be lookin’ oot that front windae an’ seein’ nae polis, right. Nane. Get them away fae the front o’ the shop then phone us back.’ He slammed down the handset with an obvious satisfaction.

  Parlabane suspected the sense of accomplishment would be short-lived, but was admittedly impressed at this first sign of Jyzer having any idea what he was doing. In fact, he had noted with some surprise that neither of the pair had shown much sign of panic at the arrival of the ARU, and started to wonder whether their grossly conspicuous entrance had been less of an obvious blunder than he had first assumed.

  Jesus, these heid-the-baws couldn’t have a plan, could they?

  He looked back over his shoulder, Jyzer and Tommy peering between the arrayed hostages. The marksmen got to their feet and moved out of sight left and right, as if exiting a stage. Parlabane figured it a safe bet they’d be returning for the fifth act.

  The phone rang again.

  ‘Right. Very good. Well done. Noo here’s what we want. Naw, naw, shut it. We aw ken what you want: you want the hostages oot an’ us in the cells so’s ye can boot fuck oot us. Well, the bad news is you cannae have baith, right? So there’s gaunny have to be a wee compromise. You can have maist o’ the hostages in exchange for a helicopter. We want it on the roof o’ the St James Centre in hauf an ‘oor. We’ll be takin’ wan hostage wi’ us, an’ we’ll tell the pilot where we’re gaun wance we’re on board.’ He slammed the phone down again.

  ‘A helicopter?’ Parlabane asked. ‘What, has Fife no’ got an extradition treaty?’

  ‘Fuckin’ shut it.’

  ‘Another rapier-like come-back.’

  ‘Right,’ Jyzer declared, suddenly pointing his shotgun at the pregnant woman. ‘Step forward missus, ye’re comin’ wi’ us.’

  ‘No her, Jyzer,’ Tommy dissented. ‘She’s dead fat. She’ll be slow.’

  ‘She’s no fat, she’s fuckin’ pregnant, ya n’arse. The polis’ll no mess aboot if we’ve got a gun tae a pregnant burd’s heid.’

  The pregnant woman began to whimper, tears running from terrified eyes. She put a hand out and grabbed Parlabane’s shoulder to steady herself.

  ‘Not a good idea, guys,’ he stated.

  The phone began ringing again.

  ‘I thought I tell’t you tae shut it,’ Jyzer said, thrusting the gun into Parlabane’s face.

  ‘Look at her,’ he demanded, staring into Jyzer’s eyes. ‘She’s ready to burst. Do you want her goin’ into labour during your dramatic getaway?’

  Jyzer looked at the woman, sweating, tearful, and imposingly up the stick.

  ‘Know somethin’?’ he declared. ‘You’re absolutely right. We’ll take you instead.’

  Parlabane, who was firmly of the belief that no good deed ever goes unpunished, had been expecting this. He shrugged, put his parcel down and took a step forward, trying not to dwell on the potential indignity of surviving several professional attempts on his life only to be plugged by some shambolic half-wit down the post office.

  Bugger it. Just as long as getting killed there didn’t mean you went to Post Office Hell.

  Jyzer picked up the phone again while Tommy gestured Parlabane to walk ahead of him through to the area behind the counters. The skinny dog gave another yawn as they passed, then trotted over to Jyzer and began humping his shin, its pink tongue lolling out of the right-hand side of its mouth.

  ‘Naw, naw. We’ll let the last hostage go wance we’ve arrived at… AYIAH! Get tae fuck ya clatty wee cunt… naw, no you, officer. Dug was tryin’ tae shag me leg.’

  Jyzer eyed the crusty who was holding the other end of the string. ‘Heh Swampy, that thing touches me again an’ I splatter its baws aw ower this flair, awright? Naw, no
you officer. Aye that’s right, aw the hostages. Once we’re up an’ away, we cannae shoot them, right? So they’re aw yours – but no’ until we’re up an’ away. An’ we’re no comin’ up until the chopper’s there. If we come up the stairs an’ there’s fuck-all, it’s gaunny be a fuckin’ bloodbath, right? Cause ye’ll no have gie’d us any choices – we’ll have to shoot oor way oot. Noo, next time this phone rings it better be tae say wur transport’s arrived.’

  He put the phone down again.

  ‘Are we gettin’ a helicopter, Jyzer?’ Tommy asked.

  ‘Don’t be a fuckin’ eejit, Tommy. They’re just stringin’ us alang, same as we’re stringin’ them alang. C’mon.’

  They backed into the passage leading to behind the counters, Tommy keeping a gun on Parlabane, Jyzer still training his on the hostages.

  ‘Nane o’ yous move,’ he called out, stopping at the door that led into the storeroom at the rear of the counters. ‘We’ll be watchin’. Stay where yous are. You might no’ see us, but we’ll still see you. Dinnae try anythin’. Just cause ye cannae see us doesnae mean we’re no there.’

  ‘I’m sure they bought that,’ Parlabane said, nodding, as they retreated into the store-room. ‘I don’t think it would have crossed their minds at all that you might not be watching them. I mean, if you’d overstated your case it might have raised suspicions, but…’

  ‘Fuckin’ shut it,’ grunted Jyzer, nicking back and popping his head round the door to check his prisoners weren’t making a swift but orderly exit.

  ‘More Wildean badinage. Do you mind if I write some of these come-backs down?’

  ‘You’ll no’ sound so smart talkin’ through a burst nose, smart cunt, so I’d fuckin’ wrap it if I was you.’

  ‘And if you burst my nose you’ll be leaving a nice fresh trail of blood along your escape route; that’s if you fuckin’ clowns have got an escape route.’

  ‘We’ve got mair ay a plan than you think, smart cunt.’

  ‘Course you have. You’re fuckin’ professionals. Tell me again about these Insurance Bonds… ’

  Jyzer back-handed Parlabane across the jaw, which was very much what he’d been hoping for. Unfortunately the blow came on the wrong side, so he had to execute a largely unconvincing 180-degree stumble before getting to his intended effect, which was to fall down heavily against the door so that it slammed loudly with his back propped hard against it.

  Despite Parlabane’s abysmally obvious pirouette, it still took Jyzer a few moments to suss the potential problem, by which time the sound of breaking glass was filling the air as the police broke into the front shop and began ushering the hostages out.

  ‘Fuckin’ cunt. Fuckin’ cunt.’

  Jyzer kicked viciously at Parlabane until eventually he rolled clear, then threw the door open to see his prisoners fleeing and the armed cops kneeling down to take aim. He slammed it shut again and pushed a table up against it, then backed into the room, indicating to Parlabane to crawl over against the wall to his right. Jyzer knelt down a few feet away, the gun pointing halfway between his prisoner and the door, his eyes shuttling between both targets.

  ‘We’ve still got a hostage in here,’ he shouted. ‘Any o’ yous cunts tries this door and we’ll do ‘im, right? We still want that fuckin’ helicopter.’

  ‘Okay, okay, everybody stay calm,’ appealed a voice from the other side of the door. ‘Everybody just calm down. I’m pulling my marksmen back to outside the shop, so don’t panic and do something we’ll all regret.’

  ‘I wouldnae regret shootin’ you, ya cunt,’ Jyzer hissed at Parlabane, who just smiled.

  ‘Sorry Jyzer, but in case you’ve no’ worked it out, the last thing you can do is shoot me – I’m your only hostage. Soon as I’m out of the equation, it’s you versus the bullets. That’s unless you professionals can take out a team of trained marksmen with your stove-pipes there.’

  Frustration was writ large in Jyzer’s eyes. He clearly wished he could blow Parlabane away, or at the very least, finally silence him with a telling one-liner. He settled for: ‘Fuckin’ shut it.’

  Then he called out to the cops. ‘We’re aw calm in here. Yous keep calm an’ aw. An’ get on wi’ gettin’ that helicopter.’

  Tommy was hectically hunting through drawers and cupboards, having tried the handle on the only other door in the room.

  ‘I cannae find the keys, Jyzer,’ he gasped in a loud whisper.

  ‘Well they’ve got tae be here somewhere. Keep lookin’.’

  ‘Couldn’t possibly be on the person of one of your erstwhile hostages?’ Parlabane suggested.

  ‘Aw fuck,’ Tommy sighed.

  ‘Keep at it Tommy, there’ll be another set somewhere. Dinnae listen tae that cunt.’

  ‘What were you wanting from the stationery cupboard, anyway?’

  Parlabane asked. ‘Checking there’s no eh, Insurance Bonds mixed in wi’ the dug-licence application forms?’

  ‘Would ye fuckin’ shut it aboot the bonds. They were meant tae be here. Scottish Widows changed the delivery. They’re worth thousands. Nae ID needed. Good as money.’

  ‘That’s right, they’re transgotiable,’ Tommy contributed.

  ‘Shut it Tommy, that’s no the word. Keep lookin’. An’ as for you, big-mooth, that’s no’ any stationery cupboard. Behind that door’s the thing that’s gaunny make you eat every wan o’ your smart-cunt words.’

  ‘What, proof that Madonna’s got talent?’

  ‘Naw. That door leads tae the underground railway. Belongs tae the Post Office, for sendin’ stuff back and forward. Runs fae here doon tae the main sortin’ depot at Brunswick Road, which is where we’ve got a motor waitin’. They’ll still be coverin’ the exits up here while we’re poppin’ up haufway doon Leith Walk. And wance we’re there, you’ll have outlived your usefulness, ‘lived’ bein’ the main word. Aye, ye’re no so smart, noo, are ye?’

  Parlabane shook his head, squatting on the floor against the wall.

  ‘Underground railway?’ he asked, grinning.

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘I’ve got two words for you, Jyzer: Insurance Bonds.’

  ‘An’ I’ve got two words for you: fuckin’ shut it. Tommy, have ye fun’ thae keys yet?’

  ‘Sorry Jyzer. I don’t think there’ a spare set.’

  ‘Fuck it,’ Jyzer said, getting to his feet. ‘You watch him Tommy.’

  Jyzer walked over to the locked door and pointed his shotgun at the metal handle.

  ‘No don’t do that!’ Parlabane shouted, too late.

  Jyzer pulled his trigger and blasted the handle, then reeled away from the still-locked door, bent double and groaning.

  ‘AAAAYAAA FUCKIN’ BASTARD!’ he screamed, falling to the floor, blood appearing from the dozens of tiny wounds where the pellets had ricocheted off the solid metal and back into his thighs, hands, wrists, abdomen and groin.

  ‘STAY OOT!’ Tommy shouted to the cops behind the door. ‘STAY OOT. The hostage is awright. Just a wee accident in here. Just everybody keep steady, right?’

  ‘Let’s hear the hostage,’ called the cop. ‘Let’s hear his voice.’

  Tommy, looking increasingly like the least steady person on Earth, waved the gun at Parlabane and nodded, prompting him to reply.

  ‘I’m here,’ Parlabane shouted.

  ‘You okay, sir?’

  ‘Do you really want me to answer that?’

  ‘I mean are you hurt?’

  ‘No. But Jyzer here just learned a valuable lesson about the magic of the movies.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Tommy interrupted. scuttling over to check on his writhing companion. ‘What’s the score wi’ that helicopter?’ he called.

  ‘I think an air ambulance might be more appropriate,’ Parlabane said.

  ‘Fuckin’ shut it,’ Tommy hissed. It was the only part of Jyzer’s role he had been so far able to assimilate.

  ‘It’s over, Tommy,’ Parlabane said quietly. ‘Y
our pal’s in a bad way, there’s polis everywhere, and I’m afraid you’re three hundred miles from the nearest underground postal railway, which is in London.’

  ‘It’s no’. There’s wan here. We’ve had information.’

  ‘Is everybody okay in there?’ asked the policeman.

  ‘STAY OOT!’ Tommy warned again, his voice starting to tremble. ‘The situation’s no’ changed. Stay oot.’

  Jyzer continued to moan in the corner, convulsed also by the occasional cough.

  ‘There’s no such things as Insurance Bonds, Tommy,’ Parlabane told him.

  ‘Shut it. There is.’

  ‘Where did you get this “information”?’

  ‘That’s ma business.’

  ‘Did you pay for it? Is someone on a percentage?’

  ‘Naw. Aye. The second wan.’

  ‘Never done anything like this before, have you?’

  Jyzer moaned again, eyes closed against the pain..

  Tommy shook his head. He was starting to look scared, like he needed his mammy to take him home.

  ‘Somebody put you up to it? Somebody force you?’

  ‘Naw,’ he said defensively. ‘We were offered this. Hand-picked. He gied us the information, an’ we’d tae gie him forty per cent o’ the cally efterwards.’

  ‘You been inside before? Recently?’

  ‘Aye. Oot six weeks. Baith ay us.’

  ‘And I take it you weren’t inside for armed robbery.’

  He shook his head again.

  Parlabane nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his compact little mobile phone.

  ‘Whit ye daein’? Put that doon.’

  ‘Just let me call the cops outside, okay? Save us shoutin’ through the wall the whole time.’

  ‘Aye awright.’

  He dialled the number for Gayfield Square, explained the situation and asked to be patched through to the main man on-site.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right, sir?’ the cop in charge asked. ‘What’s your name? Do you need us to get a message to someone?’

  ‘I’m fine. My name’s Jack Parlabane. Yes, that Jack Parlabane, and spare me the might-have-knowns. I didn’t try to get myself into this, it just happened. Now, Tommy here’s not quite ready to end this, I don’t think. But I was wondering whether you might want to scale down the ARU involvement out there. I’ve got a feeling you’ll be needing them elsewhere fairly imminently.’