For Those Who Know the Ending

by Mackay, Malcolm

  Usman smiled. If he wanted detail then he was basically saying yes, because he had to know that he wasn’t getting any good detail until he committed to the job.

  ‘I think we’ll clear twenty-something thousand on this one. I’m hoping over twenty-five, but that depends on how much of the stuff is in there and what it all is. I think I know, got a guy that used to work there that gave me a good idea of what was in there a couple of shipments ago. I’m guessing it’s roughly the same this time around; they probably have a pretty consistent supply. What they had then would get us between twenty-five and thirty. Let’s say roughly twelve and a half each, but don’t go nuts if it’s a wee bit under. We scout the place, we spend ten minutes max robbing the place, I handle the sale afterwards. Minimum ten grand each.’

  ‘The warehouse?’

  ‘I will tell you about that when you tell me that you’re in on the job. Them’s the rules.’

  There was another pause, Martin seeming reluctant to acknowledge that this was the best job offer he was going to get any time soon. Twelve and a half probable for robbing a warehouse with basic security. Almost impossible to say no to.

  ‘I’ll help you,’ Martin said. ‘But we have to do this properly, make sure that we have all the knowledge we need before we go in.’

  ‘Of course we will, of course we will,’ Usman told him, grinning and leaning back in his chair. ‘We’ll scout it until we know every fucking brick.’ And then, surprisingly quickly, the smile faded into a more serious expression.

  Martin left a few minutes later, drove back home. The house was empty, Joanne at the bookshop again. It was peaceful in that house, but never lonely. Even when she wasn’t there, there was a sense of her presence. The smell of the place, the feel of it. Everything was a reminder of her, of the life they had together.

  There was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep that life. It was a strange feeling, to realize that the things he was prepared to do weren’t about money any more, weren’t about power or position, they were all about maintaining the value of the good life he’d built. That was a change. Something he’d never considered before, when he worked with men who were married or had kids. Always assumed their motivations were the same as his, that it was all about the money and family concerns were something separate. But they weren’t, and he was beginning to understand that. The need to protect the good things you have, the best thing you’ve ever had.

  20

  It was a small warehouse, sharing its yard with two other equally unimpressive buildings. The place had seen better days, all the buildings too small to house the major stock that could pay for upgrades. They were innocuous, which made them ideal. There was no gate at the front of the yard, nothing to stop Usman and Martin getting a van right up to the doors of the warehouse. The other buildings were in use, the area busy through the day. Martin and Usman were in a yard across the street, this one seemingly unused. Sitting in Usman’s car, watching.

  ‘I can see a camera at the door of the warehouse,’ Martin said.

  ‘Uh-huh, there’ll be some on the other buildings as well, might cover all of the yard,’ Usman said. ‘Don’t mean it’s anything to get too worked up about though, does it? I mean, we knew there were gonna be cameras, just means we have to work extra fast.’

  They watched a little longer, aware that in the daylight they couldn’t linger long. There were people using the yard next door to the one they were in, although not many, and there was a danger they would stand out if they stayed.

  ‘You’re sure there’s no guard on that building at night?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘What about the other two buildings?’

  Usman paused, thought about it, realized he hadn’t even asked Gully about the other two. Didn’t know this warehouse shared a yard with them, something Gully should have warned him about.

  ‘Well, I doubt it, right. I mean, if there was a guard he would be working the whole yard.’ He paused. ‘Okay, I don’t actually know about the other two, right, but that’s what scout-ing’s for, eh? Come on, that’s what this is all about. Good prep, and then we go do the fucking job. I’m right, you know I am.’

  ‘So we will have to come back at night and watch this place, make sure that they don’t have guards. And if they do have guards, then it becomes a very different job.’

  Usman sighed, fed up already of the miserable bastard he was having to work with. One last time, he told himself, and then stopped sighing. One last time because he was going to kill him. One last time because he was going to give him a punishment he didn’t deserve. Martin had only gone into that bookies because Usman offered him the job. He’d only become a threat to Usman because Usman hired him in the first place. That wasn’t Martin’s fault. And, yes, he was miserable, and he could be annoying, and he was as distant as the sun most of the time, but he had never let Usman down. Not once. He was nothing worse than a professional who wanted detail to make sure that they did the job well. But Usman was still going to kill him.

  ‘We were going to have to come back and scout the place at night anyway,’ Usman said calmly. ‘We’ll scout it tonight and if things look good, we’ll do it tomorrow night. My contact that worked here said there were no guards, I thought he just meant for the building, maybe he meant for the whole place, the other two as well. I don’t know. I’ll call him, check what he has to say about it. We come back tonight and see it with our own four eyes.’

  ‘And your man is sure that the gear is in there?’ Martin said, keeping the solemn tone that Usman had uncharacteristically adopted. ‘I don’t want to go in there and find a warehouse full of toilet roll or something.’

  ‘My guy says there’s always stuff in there, a constant stream of it. Kealing brings it in in small amounts, always has about the same supplies running through it. Sounds like taking it in regular, small amounts is the safest way for him to get it in without being seen. Think it comes by boat or something like that. Fishing boats, is what I heard one time, but I don’t know if that’s what Kealing does. A fishing boat leaves, like, Holland or Portugal or one of those places, and it meets up with one from here out at sea, they transfer the stuff across. The second boat brings back a small amount of stuff pretty much every week. Someone picks it up from a wee harbour somewhere and they store it in the warehouse, then it gets distributed out in smaller amounts. Always plenty of it though. If it reeks of fish we’ll know I was right.’

  ‘If it reeks of fish nobody will buy it,’ Martin said, knowing that wasn’t true at all. The detail was relaxing him.

  They left; Usman dropped Martin at his house and went on back to his own flat. His proper flat, the one Gully came to, not the one he met Martin in. He wouldn’t use that again. Not that they’d need a meeting place from now on anyway.

  Gully was in the kitchen, making lunch for him and Lisa. She had been shopping that morning, bustling around the house the rest of the day. They were converting the spare bedroom into a study, something they could afford to do with Gully working again. They were busy, active, doing things together. Taking on projects. Converting the spare room felt like it might just be the start of it. They had a three-bedroom house, but Sally’s room was off-limits, not spare while it still contained her memory. Still, these last couple of months had felt like the best in years.

  His mobile rang on the kitchen table as Lisa entered the room. Gully picked it up.

  ‘Hi, Gully, it’s Usman.’

  Gully smiled at Lisa and walked casually out of the room, phone to his ear, not saying anything. He wasn’t going to rub her face in it by taking work calls in front of her.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Gully said quickly. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Martin’s in. All the way in. We’re going to do it tomorrow night if nothing comes up, so, uh, I thought you might want to get ready. I’ll text you as we’re leaving. Um, so, yeah, I was thinking about a gun. Do I need to take one with me or what?’

  ‘No, don’t take a gun in with you in case he sees
it ahead of time. If that dangerous wee bastard sees you with a gun then he’s going to turn into trouble. He can’t get suspicious until it’s too late. Take something in with you, a crowbar or something like that. Use it to crack a door, there’s a staff door next to the loading dock you can go in through. Get inside and give him a thump on the head with it. We’ll leave the stuff there you’ll need to tie him up. A chair, and there’s a metal loop on the floor. Then you come for me and Nate, I’ll give you an address. You come get us, we all go back together, you kill him, we get rid of the body, right? That way you’re not leaving a dead guy behind at any point. Worst thing you can ever do is leave a body unwatched.’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds . . . I don’t know, sounds right, I suppose. I never done this before.’

  ‘And you won’t have to do it again either. People just need to see that you’re one of us, that we can trust you. This is the key to the door, lad, it gets you into the organization. You do this, and it’s much easier after. Trust me.’

  ‘Yeah, okay.’ Usman paused, ready to put down the phone, and then remembered another reason he had called. ‘Listen, the other buildings at the site, what are they like? I mean, the security? Do they have guards?’

  Gully chuckled. ‘All three of them belong to us. You don’t need to worry about guards or cameras or any of that crap, okay? You can cartwheel round the yard with a firework up your arse and nobody’s going to see it. You just do the job and don’t be worrying about that.’

  It was in the hours afterwards that Usman thought about the job, processed the details. Knocking down Martin, a tough guy that would be hard to catch out. Tying him in place and going to get the other two. That seemed like a risk. A big risk. Why wouldn’t they just be nearby? Wasn’t that the professional way to do these things? Maybe it was, but he knew why they weren’t doing it that way. They didn’t want to be anywhere near an amateur like him when he tried to get a professional like Martin all tied up. There was a chance things could go wrong, and experienced professionals knew better than to stand close to the amateur juggling dynamite with a blindfold on. They had no faith in him.

  It wasn’t the thought of killing Martin that was getting under his skin now; it was the thought of trying to tie him up in that warehouse. Martin was tougher than him, more experienced than him. Smaller, sure, but experienced and a scrapper. The chances of something going wrong were huge. He could feel his heart thumping, could feel himself sweating just thinking about it. When he killed Martin, that would be different. It would be safe by then, he would have Nate and Gully with him, he would have a gun.

  When it was time for the evening scout, he picked Martin up a few streets away from his house, which seemed stupid. That was the gunman’s choice, didn’t want Usman anywhere near his precious house and his even more precious girlfriend. Probably a good thing, Usman thought, that he didn’t go anywhere near the place now. Better not to be seen hanging around with a man who was about to disappear.

  ‘You called him?’ Martin asked as they made their way west.

  Usman turned quickly and looked at him. ‘Who?’

  ‘Your man, the one who worked at the warehouse. You said you were going to call him to find out about the guards and security at the other warehouses.’

  A rush of relief. ‘Oh, him, yeah, I called him. No guards. Cameras, but no guards is what he said. That’s what he’d meant at the start, that there were no guards in the yard. Far as I can see, nothing’s changed. Only challenge we’ve got is getting this done good and fast.’

  They drove on in silence, Usman focused on the road ahead. They weren’t able to park in the yard directly opposite their target at this late hour, that place was locked up. The clock in the car said eleven o’clock.

  ‘Place looks silent,’ Usman said, leaning forward. They were parked on the gravelled forecourt of a car valet service, looking down the street at the warehouses. Not a perfect view, but good enough.

  ‘This would be a good time, tomorrow night,’ Martin said quietly, looking across at the entrance to the warehouse.

  Usman nodded slowly. ‘I guess. Wish we could get close enough to the warehouse to have a look at the entrances though.’

  ‘Your man told you nothing about them?’

  ‘Told me the door beside the big corrugated loading gate leads right into the storage place. We can get direct access through there. He says there are storage boxes, plastic things I think, against the back wall on the right-hand side. That’s where it’s always put. We get them out, into the van and we fuck off with them.’

  ‘The van?’

  ‘I’ll get the van, don’t worry about it. A small one, won’t need anything big and heavy, won’t be that much gear. Something nippy, you know. Only be about eight or ten boxes. Four or five trips each.’

  ‘So we come here at about eleven. We go into the yard and we get the door open how?’

  ‘Break it,’ Usman said with a shrug. ‘We’re going to be on camera anyway, we’re going to be racing the clock. No point trying to be clever about it, fannying about with locks and stuff. I’ll take along a crowbar or something; make sure we get in fast.’

  Martin didn’t look enthusiastic. ‘Fine. We get in, we get the boxes into the van.’

  ‘Five minutes we’ll be in that yard, tops. Maybe even less if we break the door quick and find the boxes straight away.’

  ‘Should we not check the boxes before we leave?’ Martin asked.

  Usman puffed out his cheeks, then swirled saliva around in his mouth for the sake of making a noise. ‘I don’t know, that’s a risk. I think I’d rather cut the time we spend in there, wouldn’t you?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘If we’re going in there, I’d rather we weren’t wasting our time. I want to know that when we leave here, we have what we came for.’

  Usman smiled a little. ‘Your English ain’t as shite as it used to be, you know that? But yeah, I get the point. Okay, fine, we check the boxes. But we set a time limit. Five minutes and we leave, even if we’re leaving stuff behind.’

  ‘Fine,’ Martin said. His English might have been better, but he wasn’t in the mood to share his new skills with Usman.

  They stayed and watched for nearly an hour, searching for anything that might alarm them. Nothing suspicious, nothing that should make the following night’s job any harder than predicted. They drove back into the city, Usman dropping Martin off. By the time he got home, his heart was racing again.

  21

  Joanne was up early the following morning, getting ready to go to work. She had showered and dressed by the time Martin rolled out of bed. She was in a hurry, planning to do one of her kiss-on-the-cheek-and-run-for-the-door exits. She heard him come downstairs to intercept her in the kitchen.

  ‘What time will you be back tonight?’ he asked her.

  ‘Late,’ she said. ‘Seven, maybe, perhaps closer to eight.’

  Martin nodded. ‘I should still be here then.’

  Joanne paused and looked at him, picking up the dismal tone. He was going out to work, and this was his stumbling attempt to talk to her about that fact. His way of letting her know that this was work he wanted to talk about. They had agreed on no details, but that agreement was ready to collapse. It was increasingly obvious that Martin wanted to tell her everything.

  ‘You’re going out?’ she asked, letting the unwanted question in. Starting a conversation that was going to go down one of those dark roads they’d both worked so hard to avoid.

  ‘I am,’ he nodded, taking his time. He wanted to get the words and the tone right. She could see the effort Martin was making. He wanted to speak to her with clarity, but speaking in a second language clouded that attempt. ‘I have a job tonight. It is nothing special, simple job, but I could be late back. I don’t know how long it will take, some of it. It will not be dangerous; it is something I’ve done many times before so there is no need to worry.’

  Joanne frowned, folded her arms. She pursed her lips, looking at the tough l
ittle man she’d welcomed into her life. ‘When people tell me not to worry about something that’s usually a reason to worry about it.’

  ‘There may be some dangerous things; there are dangerous things in every job. I think it’s safe, a good job, so . . . But I wanted you to know that I would be out, that you might not see me when you come back tonight. Maybe I will be out already.’ Repeating himself, trying to make sure she understood what he was really saying. The truth had retreated behind his struggling English.

  ‘Is there—?’ she said, and stopped before she finished the question. She knew she wore the hard look she got when she was confronting something bigger than she was ready for, something big enough to do her real harm. ‘Is there a chance that you won’t come back?’

  Martin wanted to be reassuring. Smile and tell her she couldn’t get rid of him that easily. Laugh and ask her if she was fearing or hoping. He couldn’t though, because he was going to be honest with her. This time he was going to be as honest as he could be.

  ‘There is always a chance,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Less with this job than most. If the police catch me or a security guard or some other dangerous person. I am good at my job though. I am. I have done so many things more dangerous than what I will do tonight and I’ve always been okay. I will be okay. I just wanted you to know that I am working, that’s all.’

  They stood a couple of feet apart for several more seconds, both silent, Joanne watching Martin and Martin watching the floor. He didn’t have the courage to look her in the eye, to see what was there. The fear that he would see revulsion, a woman realizing that she was sharing her life with a thug. The fear that he would see the end of their relationship silently declared on her face. Then Joanne stepped towards him and hugged him.

  He watched her leave and began to wander round the house. Walked and walked, room to room, taking it all in. When was the last time he had felt so at home in one place? Not since he was a child, he figured. This was it. This was the reason he had done all those jobs, all the work he hated. You do the work and you take the money and then what? There has to be something after that, or all the work is pointless. Used to be that he would spend it. Parties, women, drugs. Then he’d buy himself gifts, like motorcycles or expensive watches. None of those things had any real value though. Had to leave most of them behind when he ran. They weren’t worth the effort it took to pay for them, no matter how hard he tried to persuade himself. Then he met a woman. A smart woman, so much in control of herself. So far removed from the kind of women he’d spent money on before. Eight years older than him and with a grown-up kid. Now he had a reason for everything, which instantly made even a small risk seem colossal.