by Martina Cole
Eric pulled over into a layby and smiled at Alan.
‘What do you think?’ he asked in his well-modulated tones.
Alan stepped out of the car and stood looking around him at the cars speeding past and the countryside.
‘It’s perfect.’
‘Better still, Al,’ Eric grinned as he joined him, ‘there’s a farm road a little way down, that takes us on to a quiet country lane. It couldn’t be better, could it?’
Alan shook his head slowly. ‘It’s ideal. Fuck me, it’s brilliant! And you’re sure this is the route that the sweatbox will take?’
‘It’s the route, all right, they always take the same one. The local police know the score, see, they know the procedure for the laydowns. It’s easier than to keep replanning new routes. They’re convinced they have it off pat, and they have. But not for the GOAD, see? If Georgio can get himself removed from the nick then we’re all laughing. Because then there’s only the sweatbox to take care of. We can back and front it, take out the outriders and the police car if necessary. Then it’s just a case of getting the driver out of the vehicle because he’ll have the key to the back doors. Georgio will be cuffed in a cubicle in the sweatbox. We need the door open and the police out as quick as possible. Then we can take your man out of it.’
Alan nodded, thinking deeply.
‘What about the other cars, though?’ he said. ‘There’ll be motors queuing up once we block the road off.’
‘That’s exactly what we want, Alan. One man will take the car keys off the first three or four cars and dump them. That means once it’s all over the Old Bill will have trouble even getting to the scene of the crime, see? We’ll have scrambling bikes and be off over the road to the country lane by then. They’ll have so much to sort out it’ll be pandemonium, and that’ll give us precious minutes. ’
Alan looked at the road as if visualising it all.
Eric lit a cigar and pointed in the direction of their car.
‘I’ll explain it all now, briefly. We’ll be over there waiting in the farm roadway with a skip lorry, right? No one will know we’re there from the road.’ He pointed to the left of him. ‘The Mercedes van will be parked up over there, as if it’s broken down. We’ll have a Police Aware notice on it and everything. In the back of the Merc will be three scrambling bikes.
‘As the sweatbox arrives, the skip lorry will pull out and we’ll pull out at the same time. That’s how we’ll back and front it. There will be two minutes before the Old Bill collect themselves, maybe more, but we’re working on two minutes to be on the safe side. We all pile out with the guns. I’ll take the Armalite and go to the front of the sweatbox. The driver will shit himself once he sees it. I’ll blow two or three holes in the windscreen, then pour in some petrol. I’ll threaten to burn him alive if he doesn’t get out of the van.
‘Meanwhile,’ Eric went on, taking another pull on his cigar, ‘you, Jonnie H. and his boys will be all over the place. One of the men takes the car keys, the others are sorting out the outriders and/or the police car. We’ll need to shoot out the tyres immediately they stop, the outriders and the main ones. They’re on bikes and they can cause us hag, be off and out of it within seconds - so they’re the important ones. I’ll say shoot to wound not kill, but it’ll be so mad here, Christ knows what’ll happen.
‘Once the shooters go off, especially the Armalite, we should get some good cooperation. I can’t guarantee it, though. You know what people are like when they’re shit-scared. They could go one way or the other. However, once they’re all taken care of, we’re laughing.
‘Meanwhile, I’m dealing with the bloke out of the sweatbox. Remember - only the driver will have the key to the doors. It always works like that. He alone knows the procedure for opening them. You see, the lock is like a safe - You turn the keys in special positions. The driver will know them off pat. So, I get him to open the doors, we chin the guards inside, lock them in - and we’re off! I’ll take Georgio on the bike with me.
‘We all shoot across the field and over to the country lane, going in the opposite direction from the one they’re expecting us to take, because there’s a crossroads there. They’ll expect us to be moving away from the way they came, but in fact we’ll be going in the opposite direction until we come to Gibbet Hill about a quarter of a mile away. We’ll dump the bikes there, run over the railway bridge on foot, and that’s where the safe cars are. We strip off the boiler suits and balaclavas, dump the guns. Georgio slips into the foot rest at the front of the first car, we let him go with you or me, whatever. The rest go in the second car and then it’s up to you for the actual safe houses and all the rest.
‘The railway bridge is an excellent scam,’ he told Alan enthusiastically. ‘It’s got high brick walls everywhere in case the Old Bill decide to follow with shooters. We can be over it and off in no time. I’ll let off a few rounds of the Armalite as we begin to run. That way they’ll know we’re well-armed. But myself I don’t think we’ll be followed by them. If we are, they got a lucky strike, and they’ll be woodentops anyway out here. Not worth a wank. So what do you think, Alan?’
Alan had listened with interest and growing excitement. Now he grinned widely at Eric.
‘I think it’s fucking excellent, mate. Excellent. It’s as sweet as a nut.’
Eric was pleased. Throwing his cigar on to the roadway, he stamped it out.
‘I’ve already got the ballies and the boiler suits. I’ve also purchased five red polo-neck sweaters. We’ll cut the tops out and just wear them - that way, any witnesses will describe us all the same: red sweaters, black boiler suits and black balaclavas. At least two witnesses will say we were black, they always do when guns are involved. We’ll wear black knitted gloves and boots too. They won’t see fuck all. When everyone is dressed alike it just confuses the witnesses more. There’s no eye colour, hair colour, nothing to be seen. Only Georgio, and the Old Bill already know what he looks like.
‘It’s the witnesses we want to confuse,’ he went on, ‘so we shout all the time, except for me when I’m reassuring the driver to get him to open the door. Shouting is the best form of communication on a jump because your voice is completely different from normal. It also intimidates people, and that’s what we have to do, ain’t it? Scare them shitless, the Old Bill included. I’ll put on an accent for the driver, he won’t know me from Adam. I’ll have the door open and promise him he’ll be home in time for tea if he just cooperates. The driver is the worst to look after, see? He is sure that no one can get to him through the bulletproof screen. Once he sees the Armalite he’ll be terrified, he’ll drop down under the dash. And when the smell of petrol hits him, he’ll just disintegrate before our eyes. No one wants to be burned alive, do they?’ Eric laughed at his own cunning. ‘He’ll be as meek as Mary’s little lamb!’
Alan laughed with him, excitement giving way to euphoria. ‘I can’t wait to see the fucking Old Bill’s faces, can you?’
‘As long as they don’t see ours,’ Eric joked. ‘That’s the main thing! Come on, let’s get going. There’s a Happy Eater along from here and I could murder a cup of tea.’
They went back to the car. Alan stood for a few seconds enjoying the view of the golf course and the surrounding countryside. He smiled and said to the breeze: ‘The Devil’s Punchbowl, eh?’ And, chuckling, he got into the car beside Eric. ‘What a name for the Old Bill to write in their statements. Not a bad name, in the circumstances.’
Eric nosed the Volvo back into the speeding traffic. ‘On the maps it’s classed as an area of outstanding natural beauty. After the jump the Old Bill will never be able to pass it by without a shiver of apprehension - and that, to me, will be the best part of all.’
Alan nodded his agreement and watched out of the window as the countryside passed by.
Georgio watched Donna as she walked jauntily towards him with the teas and KitKats. He saw her slim legs encased in sheer black tights move beneath the short skirt of her emerald gre
en fitted suit. She looked stunning. The suit had large gold buttons on the jacket and she wore gold earrings and bracelets to complement it. Her shoes were four-inch-heeled black suede, plain-looking but obviously expensive. He noticed the looks she gathered from both the men and the women in the visiting room. He saw a young pretty blonde girl give her a wave, and frowned.
As Donna reached the table he said, ‘Who’s the little blonde?’
Donna shrugged. ‘Oh, just a young girl. I give her a lift sometimes, help her with the kids. Why?’
For some reason he didn’t understand, Georgio felt a deep resentment. More curtly than he meant to, he snapped, ‘She’s a blagger’s slag, don’t give her a lift any more. Her old man’s an ice cream. Stupid little fucker. Keep away from her.’
Donna sat down and looked at her husband in undisguised surprise. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Either not noticing the tone of her voice or unwilling to heed it, Georgio said nastily, ‘I said, keep away from her. What the fucking hell would you have in common with the likes of that, eh? I don’t want you giving her or any of these slags in here, a lift - all right?’
Donna slammed a KitKat in front of him. ‘Listen, Georgio, I don’t know who’s rattled your bloody cage today, but don’t you ever think you can tell me what I can or can’t do. I have a lot in common with that little girl, as it goes, mainly the fact that both our husbands are banged up for a very long time. She misses him like I miss you, and unlike me she has to keep two children on a bloody pittance. If I want her living in my house I’ll have her there, Georgio. The days of you telling me anything are long gone.’
Georgio and Donna stared at one another in shock, both aware that something had changed between them and neither willing to take responsibility for it. Donna was frightened and exhilarated all at the same time. Georgio’s face hardened and for the first time Donna saw him as others saw him.
‘That was a big speech, Donna. Who put them words into your trap then? Alan Cox, I suppose.’
Donna’s mouth dropped open in shock. ‘What? What do you mean?’
Georgio could hear the strain in her voice, see it in her face, and still he carried on speaking even though he knew he was being unfair. Seeing her with the blonde girl had frightened him. He was shit-scared in case the girl ever saw any of his other visitors and mentioned them to Donna. It was this fear that kept him speaking against his better judgement.
‘You heard. I know you had a great time in Scotland. Have a nice shower in his flat, did you? Get in with you, did he? You always liked me slipping in a length in the shower, didn’t you, darlin’?’
She heard the words and registered them, but her own brain would not allow her to answer. She watched Georgio’s mouth moving and felt as if she had been punched heavily in the solar plexus.
‘I mean, let’s face it, girl. You had a weekend to get to know him, didn’t you? Was it any good, eh? Got a nice big one, has he?’
Donna began to stand up, her legs jittery and unstable. She couldn’t believe what her husband was saying to her, what filth he was spewing out at her as if she was a nothing, a nobody. Seeing her rise, Georgio grabbed her hand, squeezing the skin between his thick fingers until it hurt her.
‘Let me go, Georgio. I want to leave, let go of my hand.’ Her face was closed, her voice low, the words spoken through gritted teeth.
Georgio felt a wave of panic wash over him and opened his mouth in distress.
‘Sit down, Donna. Please, sit back down. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Please, Donna, I’m begging you to sit back down.’
He stared into her white face, his own pleading with her to sit once more, to listen to what he had to say. Donna sat down, her heart hammering inside the emerald green suit, the first beads of nervous sweat appearing under her arms and across her chest.
Georgio’s voice was lower now, gentler.
‘I’m sorry, Don Don. Christ Almighty! I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately. I’m so jealous of you, darlin’. I looked at you just now and I felt the most awful feeling of loss inside me, it was horrible. I suddenly visualised life without you. If you left me I’d die inside, Don Don. I would, I swear before God. I couldn’t go on. Thinking of you, looking like you do, with Alan Cox. I know him, Donna, he’s a slag. I know he’s me mate but women don’t stand a chance with him once he starts his antics—’
Donna interrupted him. ‘You’re two of a kind, you mean, Georgio?’ she said in a low voice. ‘You always liked the ladies, or should I say girls? So I showered in Alan Cox’s flat. Big deal. We’d been driving all night. But all that aside, it hurts me to think you can’t trust me, that you take me for such a tart. After all these years, you could accuse me of that! Me, Donna, the only faithful half of our marriage.’
She leant forward in the chair and said with heavy emphasis, ‘Do you know something? It might do you good if I did have an affair, Georgio. It might just make you realise what you’ve got. I am putting my arse on the line for you, mate. I am trying to keep everything going and all you can do is talk to me like I’m one of bloody Talkto’s so-called escorts.
‘Well, listen to me, Georgio Brunos, and listen bloody good. You ever pull a stunt like this again and me and you are finished. Get that? Finitosberg, goodbyesville as you used to say years ago. “Slipping in a length . . .” you have the gall to say that to me when you spent the best part of our married life fucking anything under the age of twenty-one that showed a bit of leg and looked available. You’ve got a nerve, Georgio. You’ve got some bloody neck!’
Georgio listened to Donna in a stupor of shock so intense he felt an actual wave of heat wash over him, followed by nausea. That Donna could talk to him like this spoke volumes. It showed him just how far his wife had broken free, how the hold he had over her had been destroyed. Half of him was excited by this new, strong-minded Donna and the other half was wary, frightened of her. She had bowed to his will for over twenty years; to realise now that she was a strong person, one to take account of, was a dismaying, even alarming thought. She could make or break him now. She could blow him wide open or she could take him through everything he needed to do. Donna, his little Donna, was in charge. Finally and irrevocably she had thrown off the mantel of underdog, and was meeting him as an equal, as a grown-up woman. He also knew that the Donna he had married, the girl who had catered to his every whim and want, was gone. She would never, ever come back.
Donna had emerged as a mature woman, and the knowledge terrified Georgio because he knew he couldn’t handle her as an equal. He could never accept any woman in that way. The worst part of it all was that he knew he had to grovel to her for now, had to tell her exactly what she wanted to hear in order to placate her. It was what Donna had had to do to keep him throughout her married life . . . but Georgio decided not to think about that. Instead he put a smile on his face, but as he spoke to her, a seed of discontent grew inside him as he saw himself, in his mind, debased by and before her.
‘I said I’m sorry, Donna, what more can I do? I was a fool, I know. I’m jealous, that’s all. You don’t know what it’s like banged up in here night after night, knowing you’re outside, able to do what you want. I love you more than life itself. I can’t help feeling insecure in the knowledge that you’re a beautiful woman who men want and desire. I know blokes who’d give ten years of their lives for a woman as good as you, only half as good as you. Please tell me you forgive me. I couldn’t stand it if we parted company today with this between us. Honestly, Don Don, it would kill me.’
Donna looked at Georgio through new eyes and was surprised to note that his impassioned plea had not reduced her to a quivering wreck as it would have done at any time before he went away. The knowledge hurt her, even while she felt exhilarated by the fact she was strong now. Stronger than she had ever been at any time in her life. As she looked into his eyes she thought: Is this all I had to do to get him to notice me? Should I have made him jealous over the years? Should I have fought back wh
en he was unfaithful? Was it all really this easy? Just let him think I was being approached by another good-looking man?
Suddenly, she felt the futility of what her life had been with this man. She had loved him with every ounce of her being and he had haphazardly loved her back. She had been grateful to him for every scrap of affection he had shown her over the years, believing that he was in charge. He was the leader in their marriage, in their relationship. The knowledge stunned her in its simplicity. It was so easy and she had never before realised it. Now he was looking at her as if she was indeed his wife. He was looking at her as a woman and it felt so good. It felt so very, very good.
She smiled at him, a wide smile that didn’t reach her perfectly made-up eyes.
‘I’ll forgive you, Georgio, on one condition. You never, ever speak to me like that again. I am your wife, man, your wife! Not your mistress or one of your little one-night stands. I am Mrs Donna Brunos and you had better remember that in future.’
Georgio nodded even as he fought the urge to slap the smile off her face. Donna stared into his eyes for another few moments before she looked down at her cup and said, ‘The jump is in one week. It’s to be the twenty-ninth of November and you need to cause uproar here to get the Governor to put you on a laydown. The GOAD rule must be enforced, but you must make them want to remove you from the actual prison, not just off the Wing. Eric thinks you should attack all the sex-offenders, cause a riot on the Wing, and then you must shit up the Governor to put the icing on the cake.’
Georgio listened to his wife in amazement. Today really was a revelation to him.
‘I’ll shit up the Governor all right, Donna. I’ll enjoy that.’