The Jump

by Martina Cole

  She frowned in consternation. ‘What do you mean, dead?’

  He said slowly, ‘As in doornail. He knew as well as I did that he was dead the minute I walked into that hotel room. With all that was going on, I couldn’t ever let him open his mouth. There are too many dangerous people involved, Donna, that’s what you seem to be forgetting, what you can’t seem to take into your pretty little head.

  ‘I can’t stop the jump, Donna,’ he said again. ‘I wouldn’t dare. Only your husband can do that now, and that’s the last thing he wants. The jump will go ahead, and you and I will let it, whether we like it or not.’

  Donna dropped on to the bed as if someone had punched her in the solar plexus.

  ‘The jump must be stopped!’ Her voice was hysterical.

  ‘Leave it to me, love, just leave it to me. Your life’s in as much danger as mine at the moment. More even, because Georgio won’t take any of this lying down. If he finds out, we’re in deep shit.’

  She looked into Alan’s face and said through her tears, ‘How the hell did I get involved in all this?’

  Alan glanced out of the door at the brilliant sunshine and answered her softly.

  ‘You were involved from the day you married him, love, you just didn’t realise it.’

  BOOK THREE

  ‘Should all despair;

  That have revolted wives,

  The tenth of mankind

  Would hang themselves’—

  William Shakespeare, 1564-1616 The Winters Tale

  ‘I’ll be revenged on the whole pack of you’—

  William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night

  Chapter Forty

  Colombo airport was stiflingly hot; the sweat poured out of Donna’s body as they sat waiting for their flight.

  She watched as Alan walked towards her with two glasses of iced tea and then dropped her eyes; she still couldn’t bring herself to actually talk to him. He gave her the tea without a word and sat beside her once more.

  The airport was busy with voices, smells and people. The hard bucket seats were making Donna feel more and more uncomfortable, and her eyes kept scanning the monitor for their flight. Alan lit a cigarette and handed it to her. She mumbled her thanks.

  ‘Look, Donna, this silent treatment ain’t going to do anyone any favours, is it?’

  She remained silent.

  ‘Will you at least answer me, Donna? You’re acting like all this is my fault.’

  She turned slightly to look at him. ‘What do you want me to say, Alan? Thanks for all your help in getting my husband out?’

  Annoyed now he snapped, ‘It’d be a start anyway. You did ask me to do it, didn’t you? Only if I remember rightly you came to my restaurant and practically begged me to help you.’

  Donna made an impatient movement with her head.

  ‘You just don’t get it, do you, Alan? You just don’t understand anything. I knew nothing about him then, nothing worth knowing anyway - nothing I couldn’t forgive. Now, after all this, you tell me you’re still going ahead with the jump—’

  He interrupted her. ‘So what you’re saying is, you’d see Jonnie H., Eric, Nick Carvello, me and you all in clink, would you? You’d prefer that, than to let me sort it all out with the minimum of damage?’

  Donna shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘And just how are you going to do that, eh? Once Georgio’s out, that’ll be it, mate. He won’t go back. They’d have to kill him first.’

  ‘Well, that just might happen yet, Donna, you never know your luck. Fancy yourself as a widow, do you?’

  She lapsed back into silence.

  ‘The trouble with you, Donna Brunos, is you still haven’t adjusted to the real world, the world of your husband’s livelihood.’

  She faced him and said in a low voice, ‘You knew what he was and you never told me, never even gave me a hint. I must have been stark staring mad to believe all I did over the years! When I think of all the people who were in the know, and I had no idea about any of it. He used me, Alan - you all did in one way or another. Now I have to face my mother-in-law, and tell her that her son is not coming home and her other son is going to be on the run all his life. And it’s all my fault, my fault . . .’

  Alan stared at her in disbelief. ‘How the fuck is it all your fault?’

  ‘Because if I hadn’t gone to you,’ she wailed, ‘Georgio would still be hoping for an appeal. As soon as I gave him the message to say you were willing to help, everything started to go wrong.’

  Alan laughed bitterly.

  ‘So it’s all my fault now, is it?’

  ‘Alan, go away. Just go away. I need to think this thing through and then decide what I’m going to do.’

  He stood up abruptly. Bending over he said to her, ‘I’ll go away, love, if that’s what you want, but first let me give you a word of warning. Think long and hard about who you’re going to grass up to keep that geek locked in jail. Because I am telling you now, your life will be worth shit if you grass. No one likes grasses and this little lot affects more people than even you know about. So think on that one, Mrs Squeaky Clean.’

  She watched him walk away from her. She could see the anger in him, in the straightness of his back, in the tilt of his head.

  And on top of all her other feelings another one was telling her to call him back.

  But she didn’t.

  Eric was running through the jump once more with Jonnie H. and the McAnultys.

  ‘You’ve made sure the skip lorry is running properly?’

  Jonnie H. nodded happily. ‘I went over it myself this morning, Eric. It’s running as sweet as a nut. It will be reported stolen after the jump from a site in Kent owned by an old mate of mine. Stop worrying.

  ‘The Merc is in pristine condition enginewise, but it’s battered to fuck outwardly. No one would take a second glance at it. The bikes are in the back, ready and waiting. Two Kawasaki 250 trail bikes, and a 125 in case we have to ride over the fields. The car for the chop is already in Kent as we speak, waiting to be driven to its destination. Machinery wise, we’re all set.’

  Eric smiled. He was only really content when he was working, then he became almost light-hearted, whether it was a pull, a jump or a kidnapping.

  He opened a large crate and took out the weapons. Jonnie H. was impressed with them and showed it. The Armalite was handled and admired by them all.

  ‘What a piece of equipment, eh? I’d fucking love to see the faces in Tesco’s if you went in there with this.’

  Danny McAnulty’s voice was almost reverent. ‘You’d certainly cause a bit of a stir, laddie. But these go back after the jump. They’re leasehire, boys, only leasehire.’

  He took out three sawn-off shotguns and they were checked over. The men carefully gauged the weight of the guns before choosing one each.

  ‘These are brand new!’

  Eric laughed again. ‘Nothing but the best for us, eh?’ Then he added seriously, ‘I meant what I said. All this equipment goes back after the jump. There’s two small handguns. One is to be given to Georgio and the other is for me. If we have to shoot for anything other than fear, then I’ll use the handgun. Georgio is the jumper so it’s his job to shoot anyone interfering, all right? You lot just shoot to frighten. Now, Danny, you’re all sure of your jobs, aren’t you?’

  ‘I take the keys out of the cars behind the Merc. Cyril will do the same behind the earthmover. We’ll just throw them into the fields. Once the public see the guns they’ll be all right. Iain here will be the man to set up the bikes while you get the driver from the sweatbox. Jonnie H. will take out the police once the doors are opened. We’re all relaxed and ready to go.’

  ‘Good, good. Now once we’re past the chop, you lot fuck off as quick as you can, right?’

  The three men nodded.

  ‘We’ll be back in Scotland the night and no one will even know we’ve been gone,’ Danny assured him, grinning.

  ‘Remember to shout,’ Eric reminded them, ‘it
distorts the voice, and keep your hands and faces covered all the time. Especially you, Iain. Your tattoos could give the game away immediately.’

  Iain looked down at his hands. He had hate tattooed across his knuckles and ACAB on each wrist. ACAB stood for All Coppers Are Bastards; it was a standard Borstal tattoo from the seventies. He also had a broken line around his neck with ‘Cut Here’ written above it, like an advert in a magazine.

  Iain put his hands behind his back like a naughty child and Eric, watching him, smiled. Iain McAnulty had the brain capacity of a flea and the physical strength of a rogue elephant, exactly the kind of person Eric liked to deal with.

  ‘Cheer up, sonny, you’ll be covered up, but keep your faces and hands away from people until the jump’s over OK? Witnesses always remember things after an event. There’ll be some old lady telling the police about the Scottish man with the tattoos buying fags in her little village shop. We’re not taking any chances, right?’

  Everyone nodded their agreement, acknowledging the truth of what he said.

  ‘You do not talk to anyone, you do not leave your vehicles, and you definitely do not drive above the speed limit until after the jump. You do not bring any attention to yourselves whatsoever, that includes bibbing up women, cunting other drivers if they cut you up, and especially not taking any interest in police vehicles if they pass you on the road. Do I make myself clear?’

  Everyone nodded once more.

  ‘And most important thing of all: you DO NOT go in any pubs or shops, and you DO NOT smoke dope or drink anything until you’re well out of the way. Even then I would advise you to keep well away from any hostelries on the route home. You’re strangers wherever you go, bear that in mind, and strangers are news to the majority of the populace, OK? Even Happy Eaters are out of bounds.’

  Jonnie H. said, ‘What about if we want a piss, Eric?’

  They all laughed.

  ‘You piss down a country lane, and even then you make sure you’re out of sight, because a man pissing sticks in people’s minds. You’d be surprised what’s got people captured in the past. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. An accent, a brief description of a car or a person, and you could find yourself arranging your own jump in a couple of years, so bear that in mind.’

  The men all sobered at his words.

  ‘Now then,’ he said patiently. ‘Let’s go over the timing once more. What time are you setting out with the skip lorry in the morning, Jonnie?’

  Nick Carvello was going over the movements of Georgio once he left Liverpool. The safe house in Liverpool was in fact a lock-up garage; the car to take him from Liverpool to Scotland was a diamond white Cosworth driven by a Scot called Baldy McIntyre. Baldy was a respectable businessman with perfect credentials. Georgio would travel beside him, and be provided with a driving licence and a business suit, in case of emergencies.

  Once in Scotland, it was Nick’s job to ferret him over to Eire. This was the most difficult job of all. Traffic on the water was hardly as dense as traffic on the M1, and the boat had to look half-legal at least. If it was a fishing vessel it had to keep clear of coastguards, both Irish and British, once in Irish waters. The Scottish safe house was a council flat on the Clyde where new faces were ignored because everyone was too busy watching their own backs to take any notice of anyone else. It was designated a no go area for the police so the Cosworth would not be too noticeable, and would only drop Georgio off in any case. There was no way it could be left unattended outside. It would be stolen within five minutes.

  Nick sipped at his drink and watched Albie washing up the dishes, his movements deliberately careful, frightened even to chip a cup or a mug. He forced his eyes back to the map on the table. Once over to Ireland it was all in the hands of an old comrade of his, now living in Southern Ireland breeding fighting dogs and arranging bareknuckle fights. He had only helped out once he knew Alan Cox was involved.

  Alan should have been in touch before now. Nick would try him at his restaurant later. It was strange that so near the jump he had gone on the missing list.

  Poring over the map, Nick felt the familiar mix of adrenaline and fear that accompanied any job of this magnitude. If it fell out of bed they could all be doing long sentences before the year was out.

  It was partly the thought of getting one over on the Old Bill, and partly the excitement of carrying out such a huge-scale jump that attracted him, as it attracted Eric and the others. Villains of their calibre needed the rush achieved by daring exploits.

  It was this rush that always got them caught in the end. ‘Get in the car, Donna, before I drag you into it.’

  Alan’s voice was rising and the other occupants of the multi-storey car park at Gatwick looked over at them.

  ‘You can’t make me do anything!’

  Alan grimaced. ‘That’s just where you’re wrong, lady. Now get in the car!’

  Donna got in and Alan slipped into the driving seat, his face set in anger. As he reversed out of the space he said through gritted teeth, ‘Believe me when I say you are the most stroppy cow I have ever come across! Georgio must have been off his fucking rocker to have ever asked you to do anything for him! So now you know what I really think.’

  Donna turned her face away from his.

  ‘Well, he did ask me, didn’t he? And now look where we all are. It’s keeping things from people that brought all this on, like your keeping from me the fact you knew a lot more about my husband than you let on.’

  As they left the car park, Alan pulled the car to a halt. He turned and glared at her, his face screwed up in anger.

  ‘I knew enough to blow your life wide open, I admit that, but it wasn’t any of my business, was it? You preferred to believe that your husband was a mixture of the Pope and the fucking Apostles. If I had told you the score you wouldn’t have believed me - and why should I have said anything to you anyway? Why the fucking hell should I, eh? What were you to me? Nothing, that’s what. You were just a mate’s old woman out to help him. I’m a villain, lady, not fucking Marje Proops! If your old man was batting away from home all those years, what reason would I have had to tell you all about it? Answer me that one if you can. Why would I have got involved in all that, eh?’

  Donna looked into his face, her own eyes glittering in anger. ‘Get me home, Alan. I just want to go home.’

  ‘Oh, you want to go home, do you? Shall I tell you something? If you were my wife I’d slap your face for you. Because I have never, ever come across such a bolshie bitch in all my life. Just because you think you’re so fucking squeaky clean, you expect everyone else just to put their lives on hold, all for you. You think that Eric and me, and Jonnie H. and all the others, should all go: “Oh, dearie me, Georgio’s been a naughty boy. Let’s leave him in clink, shall we, chaps?” Well, I have the germ of an idea of how to fuck up the jump, and that’s all we can do now. Fuck the jump up. I think I can do that through Nick Carvello. But as for the rest of it, it goes ahead whether you like it or you don’t. Get that into your thick skull.

  ‘And another thing while we’re on it. There’s an old adage that you should have tattooed on your arse. “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.” You was quite happy to put us all on the line when you thought your old man was the dog’s bollocks. Now you find out you’re dealing with the scum of the earth, your old man included there, lady, you want to stop it all here and now. Well, as I just said, you can’t - and if they get a capture and grass you up, you’ll be looking at a good eight or nine years for your part in all this. So think on that one, darlin’!’

  He started the car up and wheelspinned out of the airport.

  Donna sat beside him, her ears ringing.

  ‘I never wanted any part of murder, Alan.’

  Hearing the tightness of her voice, he could only laugh in disbelief.

  ‘If I hadn’t arrived in Sri fucking Lanka, the murdered person would have been you, love. When you get involved with big boys’ games, you have to take
the big boys’ consequences. That’s why I never wanted you as my number two. If you cast your mind back, I tried to get someone else, but oh, no. Mrs Villain’s Wife wanted to be in on it all - and look where the fuck it’s got us, eh? You know what’s really your trouble, don’t you? You’re trying to blame everyone else for this lot except yourself. Well, you’re as much to blame as anyone. More so in fact, because you took on something you was ill-prepared for. Now someone’s dead. Big deal!

  ‘Don’t you realise that if anyone tries it on while the jump’s in motion, they’ll be shot at? Use your fucking loaf! You were there when we bought the hardware. Now you’re shitting it, and rightly so. You’d have more chance of pulling off the Second Coming, love, than stopping this jump. The only way to stop it would be to grass to the filth and the moment you did that, we’d all be out for your blood. Me included. Bear that in mind, Donna, and keep your trap shut and your arse behind closed doors until it’s all over. Right?

  ‘You’ve already caused one murder, I’m sure you don’t want to be the instrument of another, least of all your own! Jonnie H. would see you tortured and killed if you were the means of separating him from his wife and kids. And that would seem like heaven to what the others would cook up for you!’

  Donna’s heart was in her boots. She stared out of the car window, fighting back tears of frustration and fear because she knew that what Alan said was true. She could no more grass up any of the men than she could take an active part in the jump.

  She had started the ball rolling; now she could only wait patiently until it stopped.

  And it would only stop with Georgio in Ireland.

  Alan’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘And what do you think Georgio’s going to say when he finds out that his brother’s dead, eh? And his hotel’s been razed to the ground? Talk yourself out of that one, Big mouth! Because he’ll find out all right, don’t worry yourself on that score.’