by Echo Freer
‘Erm,’ Sid puffed, placing his trembling fingers on the largest wheel of one of the combination locks, then stopped. Tone waited nervously as the older man hesitated. Frankie shot him a glare that would have cut through steel.
‘You bottle on me now, Sid, and I’ll make sure that a bottle’s the only way you’ll be taking your food for a long time - a very long time!’
‘Seven to the left,’ Sid spluttered.
Both men turned their combination wheels simultaneously.
‘And, erm, three to the right.’ Again they moved in unison.
There was a crackle from Frankie’s radio. He lifted it from the pocket of his overalls and pressed down the switch. ‘What’s wrong?’
Horace, who had parked round the corner after dropping off the others, spoke urgently. ‘Old Bill!’
‘What!’ Frankie kicked the door of the safe in fury. ‘Out! Out!’ he bellowed.
‘Hang on,’ Horace’s voice crackled. ‘No, it’s OK. They’ve gone past.’
Frankie flicked the switch. ‘For Gawd’s sake, ’Orace!’
‘Better to be safe, Frankie.’
Frankie ran his hand across his brow then turned to Sid. ‘Next!’
‘Now, I think...’
‘I told you before,’ Frankie barked. ‘I am the only one on my team what thinks - right? Now just give me the number.’
‘Five left,’ Sid blurted.
They turned the wheels and Frankie pulled the enormous steel door forward with ease. ‘Nice one, Sid.’ He turned to the others and indicated the pallets of bank notes before him. ‘And now, gentlemen...’ He grinned. ‘...Welcome to the pleasure dome. Let’s get this lot shifted.’
Tone moved forward and spread an array of nylon bags on the floor of the vault. Hastily the three men pushed bundles of money into them. When the first two were filled, Tone picked them up and made towards the breach in the wall ready to transport them back up through the casino. The bags were going to be moved in stages; from the vault to the bottom of the casino stairs; up the stairs to inside the door and then, just as Horace pulled up, they would take them out into the street for loading into the getaway car.
‘Move it!’ Frankie yelled as Tone lumbered across the bricks and rubble that covered the floor.
But, as he reached the hole in the wall, there was a blinding flash of light.
Frankie left the vault and rushed forwards to investigate but reared back when a second flash filled the basement. ‘What the-?’
Fourteen
The VW beetle was parked in the centre of St James’s Square and, although Mercedes and Zak were posing as a courting couple, there was about as much passion happening in the car as there was on your average fishmonger’s slab. Their attention was focused about fifty yards away on the building they’d both left only seven hours earlier. The square was eerily quiet compared to the bustle of the day and Mercedes was grateful that the dim street lighting afforded them some privacy. Her phone flashed up with a text message; it was Jenny.
Good Luck :)
She smiled nervously and switched it off without replying.
Zak put his arms round her again to reassure her. ‘It’ll be OK.’
She bit her bottom lip; she wasn’t sure. She hadn’t heard anything to suggest that Harry Spinks had found the file, although she hadn’t heard anything to say that he hadn’t, either. But then, why would she?
As though reading her mind, Zak said, ‘You don’t think Harley Spinks could resist gloating if they’d found it, do you? Trust me, it’s going to be all right.’
Mercedes nodded. Then another thought struck her. ‘What if they’ve got a lookout posted by the door? I didn’t hear Frankie saying anything about one in the plans but he might have thought of it later. No one in their right mind would do something like this without a lookout, would they?’
Zak moved away from her so that he could make eye contact. ‘For starters, Frankie isn’t in his right mind. And secondly, every criminal is caught out by two things: greed and arrogance. And your brother has both - in truck loads. He’s too greedy to want to share his loot with an extra person and he’s so arrogant that he probably thinks he’s invincible. Don’t worry.’
Mercedes nodded again.
As the clock on the dashboard clicked on to 23:59, a silver BMW drove into the square from the northerly direction and pulled up outside the casino. Mercedes leaned closer to Zak and pretended to be kissing him while she watched the proceedings over his shoulder. She felt as though someone had tied a reef knot in her stomach. This was it!
Two men emerged from the car dressed like workmen carrying tool bags. They looked so innocuous, they could have been emergency plumbers on a callout. The car drove off sedately round the square and the men nonchalantly approached the double doors of the casino. Suddenly, they dropped to their knees, pulled what must have been ski hats from their bags before donning them, then adeptly jemmied open the doors and disappeared inside without trace. They had taken only a few seconds and if, as Mercedes had overheard, the cameras on the bank were angled towards the main door and the ones on the casino weren’t working, no one would even have been aware that they’d been there.
The alarm on Zak’s watch bleeped just as the clock on the dashboard flipped on to 00:00. Mercedes straightened up.
‘OK!’ She tossed Zak a mobile phone, bought especially for the single call he was primed to make in one minute’s time, then picked up her camera. ‘If I’m not out in four minutes, go.’
‘But-’
‘Just do it.’
She got out of the car and shut the door without giving him a second look.
‘Be careful!’ he called but she was already halfway across the road.
The glass doors to the casino swung open easily and, once inside the building, she looked round for signs of a lookout. Zak had been right; what a fool Frankie was! She could have been the police, or one of Spinks’ mob, or anyone. She knew the layout of the building from the architects’ drawings and had no trouble making her way down to the basement, arriving at the hole through to the bank just as the unsuspecting Tone was heading back with the first bags of money. With a calmness that belied the squirming sensation in her stomach, she raised the camera to her eye and pressed.
Tone let out a gasp and Frankie ran forwards as she took a second photo.
‘What the - ?’
‘Hi, Frankie.’ She let the camera drop on to the strap round her neck.
Her brother lurched towards her in an attempt to grab the camera. ‘Piss off out of here, Merce. You don’t know what you’re messing with.’
Mercedes stood her ground. ‘Oh yes I do,’ she said confidently. ‘But I’m not sure I can say the same for you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll be brief because, according to my calculations, in three minutes’ time, Uncle Horace will be arriving expecting to pick up you and the money, but he’s going to be disappointed. The money isn’t going anywhere near his car, it’s going to be left on the pavement.’
Frankie’s face contorted with anger. ‘Get out of here, Merce - I’m warning you!’
‘Or what, Frankie?’ Mercedes challenged. Her heart was thumping so hard she was surprised it couldn’t be heard at street level, but she knew it was imperative to stay cool. ‘You see, at this very moment Cheryl is going through the contents of your study and destroying all the evidence that links you with this.’
‘Cheryl?’
Mercedes put up a hand to stem his protest. ‘But she might very well stop if I phone her and tell her about a certain supermodel you’ve been seeing.’
‘You’ve got some front...’
Mercedes made a show of looking at her watch. ‘Oh, look,’ she said, ‘time is ticking by. Best get on. So, I suggest you radio Uncle Horace and ask him to make it a little earlier because, a
s it stands, he’s due to arrive at almost the same time as the Schizo Kid and...’ She checked her watch again, pretending to count the minutes. ‘...the police.’
The two men behind Frankie looked at each other aghast.
‘Why, you...’ Frankie lunged forward again but Mercedes dodged him and he stumbled on a brick.
‘They were phoned at one minute past midnight and I’m reliably informed by New Scotland Yard that an armed response unit will be here in about five minutes. I reckon the boys and girls in blue will also be going through Harry Spinks’ office in Wardour Street at about the same time and guess what they’ll find?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Duplicates of all the documents that Cheryl is currently burning - with a few alterations, of course.’ She looked round at the assembled faces of her brother’s gang. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to head off.’
She turned as she reached the bottom of the stairs of the casino. ‘Oh, by the way, Kev isn’t your grass; Sid is.’ She looked through the gap and made eye contact with the security guard who was panting and gasping like an overfed turkey on the run up to Christmas. ‘Sorry, Sid. I’ve made sure my family are OK but you’re going to have to get yourself out of this one.’ She nodded to Tone. ‘I don’t want any violence but I suggest you tie him up just to make it look authentic. Now, I’m pretty sure I can hear sirens so I suggest you scarper as soon as possible. Leave the money outside so that it looks as though Sabatini and his gang did it and I’ll meet you all at the lock- up at eleven o’clock tomorrow.’
Zak had moved the car ready to collect her and as soon as she was inside they drove around the square so that they could just see the bank.
‘How’d it go?’ Zak asked, pushing the gear stick into neutral but leaving the engine running.
‘Ssh,’ she said, turning round so that she could see the bank through the rear window. Seconds later the silver BMW screeched into the square and she saw two men appear from the casino and climb into the car before it sped away leaving several holdalls on the pavement. No sooner was it out of sight than a Lotus Elise squealed to a halt. Two men, both dressed in black leapt from the car and stood on the pavement scratching their heads. They peered at the bags and one of them kicked a couple as though suspecting some sort of booby trap.
‘Open them, open them,’ Mercedes willed under her breath.
She bit her lip. It was crucial that Jonnie Sabatini was found with the money in his possession, otherwise the whole operation could go pear-shaped. One of the men bent down, unzipped one of the bags and pulled out a bundle of money just as the square was filled with a cavalcade of flashing lights.
‘Yes!’ Mercedes punched the air. ‘Result!’
Zak leaned over and kissed her. ‘I know I’ve said it before, but I’m going to say it again; do we make a team, or do we make a team?’
‘The Dynamic Duo has nothing on us,’ Mercedes agreed. ‘Now, let’s get this Zak-mobile out of here - we’ve got an important meeting in the morning.’
At eleven o’clock, Mercedes squeezed Zak’s hand and pushed open the door to the lock-up. Together they stepped over the metal threshold into the stark interior. If the temperature had been like a morgue the last time Mercedes had been there, it had now taken on the atmosphere of a Siberian morgue - in February - at midnight. At least part of the reason being the six pairs of hostile eyes that glared at them as they walked the length of the lock-up.
‘Good morning,’ she said, taking her place with the others around the trestle tables. Even Chubby looked at her angrily. Another squeeze of her hand from Zak gave her the confidence to continue. She tossed two photographs in to the centre of the tables. ‘We got these developed at a twenty-four hour photo lab and the negatives are now in a safe place.’
Frankie picked up one, gave a snort of disdain and handed it to Horace.
Chubby took the other. ‘It’s a good one of you, Tone, but I don’t think it does you no favours, Frankie,’ he remarked.
Frankie snatched it out of his hands and threw it back on the table. ‘What d’you want, Merce?’
At that moment the door to the lock-up opened again and the familiar shape of Laverne Bent was silhouetted in the doorway attempting to negotiate the six-inch high metal strip at the foot of the door. Her tight leather skirt restricted the leg movement in her knee area and her four-inch heeled mule sandals added the extra challenge of altitude.
‘Bleedin’ ’ell!’ her voice echoed along the length of the vaulted workshop. ‘Gizz an ’and then!’
Frankie looked from his mother to his sister and folded his arms defiantly but Chubby went to their mother’s rescue. She was followed into the workshop by Molly who looked round and gave a nostalgic sigh.
‘Blimey! It ain’t changed a bit,’ she said.
Laverne was less appreciative of their surroundings. ‘What’s going on? What is this place? And what the ’ell am I doin’ ’ere on a Saturday morning when I could’ve been in bed?’
‘It’s my Gordon’s old lock-up,’ Molly replied, referring to her late husband. ‘Him and Al started up ’ere.’ She peered round the stark brick walls and oil- stained floor. ‘I’d forgotten this place existed.’
‘Forgotten?’ Laverne queried. ‘I never even knew. Another bleedin’ secret your Al kept from me,’ she said to her mother-in-law, accusingly.
‘Mum. Nan,’ Mercedes said, trying to call some sort of order to the assembly. ‘There are going to be some changes around here and I want you all to know about them.’
‘Oooo! ’Ark at ’er,’ Laverne interrupted.
Ignoring her mother, Mercedes continued. ‘It’s come to my notice recently that my brothers have got themselves involved in activities that are against the law and that’s going to stop.’ Frankie groaned. ‘As from now,’ she said purposefully.
Slowly, Mercedes proceeded to go through the events of the past two weeks, mainly for the benefit of her mother and grandmother but also to let Frankie know the full extent of her knowledge.
‘Good on ya, gel!’ Molly applauded when Mercedes had finished. ‘I wish I’d ’ad the bottle to stand up to my Gordon and your dad before they got in over their ’eads.’
‘Thanks, Nan.’ Mercedes looked to her mother. ‘And I know you wanted Dad to retire because I overheard you and Auntie Sylvie talking at his funeral, so I can’t believe you’re happy about your sons following in his footsteps.’
Laverne, for once, seemed lost for words.
Mercedes addressed Frankie. ‘While I was in your study investigating this robbery, I took the liberty of looking through your bank statements...’
‘You nosy little... You had no right...’
‘No, I didn’t,’ she agreed. ‘But you had no right to try to steal the money that other people have worked hard to earn - so, in the greater scheme of things, I think my offence doesn’t even come in the same league. Anyway, as I was saying; it’s clear that in terms of what the bank knows about and the taxman is aware of, you are a substantially wealthy man. Yes?’
Frankie grunted.
‘I don’t know how you came by your money but the fact that what I saw was declared income suggests it’s legitimate, so it’s clear that you do not need to rob banks. So, from now on, you will not indulge in illegal activities. Capisce?’
Another grunt.
Molly Bent stepped forwards. ‘You listen to me, Frankie - you should be thanking your sister, not grunting at ’er. You’d all be banged up, if it weren’t for Merce.’
Frankie glowered at his grandmother but said nothing.
‘And, while we’re on the subject of sortin’ stuff out, what’s all this about you and this model woman? If you and Cheryl can’t work out your differences, get a divorce. But you could do a lot worse than your Chel, so go and get yourself some relationship counselling or something first.’
Frankie threw his hands in the air in exasperation. ‘Leave it out, Nan! Relationship counselling! Are you off your trolley?’
Molly leaned towards her grandson and wagged a threatening finger. ‘Speak to me like that again, my boy and you’ll be on a trolley - an ’ospital trolley.’
Frankie growled at her and took a cigarette out of his gold case.
Molly snatched it from his lips. She was on a roll. ‘And you can pack that in an’ all. If there’s one thing worse for your ’ealth than crossing me, it’s them things.’ She tossed the cigarette to the floor. ‘Now,’ her voice softened as she turned her attention to her other grandson. ‘Chubby: you got an ’eart of gold, son, but you give in to Frankie time and again - always ’ave done, ever since you was nippers.’
‘You know what, Nan?’ Mercedes suggested, ‘I think Chubby would really benefit from some assertiveness training.’
‘Assertiveness? Oh, I don’t know about that, Merce,’ Chubby said, diffidently. ‘What d’you think, Frankie?’
Molly Bent raised her eyes in disbelief. ‘Bleedin’ ’ell, Chubby darlin’, that’s just what she’s on about. You need to sort yourself out, son. That was a really nice gel you brought to my birthday, what do you think she’d say if she found out about your extracurricular activities?’
‘Extra what?’ Chubby asked.
Mercedes stifled an affectionate smile. ‘It’s OK, Nan, I can pick up some information about assertiveness classes from the community centre.’
‘Cheers, darlin’.’ Molly turned her attention to the oldest member of the gang. ‘Now, ’Orace - what can I say? You’ve probably seen enough porridge to put you off Quaker Oats for life. And, I know Sylvie ain’t my flesh an’ blood but I’m fond of the gel and the reason she ain’t here this morning is ’cos she’s working her fingers to the bone in the salon - supportin’ you and your criminal activities!’ She shook her head, sadly. ‘It ain’t on, ’Orace.’