11:20
Jack
I find it difficult to get Trevor’s sad face out of my head. But I need to refocus. His puppy-dog eyes made me want to hug him and then slap him across the face. ‘Move. The. Hell. On.’ I felt like screaming at him. Poor sod. My heart went out to him, but I had to make an excuse to get away. I’m glad I bumped into him, though. He gifted me another witness, just in case. After I get to the car and put my wig and beard back on, I hit the standby button on my cheap mobile phone and when the light finally flashes on, I call Darragh. I’m not sure whether I should make my way to Church Street to catch Vincent coming out, or whether I should go straight to the IFSC to watch him enter the fourth and final bank. Either way, I know where I’m driving to now.
‘Hey,’ Darragh says, answering quickly. He mustn’t be letting that phone out of his sight.
‘No word from Vincent about Church Street?’
‘Not yet. Probably be another ten minutes, I reckon. Time is really tight, JR. Are you sure you don’t—’
‘Darragh!’ I snap down the line at him. ‘Me and you, buddy. This is our plan.’
‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘I’ll call you as soon as he’s out of Church Street. Shouldn’t be long.’
‘How’s Ryan?’ I ask. It’s for a reason. I want to make sure he hasn’t been getting into Darragh’s head. It’s always been imperative that Darragh keeps Ryan under control.
‘Grand,’ he replies. I don’t know what the hell Cork people mean when they say ‘grand’. They use it all the time.
‘What d’ye mean, grand? He’s keeping quiet, yeah? You still have him taped up, around his mouth?
‘Yes, JR,’ he almost moans back at me. He hates being told anything twice. The problem is, he needs to be told things multiple times. I drilled every aspect of this morning into his head every day for months.
‘Good man,’ I say before tapping the red button on the phone and starting the car’s ignition again.
I’m off to Parnell Street. That’s where this car’s being left. It’ll probably be discovered as having not moved in about a week’s time, but it won’t link back to me. None of the three cars I’m driving today will. I learned from the best. A walk to Church Street to see Vincent come out of there or to Mayor Street to watch him enter is about eight to ten minutes either way. That’s why I chose Parnell Street as the place to leave the first car. Just in case I was caught in this decision. I’ve thought of everything.
I pleaded with Harry to allow me to handle the hunt for Frank’s killer. Even before we’d buried my son, Harry and the lads had been doing their own investigation. Revenge is their reaction to anything, let alone murder. They were ahead of the cops from day one. Sinead, the girl Frankie had picked up in a bar that night, somehow led the police in the wrong direction. She was certain the three lads who encroached on them had come from the opposite side of Tallaght to the one they actually had. That tiny bit of misinformation, innocent to the core, set the cops off on the wrong track. From there, Harry was steps ahead and, within a week or two, the cops allowed him to take control. They continued on their phony investigation, knowing Harry was steering them in the wrong direction. They were happy to do this. The cops in Ireland are like that. They’re happy for gangland feuds to play themselves out without having to get in the middle of them. The closer Harry got to finding out who killed Frankie, the more anxious I was getting. I didn’t want Frank’s death to begin another gangland feud. So I stepped in. I almost got down on my hands and knees to beg Harry to let me take control. I had, unbeknown to him, been led to believe that the killer was part of the Alan Keating gang. If Harry had ever found that out, and he wasn’t far off learning it, it would have begun a turf war in the city. I wanted no part in that. Dublin had had enough of that shit for way too long. Frank wasn’t involved in that sort of nonsense when he was alive and he certainly wasn’t going to be part of it in his death.
‘I trust you to do the right thing, Jack,’ Harry said, staring into my eyes.
I could see it was paining him to not be directly involved in the revenge on Frank’s killer. But he understood my need to see this through for myself.
‘I promise I will, Harry. For Frank, for Karyn. I’ll make this right.’ I had no idea what I was going to do. But I knew if I was the only person who knew who Frank’s killer was, then I could buy myself some time to think it all through. Harry had given me great experience on how to investigate without leaving a trace. I’d seen it all before when I used to work for him. His expertise as a gangster really lies in keeping his hands clean. After about a month of chopping my own way through the maze Harry had set me out on, I finally found out who killed Frank.
I feel the phone buzz just as I’m parking up in Parnell Street.
‘He’s out,’ Darragh says.
‘That was quick,’ I reply, looking at my watch. It’s just shy of eleven-thirty.
‘He said he got in and out of Church Street within twenty minutes because the manager there is a good friend of his.’
That doesn’t sound right to me. Noah Voss is manager of Church Street. Odd.
‘And he’s all good? He has all two mill?’
‘Yeah. It went great. He’s made back some time. Just over half an hour to go to the IFSC and out. He’s gonna do this, JR. He’s gonna do it!’
I can sense the excitement in Darragh’s voice. This is not about the money for him. I genuinely believe that. He is excited because of the thrill of the robbery alone. All he’s ever wanted to be is a gangster.
‘Okay, calm it down, Darragh. Keep cool in front of Ryan. Maybe you’re right. We could have all eight mill pretty soon. As I’ve always said, stick to the plan. You’re doing a great job, buddy.’ Then I hang up.
Vincent’s swiftness in Church Street makes me pause for thought but I really shouldn’t let it stop me in my tracks. I need to get out of this car. I shouldn’t be noticed in it. The phone call has made my next decision for me. I didn’t get to see Vincent walk out of Church Street so I’ve got to head to Mayor Street at the IFSC. I might get there before him.
11:25
Vincent
Even walking out of the Church Street branch with the two cases cuffed to me, I’m trying to figure Noah out. I guess I never will. I got in and out of there within twenty minutes. And I thought that would be the difficult branch. I can’t get the ‘stop breathing’ line out of my head. I’m laughing about it while I pace towards the car. Imagine telling somebody to stop breathing? For fuck’s sake. I look up to see John smiling back at me. I shouldn’t be seen smiling today, surely. Reality hits. Ryan has only about a half an hour left to live.
‘Quick as you can, John,’ I say, holding the briefcases up. As I uncuff them, John throws them on top of the others in the back of the boot. That’s odd. He’s normally so careful. I really am a good boss. If I’m in a hurry, so are you.
‘Mayor Street, John boy,’ I say, hopping back into the cool air. ‘As quick as you can.’
I immediately call Ryan’s captor.
‘All done in Church Street,’ I tell him and hang up.
Fuck him. He’ll probably ring back. I allow myself to come out of character listening to Tchaikovsky while I wait. At least I think it’s still Tchaikovsky playing. I imagine what the outcome of this robbery will mean for ACB. The board will hardly bat an eyelid, I bet. I wonder if this could cause one of the branches to close. I hope they choose Church Street if they have to choose any of them. But the reality is, it might not mean a whole lot for the company. Eight million euros is really a drop in the ocean and it will be covered by our insurance companies. It’ll be a complicated mess, but it should be swept over in time. ACB branches have been robbed on six occasions in the time I’ve worked for them. Only once has a bank ever been robbed that I’ve been in. It was in my early days as a junior employee at ACB, when I was trying to work my way up through the ranks. Two guys entered in masks and held one of my colleagues at gunpoint while insisting the cash till
s were emptied into a black plastic bag. I watched on with my fear diminishing into nothingness within seconds. The notes kept falling out of the black plastic bag and the two thieves were forced to scramble around the floor picking them up. We all eyeballed each other awkwardly. They managed to get out of the bank within seven minutes with €110,000, never to be caught. It’s not that easy to rob a bank these days. The double door buzz system has killed any attempts at a quick in-and-out cash-till theft. I’ve always been at the forefront of any advances in security. I think that’s why the branches I’ve worked at since becoming a manager have never been robbed. ACB was one of the first banks in the whole of Ireland to use the double door buzz system and I was the one who pushed for it. The unique thing about this theft is that nobody knows this is happening, so no lives are at risk in the branches. Nobody has a gun pointed at them. Except Ryan, of course. Poor Ryan. I sneak a look over John’s shoulder to check the time. 11:28. Half an hour left. I need to get back into character. I need to look like this is an ordinary day. Ken Lockhart won’t be much of a problem. He may be over-thorough with the paperwork, but I’ll be able to hurry him up.
Ken joined ACB a couple of years after me. He wasn’t as good as me initially, but he’s learned from the best by now. He’s a mini-me. In work mode, not looks. Ken is short and fat; I’m just a little podgy. Ken has round chubby cheeks and a constantly smiling face that makes him endearing to people. But I know the Ken behind that smile. He has a dark side. Not too dark. He’s just moody. I think he tries so hard to be nice in public that when he crashes down from that, he crashes hard. As it turned out, most of Ken’s crashes coincided with him drinking alcohol. It didn’t matter what it was: beer, whisky, spirits, wine. Ken would turn into a totally different person when he had a drink. He threw a punch at me one night. He blamed me for bitching behind his back, but what Ken came to finally realise was he harboured bizarre paranoia traits when he drank. He would just make stuff up off the top of his head and believe it to be true. It sounds so strange, yet it’s so common. Everybody knows somebody with this affliction. I’ve been told it goes undiagnosed in up to ninety per cent of people. But Ken was one of the lucky ones. Thanks to me, he visited a psychiatrist who detailed exactly what was happening to him. He stopped drinking about seven years ago, but he still has mood swings every now and then. He’s capable of turning from the happiest man on the planet to depressed in a split second. He manages to keep it under control in work. That saddens me. I know Ken is all smiles all day in the bank and then goes home to feel depressed. And he has nobody to go home to. He owns a beautiful terraced home in Donnybrook but it’s wasted on him. He tells me he has good neighbours and a circle of friends that he hangs out with at the weekends. I have to believe him. I spend a lot of my thinking time hoping it’s true. I just felt like I couldn’t do any more for him. I led him to the psychiatrist and I ensured he got one of the assistant manager positions when the bank restructured. That’s surely enough. He runs a decent branch too. He’s always done as I suggested, which was why I wanted him as one of the assistant managers. He better do as I suggest today. And quickly.
As John turns onto the quay, I look at my watch. It’s just gone half past. This is going to be so tight. We’re a couple of minutes from the branch. I need to get in and out of there in less than twenty-five minutes. It’s doable.
Stay in character. Don’t be anything other than regular Vincent. Stern but fair. One more branch and I am done.
Ryan’s dimples flash through my mind again. I’m trying not to think of him. I reach for my iPhone and decide to turn it on again. It takes ages to load up. I notice John turn into the IFSC as my voicemail robot tells me I have two new messages. I sure as hell hope Jonathan isn’t one of them.
‘Hello, Mr Butler, this is Gareth calling from Vodafone, we’d just like to ask how you are …’ I hang up. Fuck off, Vodafone. There’s a longer pause than normal before the next message. At least it seems that way. I’d like to listen to it before John pulls over. Shit! It’s Jonathan again. Fuckin’ meddling asshole.
‘Vincent …’ he stumbles. ‘What’s going on? I’m here with Belinda, she says … I’ve, eh … I’ve also been onto Michelle.’
Shit!
‘She says you’ve taken two million from her branch this morning as well. I’m sure you know what you’re … doing, and it’s for good cause, but can you … Tell you what, gimme a call back when you’re ready.’
I hit five to listen to the message again. I want to find out what time it was left at. Eleven twenty-six. About seven minutes ago. This is fucked up. The car has pulled over on Mayor Street right outside the branch and John is making his way around to me to open the door. I didn’t even notice us stop. I take these seconds to think about what to do. I have to ring Jonathan back. I have to quench that fire. The little cunt is in my office, drooling over Belinda’s tits, I bet. I’m about to dial when Ken pops his fat head into the car, scooting John out of his way.
‘What’s going on, Vincent?’ he asks. ‘Jonathan’s just been onto me.’
11:30
Darragh
Me gut is just settling after that knee to the bollix. I’ve never felt pain like that in me life. I wanted to get up and shoot the cunt in the head there and then. But while I was flaked out in pain, I kept hearin’ JR’s voice.
Stick to the plan.
I shouldn’t even be tryna fuck with this fag’s head anyway. I just need to wait it out until I’m instructed to leave or shoot. There’s not long to go now. I stare at the phone in my hand.
Should I just ring that fucker back?
‘All done in Church Street.’ Cheeky cunt.
‘What is the capital city of Poland?’ I shout out.
I’m good at Jeopardy. Ah shit. I’m wrong. I’m having a bad game today. I thought Ascunsion was in Poland. Paraguay? At least it begins with P. I was on the right track. The fag hasn’t answered one question yet. Dope. I love a bit of Jeopardy. I love the cheesy ass American TV game shows ye get on during the day. I look at the phone again. Fuck Vincent. If he’s done, he’s done. We’ve six million guaranteed now. I’ll just get onto JR to give him the good news.
JR and me started out lightly. He used to order me to rob some shops of their tills just to test me nerves, I think. He didn’t need convincing for long. He put his trust in me early. He proved it by sticking to his word and splittin’ everything down the middle. We weren’t makin’ much money but he told me that would come with time. He let me in on his big plan and said it could involve a murder and wondered if I’d be okay to follow through if it came down to that. I told him about the murder I’d committed before. If I couldn’t trust JR, who could I trust? He’s the closest friend I’ve ever had. I told him that first murder was just an accident but I let him know it gave me the appetite to kill again. JR knows what I mean by appetite to kill. He’s been there, done it all, even before I was born. His master plan sounded fuckin deadly the moment he first told me it. He kept the fine details away from me at first, but I knew the big picture. I knew it involved a bank heist and a possible murder. That fuckin excited me. I couldn’t wait. We’d meet once or twice a week in the Deer’s Head, talkin’ shit. JR wasn’t just interested in my future, he was keen on my past too. I’d open up to him about how me family left me oul fella behind in Cork to fuck off to Dublin. I even told him how I fell out with me sisters after me ma died and that I was left with nothing until The Boss took me on. I’d never told anyone that before. I don’t know if I should look at JR as, like, a da or a brother. I guess he’s just me best mate. He’s always had me best interests at heart. I didn’t need to tell him much about The Boss. He knew him well. It’s a small old world, the underworld. JR was aware of what level I’d been able to get to with The Boss. He also knew I was hungry for more. When he sat me down and told me the story of how his former boss had tracked down some scum rapist just outside of Mayo, he got me excited. He wanted me to rob him, then kill him. He used to spike women’s drinks b
efore dragging them into his car and rapin’ ’em. I couldn’t wait to kill the fucker. Throughout the entire four-hour drive to Mayo, I imagined blowing his brains out. Killing somebody is every bit as powerful as you would think it would be. Ever since I knocked that poor fucker’s head off the step, I’ve wanted to kill again. But this time for real. To mean it. I can still hear the rapist cunt denying what I was saying to him.
It wasn’t me, you have the wrong man.
‘Any last requests?’ Bang! Fuck you.
Remembering the high of that killing makes me itch to do it again. I allow meself a little look at Ryan. He’s still glued to the TV. He still hasn’t answered a question on Jeopardy yet. It’s mad to think I could be blowin’ his brains out in less than half an hour.
‘Who is, eh … who is – what’s ’is name?’ I rush out of my mouth after turning me attention back to the telly.
‘Richard Hawkins,’ says Ryan.
‘Yeah … yeah … yeah, Richard Hawkins,’ I shout at the TV.
Correct! That’s four I’ve got right today, now. Maybe it’s not been such a bad game for me. I have a Jeopardy app on my phone; I’m good at it. But I don’t have me phone with me, of course. It’s at home. I’ll have a game of it when I get back. I need to head straight home after this. I have to follow through on the alibi JR made for me. Me laptop’s been pinging all morning. I can’t believe the next time I’ll have a game of Jeopardy on me phone, I’ll be a multi-fuckin-millionaire. Holy shit! A wave of adrenaline runs up me stomach, just where the pain was a few minutes ago. I breathe deeply and try to refocus on Jeopardy when I notice Ryan leap out of his chair.
11:35
Vincent
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 20