I’m starting to get a bit nervy now that I’m not standing where I assumed I would be. I wonder how long Vincent will be in that bank. I need to know. It’s a pivotal part of the plan. I look at my watch. It’s between a quarter to and ten to twelve. Jaysus, this is so tight. I guess he’ll be another ten minutes at least. I already know he’ll miss the deadline. There’s no way he’ll get in and out of there and back to his apartment before midday. But that’s fine. That was always part of the plan. Vincent was never meant to make it back home. The wine bar was the ideal spot to stare over at the bank’s exit but it’s not going to work today. The only option I have to see Vincent come out is to stand on the other corner of Mayor Square. It’s busy with pedestrians over there but at least I won’t have others standing around me like I had outside the bar. It’s not ideal, but there’s not long to go. Christ! This is all about to go down in the next few minutes.
I had a few pints on a couple of different occasions in the Deer’s Head before arranging to meet Darragh. I knew the barman was aware he sold a bit of weed out of his pub. When I asked him if he knew where I could buy a twenty-euro bag he didn’t hesitate in telling me a guy came in around two o’clock almost every day that could fix me up. I wanted to smash my son’s killer square in the jaw when I first met him, but I’d already worked on keeping my cool. It wasn’t easy. In fact, that’s been the hardest part out of this whole process. He thought I was a cop at first, but I soon quashed that idea in his head. I knew straight away he was as thick as horseshit but I had to pretend to like him. I had to befriend him. He was fascinated with my plan to use him as my apprentice. We’d meet up once every couple of weeks in the pub but I made sure to leave no trace. I told him he could call me JR on our very first meeting and he never questioned what the initials stood for. He still hasn’t asked. In fact, this idiot has been robbing and murdering for me and he has absolutely no idea who I am. He hasn’t even questioned it. He’s just been caught up, living his dream. That’s what he told me I had done for him – made his dreams come true. He thinks he’s Henry Hill in Goodfellas. He didn’t hesitate in taking money from tills when I ordered him to. We’d split it all down the middle. The money I was getting was being put towards this whole plan. The first wad of cash I spent was on petrol. I sent Darragh off on a road trip to Mayo to test his nerve. He arrived back high as a kite after killing Bob Nugent, a bloke I had researched meticulously to find. He got a thrill from the killing. He told me, ‘It was much better than the first time.’ That really tested my cool. But I just about managed to pass the test. I’ve seen Darragh every week for about a year now and I’ve wanted to knock his lights out each time. I should be rewarded with a medal for remaining so calm and patient. I sat him down one day, soon after he returned from Mayo, and read through the plan for today. He was like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Giddy with excitement.
‘Eight million euro,’ he kept repeating over and over again.
Quite odd for somebody who always insisted it wasn’t about the money. I bluffed and told him I’d carry out the kidnapping and possible murder while he would shadow Vincent to each bank. I always knew that wasn’t going to be the case, but I just wanted Darragh to feel like it wasn’t a set-up. I let him naturally tell me he would like to work the apartment. It made it feel like he was plotting and planning with me. He wasn’t, of course. I played him.
I don’t like where I’m standing but it’s either here or outside the wine bar. This street is just way too busy for my liking. I check my watch again. Only three minutes have passed since I last looked at it. I’m sweating. And it’s not just because of the sun. I’m not supposed to go over to the car until I see Vincent come out, but I have to bring that part of the plan forward. There are just too many people passing me by. The car’s about five hundred yards from where I’m standing now, but I decide to walk around the short block and come back to it from the other angle. That way nobody will see me starting from a standing position and heading straight to the car. If anybody does see me get into it, I want it to look like I’m getting into it because it’s mine. Maybe I’m getting too paranoid. I don’t like changing my plan, even if it is just bringing something forward by two minutes. It’s only a short walk around the back of Sheriff Street. I feel at the back of my trousers pocket to confirm I have what I need. As I approach the car from the pathway I keep my fingers crossed that the doors are unlocked. They should be. John never locks them. Releasing my crossed fingers just ten yards from the car I reach into my back pocket for the taser. John turns around and almost smiles at me when I open the passenger door. He thinks I’m Vincent. His smile turns to confusion just before I stretch my arm towards him and taser his ribcage. He’s out cold as soon as I do it, but I follow up with a second blast just to make sure. The car is freezing. He must have had the air conditioning on its coldest setting all morning. Suits me. I’ve been sweatin’. I turn off the terrible classical music playing on the radio and notice the digital clock as I’m doing so. 11:53. I grip the taser tighter in my hand and sigh loudly. Not long now.
11:50
Vincent
I take a deep breath as I sit down next to Ken. We’ve ordered two of his staff to count out the bundles of cash. They looked at us as if we’d just landed from another planet. Ken’s assistant manager, Chloe Brannigan, genuinely thought we were joking. She’s only allowed inside the vault with Ken. They know something odd is going on but they didn’t question us. I press the button on Ken’s office phone to dial out and take the time while the tone rings to wipe my face with the palm of my hand. I haven’t been this panicky since I collapsed on all fours this morning on Nassau Street. Ken must be starting to feel my fear. His excitement of minutes ago seems to have waned. He looks up at me before being distracted by Noah’s voice.
‘Hello, Mr Butler,’ he booms out. I stretch to the phone to lower the volume.
‘Hi, Noah,’ I say, trying to sound calm. ‘I’ve Ken here with me.’
‘Hi, Ken.’
‘Hi, Noah.’
‘Hello,’ another voice screeches.
‘Hi, Jonathan,’ I answer. ‘Bear with us one second.’ That’s literally all it takes for Chelle to add her voice to the conference call.
‘Okay,’ I start. ‘We’re all here. Listen, I have ten minutes to get out of Mayor Street with two million euros or the board are gonna be pretty pissed.’
I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to say for the past few minutes. I haven’t had much time. There are still holes in my story.
‘They spoke to me last night after work and said they were going to test each bank’s security measures …’
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ interrupts Jonathan.
‘Didn’t I say listen?’ I ask. Nobody answers. I fill the silence with a soft tut before carrying on.
‘They are trying to test the withdrawal times. They are claiming withdrawals are taking way too long from both internal and external sources. They want to test internal today and maybe external next week. I don’t know …’ I stumble. ‘I don’t know what they’re up to. You know yourselves, they probably don’t even know what they’re up to themselves. It’s … it’s …’
Noah takes my stuttering as a signal to chime in.
‘But, Mr Butler,’ he starts, sounding annoying as always. ‘I spoke with Mr Sneyd this morning and he had no knowledge of the withdrawal from my branch.’ Fuck! Ken stares at me. It elongates my silence.
‘You know Clyde,’ I say, pushing out a fake snigger. ‘He doesn’t even know what day of the week it is.’
No response follows. I notice Ken’s eyebrows raise. My spine falls back into the leather chair. My mind is lost.
‘Vincent …’ calls out Chelle.
‘Boss …’ says Ken into my face, following up after a further silence.
I can’t answer them. I’m stumped. My improvisation skills are normally so good. As they talk over each other, trying to get to grips with what’s happened so far this morning, I pee
l my spine, vertebrae by vertebrae, from the back of the chair.
‘We’re being robbed,’ I sob.
I still couldn’t genuinely believe Ryan had been watching kiddie porn even when reading his sick forum discussions with Teencum069. I figured there’d have to be an explanation. Maybe he was trying to get information out of a paedophile for his book? Maybe he was trying to get into the head of a paedophile for his book? But the ringing in my ears wouldn’t stop. I clicked on almost every URL link he had hidden in his folder as I tried to come to terms with it all. That was when I remembered there was a Word document called ‘note’ hidden in the folder too when I first opened it. I clicked out of Chrome, my stomach still turning, and opened the document.
‘Dear world,’ it started. The ringing in my ears grew louder. ‘Today is the day I end my time with you all.’ It was a fucking suicide note. I slammed the lid of the laptop down and sprinted for the door of our apartment. I wasn’t even dressed. I had an old T-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts on. That was it. I remember a bizarre moment as I stood at the elevator doors waiting for them to open, not knowing what I’d do if another resident appeared in front of me. Luckily the lift was empty. I stood inside staring at myself from all angles in the mirrors that surrounded me. I didn’t press any button. I just stood inside for what seemed like ten minutes until the ringing in my ears stopped. Then I strolled back into my apartment and read his suicide note word for word. He left it until the end to mention me, but he did so in glowing terms. He thanked me for all I had done for him, for the life he’d enjoyed with me before he got depressed and turned into a sick man. Tears rolled down my face. But I couldn’t sympathise. I couldn’t get to grips with what I’d found out over the past hour. My boyfriend was a fuckin’ paedophile. The ringing in my ears started again after I’d finished reading the note. It didn’t go away until the exact moment Ryan arrived back home that night.
Ken rushes from his chair to grab at me, holding my arms in a hug that confirms he really cares for me. Noah is first to speak.
‘I knew it,’ he says before the others join in, making the noise from the speaker inaudible.
‘Calm down, calm down!’ shouts Ken into the phone as he loosens his grip on me. ‘Let the boss speak.’
‘Ryan is going to die,’ I continue sobbing. ‘They have Ryan.’
‘Who has Ryan?’ asks Chelle. Everyone else seems stunned into silence.
‘Some asshole broke into my penthouse this morning and told me to come back with eight million in used notes by midday or else he’d shoot Ryan in the head.’
‘Call the police,’ offers Ken. I look at him as if he’s stupid.
‘Don’t you think I’ve thought about that?’
‘Sorry, Vincent, sorry. I’m just … I’m just …’
‘No, I’m sorry, Ken. It’s me who should be apologising. To everyone. To all of you.’
The line has gone silent again. The other three had been offering something to the conversation but they all spoke over each other. I didn’t hear any points or questions they raised.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘I just need to get back with all the money and Ryan will be safe, okay? I want you guys to ring the cops after twelve o’clock. But only after twelve o’clock, d’ye hear me?’
‘It’s almost twelve now, Vincent,’ Noah pipes up.
‘Vincent, are you alright?’ asks Chelle, butting in with what I hope is genuine concern.
‘I’m fine,’ I exhale.
‘I knew you weren’t right this morning when—’ Chelle’s sentence is cut off by Jonathan and Noah trying to have a say. The sound grows inaudible again.
‘ENOUGH!’ screams Ken. He’s still on his knees next to me. ‘For fuck’s sake – Ryan’s life is at stake here. There’s only about seven minutes left. Vincent,’ he says, removing my own hand from my face to look at me. ‘Do you have the other six million?’ I nod in reply. ‘Okay, well let me get the other two mill for you and get you outta here.’
I can hear the panic on the other end of the line but I try not to listen to it as Ken leaves me alone in his office.
‘Guys,’ I say, shutting the three of them up after a few moments. ‘Call the cops. But only after midday, okay? Wait until Ryan is safe. Promise me you’ll wait until after midday.’
Chelle is the first to answer. ‘We will, Vincent,’ she says. ‘We promise.’
Noah is still adding to the conversation but I speak over him.
‘Please, Chelle. I’m leaving this with you. I trust you so much. Leave it another ten to fifteen minutes until I can get back to him and then call the cops.’ I hang up and sit stunned in the silence. The noise of Ken’s wall clock brings me crashing back to reality after a few seconds. Tick, tock, tick, tock. I look at the screen of my iPhone. 11:54. Fuck me! I have to ring the fucker holding Ryan hostage.
‘Here you are, boss,’ Ken says in one breath, swinging the two briefcases towards me before I lift the phone to my ear. ‘Go get Ryan!’
I don’t know why I’m wasting time hugging him and trying to justify all that’s gone on this morning. Ken wipes the tears from my eyes before shoving me towards the door.
‘Go on, boss, go!’
I can barely see the phone through my moist eyes, but I know I only have to press one to reach the greasy prick.
‘I have it, I have it,’ I say down the line as I race through the floor of the bank.
‘Wow, good man,’ he replies. ‘With just a few minutes to go. You kept it tight, fag, huh? I bet you like it tight.’
‘I’ll be back to you in ten minutes. I’m getting into the car now,’ I pant down the line as I’m buzzed out of the bank door. He hangs up. I don’t have time to care.
I put the phone back into my pocket and race across the tram tracks and into the back seat of the car with the cases. John wasn’t by the boot to meet me this time. It doesn’t matter.
‘My apartment, John, quick as you can.’
11:55
Ryan
Fuck me. My head feels like it’s spinning in a washing machine. It doesn’t take long for reality to set in. When it does, my stomach spins quicker than my head. The blur in front of me focuses after a few seconds tick by. The prick is standing staring at me, smiling behind a pointed gun.
Holy shit.
My plan clearly didn’t go well. The last thing I remember was this exact scenario happening the other way around. I was pointing that gun at him. Then I remember. It’s a fuckin’ fake gun.
I turn my head towards the microwave even though it really hurts to do so. It’s just ticked to 11:56.
Four minutes.
I try to ask if he knows where Vincent is but only a muffled sound comes out of my mouth. I’ve been taped back up. Fucking hell. I won’t be able to talk myself out of this. I can’t tell this smarmy little cunt that he’s left his DNA all over my TV screen, that he’s fucked either way. My mind tries to focus, but it can’t. I can’t remember where Vincent was when I pounced for the gun, so I’ve no idea where he could be now. My mumbling is making this prick laugh. He only stops when his phone rings. I know it’s Vincent. It’s typical Vincent. The hero at the last second.
‘Wow, good man,’ says the prick down the line.
Vincent has done it! Jesus Christ. This is like something from one of Tom Cruise’s shit action movies. The clock stopping with just seconds remaining before the world blows up. I can’t believe this is real life. The prick doesn’t even bother to look at me after he hangs up. Instead, he dials out. He must be letting his partner know everything is complete. I wonder how Vincent is. He must be in pieces. I try to breathe in a relaxing manner, imagining I’m back at yoga when the prick begins fretting on the phone. Something’s not right.
‘Sorry?’ he asks, puzzled.
Pause.
‘But he’ll be … Vincent is … he’ll be here in a few minutes with all the money.’
Pause.
‘But I … Really?’
Pause.
‘Of course, JR. I’ll do it now.’
What the fuck is going on here?
I thought about suicide for forty-eight hours straight without any sleep breaking up my nightmare. I wondered how I could kill myself in the most painless way. I assumed an overdose of painkillers would be the way to go, but a quick Google search led me to believe that slitting my wrists might be the most sudden ending. Fuck that. That sounded way too dramatic for me. It also sounded tough to do. I wasn’t sure where I would kill myself either. Doing it at the penthouse never crossed my mind. That would’ve been too much for Vincent to bear. He would have had to deal with losing the love of his life, as well as finding his body, and possibly having to move out of his dream home if that was the case. He surely couldn’t go on living here if it was where I topped myself. And Vincent has worked so hard to own this home. He loves his penthouse.
After two days, I began to think myself out of it. Maybe I was too much of a coward to go ahead with killing myself. When I finally managed a decent stretch of sleep, I woke up a new man. Why should I give up my apartment, my boyfriend, my life? I had so much to offer the world. I wrote the first two chapters of my novel that morning. It was great work too. A real gripping opening; Chad Sutcliffe was an amateur photographer turned paparazzo who began to obsess about one Hollywood star in particular. I thought about using real Hollywood stars for the story but when I realised I’d have to kill a couple of them off, I figured I’d have to make ’em up. Denise Knight was the name I concocted for my leading lady – a cross between Denise Richards and Kiera Knightly. I envisaged a smiling face with big, beautiful eyes and that was the name I came up with. I wanted my readers to fall in love with her so that when she’s killed late on, it’s a real shock twist. But it’s hard to use the laptop for an extended period of time without surfing the web. And when I go surfing, I inevitably end up in choppy waters. Before I’d even started chapter three the very next day, I was already looking at kiddie porn. I was determined to not enter the chatrooms to converse with TeenCum069, but I only staved that off until lunchtime. The sick fuck kept at me to meet kids. He wanted me to film myself with them. He was beginning to repulse me but then again, so did cocaine the first time I tried it. Now I’m addicted to both. We chat for hours, talking about what strategy we would use for our victims. But there’s never been a victim my end. I just can’t bring myself to do it. I guess that probably makes me a coward. No matter what I do, I end up being a fuckin’ coward.
The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 22