Roberts had the team gathered in the conference room. The phone was in the centre of the desk, the deadline fast approaching. Roberts had arranged for the call to be put on the speaker so they all could hear. He had the briefcase of cash beside it.
Brant said:
‘So we’re really going to pay these assholes?’
Roberts nodded miserably.
Porter asked:
‘Have we at least a trace set on the money?’
‘We are going to try and see if we can catch them when they collect.’
The team digested this, doubt writ large on their faces. Porter said:
‘They seem very confident that they are going to get the money without any problem.’
Roberts’ face was set in stone, as if it had been achieved over his dead body. No one seemed reassured by this. The phone rang and some of the younger officers actually jumped. Brant smiled, he was looking forward to this. The robotic voice began:
‘Greetings friends, I assume I’m on speaker so I’ll take the liberty of addressing you en group.’
Roberts tried to stay cool, said:
‘The money is here.’
‘Good man, you’re a splendid errand boy. Now here’s the arrangement. Are you ready because I’ll only say it once, so pencils ready guys?’
Nobody moved, it was of course being taped. The voice began:
‘Get a large black holdall with the word “Swag” written on it. Then Roberts you, yes you — pay attention and stop sulking — you are to deliver it to the left luggage at Waterloo station before 8.00 this evening. Get a receipt in case it goes missing, Network Rail are a whore if you don’t have the ticket. That’s it guys, nice and simple, so I don’t see how you can fuck it up.’
Click.
Roberts looked round at the faces and said:
‘Get me a black holdall and write “Swag” on it.’
Two of the officers left the room.
Roberts asked:
‘Any thoughts?’
Brant leaned forward, said:
‘He sounded pretty confident.’
Roberts nodded and then Porter Nash said:
‘So, we deliver the money, stake out the place and then follow the pick-up — what’s wrong with that picture?’
Brant said:
‘It’s too fucking simple. I hate it when it’s too easy.’
They outlined various strategies and all had the feeling it was a waste of time. They thrashed out the numerous things that could go wrong and finally Roberts assigned the team to their roles. He then turned to Brant, asked:
‘What’s your gut feeling?’
‘That we’re going to lose the money and the gang.’
The officers returned with the bag, the word ‘Swag’ in huge white letters on the side.
Roberts went over the arrangements again and said:
‘I’d better go.’
Brant said:
‘I’ll drive you.’
As they left the station, the rank and file were in the corridor to watch them go, the sight of the bag causing huge merriment until Roberts shouted:
‘Get back to work.’
Traffic was heavy and Brant made some reckless moves to make time. After he’d cut up a taxi, Roberts pleaded:
‘Jeez, take it easy.’
‘No sweat, guv, I know what I’m doing.’
Roberts glanced at him, thought he looked positively demonic. To distract himself, he asked:
‘Is everything in place?’
Brant began to light a cig, taking both hands off the wheel to do so, then actually shrugged, said:
‘We have people watching the front and back, we’re setting up a camera, pulling records on the staff, and you know what? It’s all pissing in the wind.’
When they got to Waterloo, Brant pulled up in the no-parking zone just as his phone went.
He answered, said:
‘Uh, oh, mmmph, gotcha.’
And clicked off.
Roberts said:
‘You’re not giving much away?’
Brant smiled, said:
‘It’s a party and you and me, we’re going.’
‘When?’
‘After we dump the swag.’
Roberts thought that Brant truly was mad — not just wild, out and out barking. He shook his head but Brant went:
‘Listen to me, you’re not going to hang round the station. They need you, they’ve got your number. What you need is some R and R. When was the last time you got laid?’
‘What kind of party is it?’
‘The kind where you get laid.’
Then he was off, leaving the car in the no-parking zone. Roberts struggled to catch up, asked:
‘You’re not just leaving the car? They’ll tow it.’
‘Who cares, it’s a piece of shit.’
‘But what about the party? How will we get there?’
Brant looked back, delight on his face, said:
‘See, you do want to get laid. We’ll grab a cab, arrive in style; best if we don’t have transport in case we get shitfaced.’
The station was crowded and the left luggage place was right at the rear, attended by a middle-aged guy in uniform. Roberts hefted the bag on to the counter and, without looking up, the guy asked:
‘How long?’
When Roberts didn’t answer the guy finally raised his eyes and said:
‘You deaf?’
Roberts produced his warrant card, said:
‘No, I’m the heat, now give me a ticket.’
Slowly, the guy began to punch out the ticket and without handing it over, said:
‘Five pounds.’
Roberts snapped the ticket and said:
‘You don’t want to get in the way of a police operation.’
The guy was not impressed, said:
‘That’s corruption, that is.’
He took the bag and handed it back to Jimmy who was out the back, out of Roberts’ line of vision. Jimmy immediately began to fill his overcoat with wads of money. Angie had sewn pockets all down the sides and, thanks to Her Majesty’s Prison Service, her sewing was terrific. He also carried a nondescript shopping bag, which he jammed with more wedges of cash. Finally, he produced a Network Rail shoulder bag and rammed the last few packets into it. He was ready to roll. Waited until the cops had pushed off, then shouted:
‘Bob, I’m gonna go get us some coffees.’
And went out the back entrance.
He was just disappearing down the steps at the side of the station when he noticed a couple of cops watching the front of the left luggage. Angie had said they’d be there and that there’d be plenty of them.
Ray was waiting in a taxi and Jimmy tore off the coat, put it and the bags on the seat, said:
‘See you later.’
And he returned to work.
When he got back, Bob asked:
‘Where’s the coffee?’
‘They were closed.’
Bob said never no mind, they’d brew their own. This included adding a drop of creature comfort in the form of Highland Grouse. It improved the hell out of whatever you were drinking. The hot drinks went down so well they batched up another lot and omitted the coffee — you can have too much of a good thing. It was Friday evening and close to knocking-off time. Soon they’d wander down to the Railworkers’ Club and sink a few bitters. All in all, it was a pretty mellow way to launch the weekend. Bob was feeling very relaxed, said:
‘Jim, did you hear the fashion that bloody copper spoke to me?’
‘No, Bob, I missed that.’
‘Yeah, the fucker, he tried to run riot, shouting the odds about being in the Met and wouldn’t pay for the ticket.’
Jimmy didn’t care either way and said:
‘But you were able for him, I’d say.’
‘Too bloody right, I don’t take shit from no one. What’s the big deal with the bag, do you think?’
They looked at the bag, ‘Swag’ in white letters almost glowing. Jimmy shrugged his shoulders and Bob asked:
‘Swag! What’s that about? Some kind of joke, do you think?’
‘Gee, I don’t know, Bob.’
The Highland Grouse was singing in old Bob and he stood, circled the bag, then bent down, said:
‘Let’s have a little peek; I mean, the bastards didn’t even pay so it’s not like they’re entitled to our full protection.’
He pulled the zipper back and stared in dismay then said:
‘It’s empty, I could have sworn it weighed a ton, did it seem heavy to you?’
Jimmy’s heart skipped a beat and he tried:
‘No, it was light as a feather.’
Bob eyed the bottle of Grouse, laughed, said:
‘I better ease up, eh?’
Jimmy felt relief flow over him, said:
‘Let’s have one for the road. What do you think, you being the senior man?’
Bob liked that tone a lot and felt they could certainly risk one more. As they closed up, the watching cops noted the time and that they weren’t carrying anything.
One said:
‘The only thing those guys are carrying is a feed of drink.’
A month before, Angie had rented Jimmy a small apartment in Kennington. She’d said:
‘They’ll check the employees and we can’t be living together. I’ll stay with a girlfriend so they can’t connect us up.’
Jimmy was very unhappy about being on his own but she persuaded him it was only for a short time. Once the heat died down, they’d split the money and all get back together. When Ray arrived at the Mews, he had already split the money and when he handed the cash to Angie, she said:
‘This seems light.’
‘Yeah, I’ve taken half and put it someplace safe.’
She was surprised at his balls, asked:
‘Don’t you trust me?’
‘Sure, but if anything happened to you, at least only half would be gone. This way, we need each other.’
She considered getting him into bed, see if he would reveal the location. Instinct told her it wouldn’t work. He was sharper than she’d figured.
She smiled, said:
‘Good thinking. When they check out the staff at the left luggage, it’s possible they’ll come talk to you as Jimmy’s brother.’
Ray cracked a Special Brew, took a deep slug, said:
‘The Mews is clean, I’ve sold off the hot gear. They can search all they like. Fancy a drink, to celebrate?’
‘Maybe later, I have to go see about my flat.’
Ray gave her a long look, said:
‘You be real careful, that’s a lot of cash you’re carrying.’
Angie went to a small lock-up she’d rented when she’d last got out of prison. Just off Clapham Common, it held every item that was of any value to her. Some porcelain dolls she’d nicked from an old woman, designer clothes and imitation Louis Vuiton luggage she’d found in a boot sale. The tags on the handles said, ‘Florida’, for the day she made her great escape and she figured it was only a short time away now. There was a portable television, a fridge, a foldaway bed and essentials like vodka, a kettle, coffee and half a gram of coke.
She laid the money on the floor and wondered why it didn’t make her feel good. There and then she vowed not to go anywhere until she had it all, every last penny. It was her scheme, her planning, her fucking entitlement.
Rage enveloped her and she wanted to go back, shoot Ray in the balls, the bastard, remembering the half smile he’d given her when she’d asked:
‘Don’t you trust me?’
Yeah, right.
She laid out a couple of lines of coke, used a twenty from the pile to snort, and waited for the hit.
It came fast, hit her brain running and then the ice-drip down her neck. She didn’t use very often as her insanity was sufficient to keep her stoked but, now and then, she’d have a hit and summon up the crystal-clear thinking she needed. As her body began to experience waves of wellbeing, she thought: Okay, Ray, you want to play, we’ll play.
There were few things she liked better than to play, said aloud:
‘Game on.’
She lifted a few loose boards from under the threadbare carpet and stashed the money. Then dabbed some perfume behind her ears. It was the brand Jimmy loved. He never tired of asking her what it was and she’d always reply the same:
‘Money.’
Angie had absolutely no feelings about Jimmy, he was simply the means to an end. Sometimes he amused her but not in any fashion that she’d miss.
She took a shower, the coke singing in her veins. She was looking forward to the remainder of the evening. Naked, she assessed herself: looking good, maybe she’d cut down on the booze a bit but otherwise, in fine shape.
She selected an outfit that Jimmy usually drooled over. Stockings and suspender-belt, sheer black top and black miniskirt, add a black bomber jacket that Ray had boosted from some Europeans who’d had a place on the Balham High Road. Finally, a few lines of coke to get Jimmy off his game completely.
Leaving the place, she double-locked it and put on the deadbolt. At the end of the street was a mini-cab office and she asked for a car.
The driver, a Rasta, gave a low whistle of appreciation as she got in.
‘Yo sho looking fine, girl.’
‘Whatever, I need to go to Kennington.’
He had a spliff going, asked:
‘You wanna get some dis good vibe?’
‘I don’t do drugs.’
‘Yo baby, dis be life, not no drug.’
He got the car in gear and turned up the sounds. The Wailers doing their thing, he kept up a constant monologue of which Angie heard little. The music drowned him out but it didn’t put as much as a dent in his rap.
When they got to Kennington, she asked the fare and he stroked his dreads, said:
‘Yo like to mebbe party with me, Fs got me a crib dat be shaking.’
She threw a tenner at him and a look that cut through his high, said:
‘Keep the change.’
He watched her saunter down the road, said:
‘No woman, no cry.’
Angie let herself into the flat.
Jimmy wasn’t back yet. The place was bare, the few items Jimmy had brought were in boxes. She unpacked them, scattered them around — it had to look like he’d lived here. She piled cups and dishes in the sink. Then went to the bathroom, ran a hot bath, returned to the main room, picked up the one-bar electric fire and plugged it in near the bath. You’d get more heat from a cigarette but Angie wasn’t interested in getting warm.
Then she sat down to wait. Prison had taught her how to do that, just sit and let her mind roam free. Mostly, she thought about the second half of the money — her money — and how she was going to separate Ray from it. A key turned in the lock, then she heard some fumbling and she smiled as she knew Jimmy was drunk, as he always was come evening. The door opened and he staggered in, seemed stunned to find all the lights on, then saw her and beamed:
‘Angie!’
She gave a huge smile went over and put her arms round him, said:
‘You tease, making a girl wait.’
He moved away from her, confusion and a hint of suspicion on his face, asked:
‘Why are you here, I thought you’d be with Ray, and didn’t you say we had to stay away from each other till the heat died down?’
Irritation rose in her, like he was going to get bright now, of all the times for him to start acting like a normal person. She bit down on the emotion, went to her bag, produced a bottle of champagne, said:
‘But we have to have a small celebration. You did brilliant; we couldn’t have pulled this off without you. I just had to come and let you know that. I even dressed special for you. Don’t you like the way I look, Jimmy? Do you really want me to go?’
He didn’t and she smiled to herself. There wasn’t a man alive who’d turn down sex, no matter how his instinct warned him.
She purred:
‘We’re going to have us a killer of an evening.’