Joel had felt fine about it when he got up on the morning of the raid. He’d woken a few times in the night like he usually did on the eve of a hit but when his alarm clock went off he put the worries out of his head, there was no point stressing about the details that close to a job. If he didn’t have absolute confidence in the plan he would have backed out already.

  When he was waiting in the car he was just as calm. Johansson was chewing gum and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to some tune in his head. Reynolds had his eyes shut and his head against the passenger side window. Joel was in the back reading a paperback, glancing up every so often and seeing the boxer’s thick neck in front of him. He’d worked with him once before and that job had gone fine. Reynolds was a good man to have along for when a little force was needed. His sheer size meant he was often able to get what he wanted by intimidation rather than actually having to get violent. His ability to put the frighteners on people was in as much demand as Joel’s safe cracking ability. The problem with him was that he also had the uncontrollable temper that had earned him the Red Rag nickname. Joel had seen that rage in Reynolds when he’d been fighting but never outside the ring. He hoped he never did.

  The job went like clockwork until the end. The call came from the biker and Johansson put his foot down, driving quickly and efficiently to Old Bond Street. He had a knack for getting places fast but without drawing attention to himself. Partly, Joel thought, it was because he drove so smoothly. Some drivers handled their cars like they were fighting them. With Johansson you felt he was seducing it. They passed a motorcyclist on the way. Joel didn’t know if it was their guy or not. He supposed it didn’t matter

  When they pulled up outside the shop the fourth man was about ten feet away. He walked calmly to the door and pushed the buzzer, smiling and waving at the people inside. By the time he pushed the door open Joel and Reynolds were behind him. Both had realistic latex masks over their faces and flesh coloured surgical gloves on their hands. Only amateurs wore balaclavas, they were a sure fire way to get anyone within fifty feet to dial 999.

  Inside the shop the rep was there as expected, a steel briefcase in his hand. The fourth man was doing an excellent impression of a civilian in danger of shitting his pants. In spite of Joel’s worries there were no legitimate customers there, just two salesmen and a security guard who looked like he wished he’d called in sick. Reynolds targeted him immediately, crossing the showroom in three long strides and knocking him flying with a punch that made Joel wince. The guard slammed against a display cabinet, his head snapped back, hitting the glass and shattering it. He collapsed unconscious at the foot of it, glittering fragments showering around him. Joel almost felt sorry for him but then this was what the guy had signed up for. At least he’d have a story to tell his mates in the pub, albeit he might want to gloss over the fact he’d gone down within seconds of the crooks getting in there.

  Joel ran to one of the terrified salesmen. ”Do as you’re told and you’ll be okay,” he said as he pulled the security card from around the man’s neck and the ring of keys from his belt.

  In contrast to the gleaming Swiss timepieces on display Joel was wearing a Casio G-Shock and he’d started a five minute countdown on it when he’d climbed out of the car. He glanced at the chunky plastic digital watch as he ran through the secure door that led to the back of the shop and saw that he had four minutes and five seconds left.

  The door automatically closed behind him and he set to work.

  There were four safes. Three opened with keys, one had a combination lock. Joel knew that the combination safe was the one where the most valuable stock would be. Keys could be taken easily, combinations were another matter. That was why he hadn’t even bothered asking either of the assistants. It was quicker for him to crack the safe himself than to waste time getting led down blind alleys.

  He had it open in two minutes and swept the watches into the open mouth of the holdall he’d placed on the floor in front of it. The key safes were next, each of them quickly and easily yielding their contents. He was feeling good as he walked to the door that led to the front of the shop. They had a minute left according to the G-Shock and all he and Reynolds had to do was walk out of the front door and get in the car.

  The door opened and immediately he could smell it, the blood.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Don’t cry,” said Joel. “We don’t have long. Let’s spend it being happy.”

  The tears were running freely down her face, the moisture streaking her cheeks. He picked up his napkin and leaned over the table to wipe her eyes. Eve laid her hand over his as he dabbed at her tears. She noticed for the first time that his knuckles were swollen and grazed. He'd been in a fight recently. What had it been about, she wondered, money, honour, a woman? Those were the things men fought about weren't they? She hoped it wasn't a woman. If it was only going to be one night then let it be pure. Let him be 100% hers for the few hours that she had him.

  His hands looked strong, powerful, but his touch was so delicate she barely felt it.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated on the closeness of him. The tenderness she could feel emanating from his touch.

  What would those fingers feel like elsewhere? She imagined them stroking her throat, running down it to the swell of her breasts. She could almost feel his touch. Butterflies fluttered inside her at the thought of him caressing the smooth flesh of her stomach. In her mind she felt his fingers tracing a line around her navel and then continuing down through the light tangle of her pubic hair. She was hot there now. Her clitoris was starting to tingle, sending warm waves of pleasure out through her body like ripples on a pond.

  Her eyes were locked on his and she felt the heat rising in her cheeks again. Blushing seemed to be becoming a habit when she was around him. Looking at those clear blue eyes she knew she needed to get a grip or she was going to lose herself completely in him.

  “Tell me a joke then," she said.

  He thought for a minute. Looking at her he wished with all his heart that he didn't have to leave. He wanted to tell her how much he wanted her but he knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. Every sweet nothing would just make leaving her more difficult. For both of them.

  “How do you start a pudding race?” he said at last.

  Eve groaned and shook her head. “Sago,” she said. “Terrible. And really out of date. What even is sago?”

  Joel grinned. ”Best I could do at short notice.”

  Eve didn’t know what made her do it. Maybe it was the wine, maybe her desperation at the clock she knew was ticking down until dawn. Mostly, she decided it was because no man had ever made her feel like he did.

  Under the table she put her hand on his knee. She'd never done that before, even when she'd been in relationships. She'd never even thought of it. Men had done it to her, both men she was seeing and ones that she wasn't. For the most part she had found it annoying, like a fly buzzing around her ear. On a couple of occasions it had been genuinely upsetting. Those times she had slapped the hand away and walked off, knowing even as she did that she shouldn’t be the one leaving. Once it had been pleasurable, an illicit thrill that she had enjoyed. But never, ever, had she felt the desire to make that move herself.

  The waitress arrived with their food just as her hand landed and Eve froze not knowing what to do. Joel acted calmly, advising where the various dishes should be placed. He did that with one hand, politely indicating the right location for this and that.

  His other hand was under the table now too. He laid it over Eve's on his knee, his warm skin against hers.

  He smiled at her when the waitress had left. "Ready to eat?" he said. She nodded. "We might need both hands." He lifted his and brought it back onto the table.

  She laughed. "Okay, let's eat."

  The conversation for the rest of the meal was lighter, both of them avoiding emotional subjects and enjoying each other’s company.

  They ordered coffee when they had finished eating, Joel knew the bill was going to wipe out most of his spare cash but it was worth it. He would be going soon, running again as soon as they stepped out of the door. He wanted this moment to be perfect for both of them.

  He was sipping his coffee when he felt her hand on his knee again. He smiled and lowered his hand to hers as he had before. She shook her head and he drew it back, resting it on the table in front of him. What was she doing?

  Eve smiled at him. She felt so alive. So happy. She squeezed his knee gently and then slid her hand up his thigh. She saw his eyebrows rise as she massaged his thick, muscular thigh. It felt so good, so powerful, full of raw male energy. He smiled as she went further, her thumb tracing the inner seam of his jeans all the way up. She was leaning into the table now and she saw him slide forward too, bringing himself closer to her. As he did it her questing fingers found his cock, the heavy shape of it obvious even through the thick denim of his jeans. She felt it grow at her touch, stiffening and extending. She couldn't believe she was doing this, behaving so brazenly. Touching his knee had been one thing, but this! Her heart was racing from the thrill of it, the delicious danger. Her whole body seemed electrified, her skin tingling from her scalp to the soles of her feet. She rubbed him slowly, firmly. Fingertips running from the swollen tip up the thick muscular shaft to his body. The heat from it rose through his trousers and warmed her hand.

  Joel closed his eyes. She wasn't making it easy for him. He knew he should run but the lust rising inside him was blotting out all reason. He took her free hand in his.

  "Let's go," he said. "I need you."

  "Good," she said, "Because I need you too."

  He paid the waitress and they walked to the door, the bag slung over his shoulder again. More and more it felt like a weight that was dragging him down, holding him back. He opened the door for Eve and she stepped out into the cold. The freezing wind off the sea hit her like a slap across the face. Joel came out behind her and slipped an arm around her waist. He pulled her tight against him, their bodies seemed to fit together perfectly.

  The car came out of nowhere. One moment Joel wasn't even aware of it, the next he was dazzled by its high beam headlights as it roared towards them. Its front wheels hit the curb about twenty feet from them and it bounced onto the pavement. He could smell the burning rubber as the driver applied the brakes. The car screeched to a halt in front of them, the bonnet less than a foot from Eve's legs.

  Joel spun away from it and started to run. His hand gripped hers tightly and he pulled her after him. Their feet drummed the cold tarmac as they left the car behind. Joel could hear a voice angrily calling after them but the words were lost in the wind.

  In front of them a white van mounted the pavement. The side door slid open to reveal three men in the back. Their faces were covered with black balaclavas and two of them held baseball bats. Joel turned to look back down the street and saw that two similarly masked men were coming at them, the doors of the car behind them standing open.

  He looked at Eve. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

  Chapter Twelve

  The coppery stench was so strong it almost made Joel gag. He couldn't believe he'd only been gone from the watch showroom for a few minutes. How could so much damage have been done in such a short amount of time? He'd been so focussed on cracking the safe that he hadn't even noticed the absence of noise but he realised now that the security door must have been sound proofed. There was no way he could have avoided hearing the sounds that must have been coming from this room otherwise. The cries of pain, the sound of flesh pummelling flesh.

  It was Reynolds who drew his eye first because he was the largest man in the room and only one still standing. His latex gloves were streaked with blood, giving his hands the look of a surgeon's after an operation. His mask was splashed with it too. A long line ran down from the eye socket on his right cheek like a tear.

  The security guard was slumped in the corner where he'd fallen earlier. The fourth man was cowering in the corner, huddled in a ball. Joel couldn't tell if he was still acting of he was genuinely terrified for his life. The watch company rep lay in a crumpled heap, a growing puddle of blood around him. He was bleeding from more places than Joel could count. Places that blood shouldn't come from. There was enough of it spread about the place that Joel knew he wouldn't survive if he didn't get help soon. The fact that the damage to his body had been done with Reynolds’s blunt fists rather than a blade made it even more horrific.

  The boxer looked at him. "He wouldn't give up the combination," he said simply, pointing at the briefcase that lay on the floor next to the rep.

  Joel's felt a chill run through him. They didn't even need the fucking combination. He’d known what brand of case the rep from the first day he’d seen the details of the plan. He could have it open in five minutes. Not that it mattered because they’d be taking it with them anyway. It wouldn’t make any difference if it took him five hours to crack it.

  He realised there were two people missing and searched the room for them. The sales assistants were over to his right. One of them was out cold, it looked like his jaw was broken and blood was running from his ears. Joel could see his chest rising and falling. He’d make it. The other was still conscious but his face was a deathly pale. He was clutching his chest and when he breathed he blew crimson bubbles from his mouth and nose.

  Reynolds turned his head in the same direction as Joel’s. “They tried to stop it,” he said.

  “Stop what?”

  “The interrogation.”

  Joel felt himself losing it. “You’re not Jack fucking Bauer,” he shouted. “Nobody needed to be hurt here today. Nobody.”

  “He should have just told me,” said the boxer.

  Joel launched himself at the bigger man. He knew it was a stupid thing to do but he couldn’t help it, the utter pointlessness of what had happened blinded him to reason. Even as he flew across the room he wondered if he wasn’t just as bad as the boxer, addicted to the thrill of crime just as the other man was to violence. Who cares, he thought as he slammed his shoulder into Reynolds’s stomach and pushed him backwards, what matters now is what has been done here today. The big man was taken by surprise, taking two out of control steps backward before he collided with a desk and fell onto it. Joel leapt onto him, pounding his face with a flurry of quick punches. Even as they landed he could see they were having no effect. Four blows with all his strength behind them and all Reynolds did was smile back up at him. With a roar the boxer took hold of Joel, his huge hands closing on the smaller man’s shoulders. Joel felt those powerful fingers digging into his flesh, the hands squeezing him so hard it felt like his bones would crack. Then with a mighty heave Reynolds pushed him backwards and Joel went flying, crashing down onto the marble floor and then sliding across it. He came to rest next to the bleeding rep, the air knocked out of him and his head spinning.

  As he struggled for breath the watch on his wrist started beeping. Jesus, he’d forgotten all about it. He shook his head to clear it and staggered to his feet.

  Reynolds was staring at him. He was still smiling but now his eyes were aflame with rage. “Nobody does that to me,” he said.

  “There’s no time,” shouted Joel. “Listen.”

  Over the bleeping of the watch he could now hear the sound of sirens.

  “Must be your lucky day,” said Reynolds. He grabbed the rep’s suitcase and ran for the door. Joel picked up his holdall and went after him. When he reached the door he took one quick look back. The rep was still breathing, Joel hoped to God one of the sirens was the ambulance the man so desperately needed.

  The people on the pavement outside scattered at the sight of the blood stained giant running out of the shop. Joel followed in his wake and the two men jumped into the waiting car.

  Johansson accelerated hard away from the curb, steering the car expertly along Old Bond Street to Piccadilly. They saw the police cars there, travelling towards them from the west. Johansson quickly shifted down, slowing the car to the speed limit. The police passed by in a blur of blue and noise without even noticing them. When they had disappeared from his rear view mirror Johansson picked up speed again. Not so greatly as to call too much attention but enough to get them away quickly.

  “Some trouble in there?” he said, glancing at the blood on Reynolds’s mask and gloves. Reynolds tore the mask off and threw it into the foot well.

  “Only for Joel,” he said.

  Joel didn’t say a word and the Swede kept quiet too, just drove them back to the warehouse where they were dropping the goods off. When they got there Joel had the case open in two minutes, revealing inside the platinum Daytona and a dozen other high value watches.

  The next day Danny met him in a bar and handed over his pay. A plain white envelope nicely stuffed with cash which Joel quietly slipped into his jacket pocket. He didn’t bother counting it, he knew Danny wouldn’t short change him. The two men talked about what had happened. Joel swore that he’d never work with Reynolds again. Danny nodded and said he’d make sure of it.

  “You know I’ll always look out for you, Joel,” he said, raising his glass.

  Joel ended up having more to drink than he’d intended, certainly more than he should have done given the amount of money he had on him. He got the Tube home, cash safely in his inside pocket and the jacket done up tight. Someone had left a copy of the Evening Standard on the seat opposite and he picked it up, scanning for news of the robbery.

  The rep was still alive although just barely by the sound of it. He was being treated in St Thomas’s hospital for multiple fractures, a ruptured spleen and a punctured lung. The detective in charge of the investigation said it was the most brutal beating he’d seen in his career and swore that the men responsible would be brought to justice. Joel folded the newspaper and put it back on the seat. When he got home he took a tumbler out of the cupboard and filled it with whiskey. When he’d drunk that he did it again and then fell into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

 

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