Midday, page 15
‘Midday,’ he snaps down the phone at me. ‘Get it back by midday or that’s fucking it, boy.’
‘I’m doing the best I can. Just … just … please, extend the time by another half an hour and I’ll definitely be back,’ I plead.
‘Mid-fuckin’-day!’
I stare at the phone after he’s hung up. This guy sounds like a lunatic. Fear engulfs me for the first time since I left Chelle. I’m not sure why I’ve been so relaxed over the last half an hour. I pace slowly back to the bank’s entrance taking in my reflection once again. The reality of the whole situation flows through my mind as I stare into my own eyes for what seems like an age, until the mobile phone buzzing in my hand snaps me out of it.
‘I’ll ring you back in two minutes with an answer to your request,’ he raps in his mongrel accent. Then he hangs up again.
I’ve no idea what to do. Do I go back inside to Jonathan or do I wait out here? I take a look towards my car but John isn’t paying any attention to me. All I can do is stare past my reflection into this horrible black glass. If anyone could see out, they’d see a confused man. I remove my glasses and wipe my face to try to defuse my current state of mind. I wish I was throwing handfuls of cold water on my face. I need to chill out. I breathe slowly to stave off any signs of panic.
Think, Vincent, think.
I try to focus on the positive, but my stomach is starting to turn. So much for this being the easy branch to take money from. Jonathan was eager to get me in and out as quickly as possible and everything was going smoothly. Now I must look a little panicked and out of sorts. Jonathan will be wondering why I left at the tail end of a contract read-through. Especially after I’d just insisted we must follow protocol. I’m wondering why I left too. I wonder if he’s finished reading through the paperwork. My phone doesn’t seem to be ringing back. I’m not sure staring at it will help. The longer I stay out here, the more suspicious I look. Rather than think it, I say it to my reflection: ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ I can’t stay out here much longer. I decide to stroll back into the bank, get the money out of the vault and then deal with any deadline discussions when I finally exit. I refocus my stare to look at myself one final time before heading for the door. I can see Jonathan eyeballing me after I get through the first entrance. He must have been on his way out to me. As I stand trapped inside the two doorways I don’t know where to look.
What must Jonathan be thinking right now?
I would never leave a withdrawal read-through before it’s finished. I can’t bring myself to look at him. Then I hear the second door buzz me through.
‘Let’s go, boss,’ he says, winking at me. ‘Paperwork’s done. Let’s get you that money.’
10:25
Darragh
Neither of us seems to be talkin’. That’s fine by me. I’m happy to just watch the match as my high wears off. It’s lookin’ like it will go into extra time. Both legs have finished one all. I only learned what ‘legs’ meant in football a half an hour ago. It’s when a knockout is played over two different games, one in each team’s home ground. Still don’t get why they call it ‘legs’, like. But that’s all the chatter me and Ryan have had over the past while. Small talk about football. I think the sport is winning me over again. I’m willing United to score. As the referee blows for another foul, I take the mobile phone from the table to make sure it hasn’t been ringing while I was transfixed on the game. I would have heard it surely, but I am high, I guess. I don’t want to miss another JR call. He’d go fuckin’ nuts. There’s been no activity on the phone. I decide to palm it rather than place it back on the glass table just in case there is a call. I’ll be able to feel it vibrate. I look at the clock on the microwave again. 10:26. I expect Vincent will be another fifteen minutes at least in the Camden Street branch. A distant ringtone makes me raise my eyebrow. I look to Ryan to see if he heard anythin’. Then at the TV. Maybe it was a noise from the football supporters? Then I realise the phone in my hand is dialling out. Shit! I lift it up to see that I am dialling two. That’s a relief. I’m ringing Vincent, not JR. I don’t want JR to think I’m losin’ it. I’ve no idea what I am going to say. Hangin’ up crosses me mind but that would look suspicious. He probably won’t answer anyway.
‘Gimme one second,’ says Vincent abruptly down the line as I hear him walking.
What’s going on?
‘I’m just in the Camden Street branch, what’s up?’ he finally says.
‘Don’t “what’s up” me, fag,’ I bark back at him. Cheeky cunt. ‘What the fuck’s going on? It’s coming towards half past ten – you’ve gone beyond time.’
He almost swears at me. He must be stressin’ out big time.
‘Listen … I can’t do anything more than I am. I can’t make this process quicker. This is just how … how—’ he says, stuttering.
‘They’re your fuckin’ banks. Get the eight mill back here by midday or else I’ll splatter Ryan’s brains all over this place,’ I reply cool as ice. I really am cut out for this kinda shit. I’m a natural gangster.
‘I’ll get back with the eight mill,’ Vincent whines. ‘Forget about the time. I’ll get it back once the whole process is done. Let me—’
‘Midday,’ I snap. ‘Get it back by midday or that’s fuckin’ it.’
He stutters some other whiney bollocks before I repeat meself with a firmer tone.
‘Mid-fuckin’-day!’ Then I hang up.
It might have sounded cool. Or maybe it was a little too dramatic. I’m not sure. I take notice of Ryan out of the corner of me eye, but he’s not showing any reaction to the call at all. I swing my head at the microwave again. 10:29. There’s no way Vincent can get in and out of all three remaining banks in the next hour and a half. I call him back immediately.
‘I’ll ring ya in two minutes with an answer to your request,’ I say much more coolly before hangin’ up again.
Then I let out a sigh. JR will probably want to kill me if I bother him with requests from Vincent. But I think this is somethin’ we need to talk about. If we want all eight million, we may have to give Vincent an extra half an hour. JR doesn’t take long answering. Like me, he must have his phone in his hand waiting for it to ring.
‘He’s not out already, right?’ he asks.
I decide to put my case forward straight away. ‘No. Listen. Take your time to think about this. He’s doing a good job but he needs more time.’
JR tries to stop my flow but I’m determined to make sure we give ourselves the best shot at getting all the money. Nobody knows more than I do just how much JR will want to stick to his plan.
‘Think about it, JR. He’s only in bank number two and it’s almost ten-thirty. We can get all eight mill if we just give him a bit more time.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ he says.
Great! JR has listened to me. He hangs up, leavin’ me grinnin’ and almost skippin’ around the kitchen table thingy. We’re a proper partnership, JR and me. He kinda needs to hurry up thinkin’ bout it though. Vincent is waiting on me to call back.
I’d exhausted all the decent Netflix shows within a couple of months. It got borin’. I wasn’t sure how long The Boss wanted me to chill out but I was certain the cops were nowhere near findin’ the One-Punch Killer. All this lay-low bullshit was beginning to bug me. I’d call Smack every day pleadin’ with him to speak to The Boss on my behalf, to tell him I was bored and eager to get back to work. But I’d rarely hear anythin’ back. And after a while Smack’s phone had a habit of dialling all the way through to his voicemail. I was starting to lose the will to live. I knew The Boss wouldn’t be happy if I turned up at his club unannounced. I’d been told to stay away until he contacted me, but I couldn’t sit around doing nothin’ for the rest of me life. As soon as I walked into his club, though, I knew I was doin’ the wrong thing. I knew exactly where he’d be sittin’, up in the back booth where he always is. I could feel, not see, the faces in the club starin’ at me. Before I got to his table, Smack raced towards me.
‘What the fuck you doin’ here?’ he asked.
‘I need to see him, Smack. I haven’t heard a thing back from you and—’
‘He’ll fuckin’ kill you, Darragh. He told you to stay away. Trust me, for your own good, turn around and walk back out that door.’
I should’ve listened to him. I knew he was right but for some reason I tried to plead with Smack to let me talk to The Boss. But just as I was being pushed towards the exit, The Boss noticed me. He called on Smack to bring me towards him. Within a split second of me getting to the booth, I was thrown sideways by The Boss and pinned to the red leather couch. He had both his hands wrapped firmly around my neck.
‘I told you never to come here, didn’t I?’
I couldn’t answer.
‘You little fuck. Don’t bring your shit near me. You hear?’
I felt like cryin’. This was heartbreak for me. A break-up. A break-up of the only relationship I ever wanted to have. I think The Boss could see my sadness. After releasin’ his grip on me, he clipped my face with the palm of his hand.
‘Follow me, kid,’ he said. I walked slowly behind him until we reached the back porch of the club. With one flick of his head The Boss cleared the porch of the two security men who were guarding the back entrance. He sighed heavily before speakin’. I took it as a sign his heart was a little broken too.
‘We can’t have you involved, Darragh. There was heat on us over that killing. I had to stave it off and in doing so I agreed to distance myself from you. You know you can’t bring any heat near me and your fuckin’ freelance killing, nothing to do with my business, can’t come near me. If I order a fuckin’ hit it’s because I know everythin’ is good to go. You can’t go around killing people, Darragh. You fucked up.’
I hung my head in shame. He was right. I knew I fucked up.
‘Stay here,’ I was told. I didn’t lift my chin from my chest in all the time I was alone in that porch. I was too saddened to even think about what might happen next. When The Boss burst back through the front door, he headed straight towards me.
‘Twenty thousand,’ he said shoving a wad of notes into my hands. ‘Best of luck, Darragh. I enjoyed working with you.’
‘I … I …’ I stuttered.
‘I enjoyed working with you,’ he repeated, before going back inside.
I must have looked like a lost puppy. When I was outside the club moments later in the pouring rain, I thought about throwing the wad of notes back into the porch in anger. I’d never felt such a depression.
I can’t pace around this kitchen table thingy any longer. I stare at the phone in my hand again. I need to know if the time is going to be extended. Vincent is waiting to hear back from me.
Ring me, JR, for fuck’s sake.
10:30
Jack
‘I think Lisa’s the woman with the red hair,’ says Antoinette, pacing towards me. I can’t believe I’m looking into this face again. It’s been years. She has no idea this is me. ‘Are you on floor four?’ she asks, not going away.
Now I have to remember the pitch in my fake voice again.
‘No,’ I say, missing the pitch by some distance. I hold six fingers up into her face. It’s terribly rude. I feel really bad. Nobody should be rude to Antoinette. She’s too lovely. But I can’t bring myself to talk again.
‘Oh, six,’ she says offering another smile. This is so awkward. A huge silence fills the two yards between us. ‘Okay, have a good day, sir,’ she says, trying to defuse the awkwardness before walking off.
I cringe, but I let out a sigh of relief as she paces away. I know from her face that she didn’t recognise me at all. I never should have engaged in conversation with her in the first place. But I had to know for sure she wasn’t aware of who I was. I watch her walk in the opposite direction down Charlotte Way and stretch my bottom jaw in some sorrow. That’s the last time I’ll ever see her. I look at the buildings across the street and realise it will be the last time I’ll ever see them too. I’ll miss Dublin when I’m gone. I’ve equally loved and hated Dublin for as far back as I can remember. I’ll miss the city centre more than anything but I’ve become a bit bored with it. Dublin used to be the prettiest little town, but it seems to have been swamped with homeless people and meth users over the past six or seven years. I don’t know what happened, but overnight the druggies seemed to appear in the streets again. It seemed to coincide with the economic crash. The streets of Dublin are ugly now. I get a little embarrassed thinking of all the tourists from all over the world coming to Dublin only to be approached by a few skangers off their heads, asking their usual question: ‘Any change, bud?’ I won’t miss that. I will miss the new modern architecture in Dublin, even though some of the buildings lack real character. I’ll miss the thick Dublin accent. I love it. I’ll miss spring here. Dublin’s at its prettiest between April and June. I’ll miss Pat Murray. He’s the only employee from the factory that I’ve stayed in touch with after I left a few years ago. I’ll miss his wise words. But I’m eager to take my life in a totally different direction. The excitement I’ve been feeling about this move is huge. But today, I’m anxious. My whole life – our whole lives – hang on what happens over the next ninety minutes. I’m still reminiscing about this old city when my phone rings. It’s Darragh.
‘He’s not out already, is he?’ I ask, staring back at the bank entrance.
‘No. Listen. Take your time to think about this. He is doin’ a good job but he needs more time.’ Darragh’s never spoken to me like this. I’m taken aback.
‘Darragh…’ I interject. But the kid is determined to keep talking.
I already know I’m not giving Vincent more time. But as Darragh continues to plead with me, I decide to play along, to keep him sweet. I don’t want him feeling dejected. He needs to feel like he has some sort of control over this heist too.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I say. Now Darragh sounds like he’s the one taken aback. But it’s a good tactic from me. It keeps his boredom at bay.
I can’t believe I’m going to be a multi-millionaire in the next couple of hours. I don’t necessarily want to be super rich. Wearing a Rolex watch or driving a Ferrari doesn’t interest me one bit. I just want to see out the rest of my days in the most comfortable manner possible. We’re going to have so much fun.
I remember the first time I went to Italy. I pleaded with the factory to allow me to take three weeks off work one summer when Frank just turned thirteen. I figured a trip around Europe would help broaden his mind. My boss at the factory was always good to me. I concocted an itinerary that would see us take in London, Rome and then Paris. We cut our Paris trip short by a few days because we loved Rome so much. It’s steeped in history and really helps put life into perspective. Frank wasn’t as amazed as I was, but I was very conscious of this precious time in our lives. This was our summer – the boys on tour. I set initial plans in motion for us both to move to Rome on a permanent basis but it just didn’t make any sense. Neither of us could speak Italian, and Frank was still years from completing school. We’d have to wait. I don’t need to wait much longer. In a couple months’ time I’ll be sipping expensive wine on a rooftop bar overlooking the ancient city.
Vincent shouldn’t be much longer in this branch. John is waiting patiently for him outside. I take a look at the screen on the old phone. 10:36. I should ring Darragh back and give him the bad news, but I’ll word it so that he feels as if I’ve taken his concerns on board and that I view him as a genuine partner in crime.
‘Hey, JR,’ he says, answering the phone rather quickly.
‘Listen, Darragh. I’ve had a long think about this. I understand where you’re coming from and I think you did the right thing talking to me about it. But you and I have planned this for so long and I think the only proper thing to do is to abide by the plans we drew up early on. We cannot go beyond the deadline. Not just today, but in any robbery we make from here on. We need to be strict.’
‘I understand,’ he replies.
I thought he’d be disappointed, but he’s not. He’s probably buzzing because I mentioned future robberies. He’s often talked to me about the future, about being included over the long term. I think being a gangster is all he’s ever wanted to be. He used to be involved with Alan Keating’s gang a few years ago, until they let him down. He needs an excuse to be relevant. I’m his excuse right now.
‘So, if it comes to midday and I order you to kill Ryan, what are you gonna do?’ I ask in a tone similar to how a teacher speaks to a student in secondary school.
‘Kill Ryan,’ he says.
Correct answer.
‘Exactly. Me and you, buddy, we’re gonna be the most feared gangsters in the whole of Ireland. But we must stick to our plan, okay?’
‘You got it, JR. You got it.’
10:35
Vincent
‘Yep, two mill again,’ I say, having counted the bundles of notes for the second time.
‘Okay, one more time each,’ Jonathan replies with a sigh.
He’s going through this as quickly as he can. I really need to get a move on. I haven’t checked the time in a while but it must be gone half ten by now. I swipe all two hundred bundles of notes towards his side of the counter and let out a sigh of my own.
‘One, two, three, four,’ he tries to whisper.
‘Do it quietly, Jon, will you? My head’s a little sensitive today.’
‘Sorry, Vincent.’
It’s very warm in this vault. It’s a larger vault than the one on Nassau Street but this one is cooped up in a basement, and the air conditioning is as useful as a fart. The contrast in my anxiety is confusing me. It’s up and down. When I arrived at Nassau Street I was really nervous and then I settled somewhat when I got to the vault. This time around it’s been the complete opposite. I was relaxed coming into this branch but now my head is starting to feel faint again. It could be the heat but I’ve been feeling weak since I was outside fifteen minutes ago. The little fuck hasn’t rung me back to extend the deadline. I’ll probably be another five minutes in here, at least. It’s going to be close to eleven when I reach Church Street. I really am cutting it close.
