Midday, page 16
‘Yeah, two hundred there,’ Jon says, scooping as many bundles of notes as he can in one go towards me. Time for me to count to two hundred … again. Then we’re done.
Our ‘grown-up relationship’ lasted several years. We were both happy with our lives, even if everything was vastly different to what we got up to when we started dating. Ryan was living the high of being involved in sports media. He’d get to hang out with big-name stars on odd occasions. I’d join him now and then. I’m kinda fascinated with celebrities. Even celebrities I didn’t know existed. I’d often stand at the back of the room during press conferences tiddling the Press badge Ryan had signed over to me. The buzz from that lasted a couple of months. It had already dissipated in Ryan. He said he only enjoyed working in media when he was working as a junior account manager. As soon as he started working with the professionals, he realised how pointless his career actually was.
‘It doesn’t matter one fuckin’ jot,’ he’d say to me after another boring day at the agency. ‘Football. Rugby. Who gives a shit?’
‘You do,’ I’d respond, trying to cheer him up.
I knew how he was feeling. I was starting to hate my own job but I didn’t confide in Ryan. I knew he got bored any time I mentioned work. All the great men I admired at ACB started to resign in the wake of the global recession. I couldn’t blame them. They’d had enough. I miss those men so much. They were real men. Not like their offspring. It was a huge compliment to be told I would be kept on and even promoted during the cuts. But I found it difficult to be excited about it. My lack of excitement didn’t affect my work ethic though. Motivated to make the most of the four remaining Irish branches, I managed to get my way with all four assistant manager appointments, initially – making sure I was working with people I wanted to work with. There’s nothing worse than working with people you detest. That’s why Noah Voss’s appointment – over my head last year – really pissed me off. I don’t want to be working with fuckin’ Christians. I was starting to feel content with my life again when the branches began to pull out of trouble. Inch by inch, we helped all four of them improve. But just as I was starting to feel good about myself again, Ryan’s depression started to spiral out of control. I knew it was work related and insisted he hand his notice in at Wow, but he wasn’t having any of it. Months later, I added two and two together. The little fucker was having an affair on me. I wasn’t sure who was banging him, but it certainly wasn’t me! Our sex life was dead – or perhaps barely breathing was the more appropriate way to phrase it back then. I’d give Ryan a good blowjob for his birthday. That was practically our sex life. I knew what was going on, but I decided to turn a blind eye. If he left me, he’d lose everything. On his shitty little PR wage, he wouldn’t be able to afford an apartment one-eighth the size of ours. I wasn’t actually in denial about his affair – I knew he was just having a small fling and it would end with him crying back into my arms. I was right. Of course I was right. I usually am. He told me, with tears rolling down his face one morning, that he couldn’t face going into work.
‘Fuck it!’ I said to him. ‘Fuck that place. You’re better than that. Hand your notice in. I’m going to buy you a new laptop and you can work from home. All those book ideas you have … let’s get one of them written, okay? You are now an author, you hear me?’ I said, wiping a tear from his eye.
He smiled and nodded a reply. I knew I’d got my Ryan back there and then. We could return to being the popular couple everybody envied again. I’d got my way once more. I knew I could keep an eye on Ryan if he was at home all the time. What trouble could he get up to cooped up in our penthouse on his own all day?
‘Yep, two hundred,’ I say, winking at Jonathan. We pack a briefcase each with one hundred bundles before I wrap my arms around his shoulders.
‘Thanks, Jonathan,’ I say, surprising him.
‘Gee, you alright?’ he asks me. I’d never hugged him before in my life.
‘Long morning,’ I reply. ‘Long morning.’
What the fuck was I thinking?
I must be emotional. I handcuff the two cases to my wrists and bid Jonathan farewell. The phone begins to buzz in my pocket just as I’m exiting the vault. I decide I’ll ring the fucker back when I’m outside.
‘I’ll give you a shout this afternoon,’ I holler back at Jonathan. ‘I’ll let you know when I can get this money back to you. Won’t be long.’
‘No rush,’ he shouts after me as I pace across the bank floor. I just about hear him.
A rush hit me when I left Nassau Street with the first two million but I’m not sure how I feel right now. Ringing the kid back is my main priority. I wonder if he’s going to extend the deadline.
10:35
Ryan
I pretend to be not bothered by the telephone conversations that have just occurred. But I am. Vincent is clearly looking for more time. I think he might get it, but I can’t wait around on the answer coming from this prick’s partner in crime. JR, his name is. Yeah right! They’ve probably made up initials for each other. Perhaps this spotty little fuck is called BJ during this kidnapping. I couldn’t even imagine getting a BJ from BJ. His skin is way too fuckin’ greasy. He disgusts me. I can’t even bring myself to look at him. I’m pretending I’m soaked up in this game, but my main priority is peeling the tape from my left ankle. Tape is flicking its way onto our carpet but it’s bit by bit, literally. The game is moments away from going into extra time. That’ll keep the prick occupied for an extra half hour. I think he’ll be delighted that Manchester United end up winning. He seems to be urging them on.
The apartment is really hot today. The sun is scorching in through the windows. It must be over twenty degrees out there. It certainly feels like it from where I’m sitting. I was hoping to have released this ankle by ten-thirty but I’ve already missed that deadline. Just as the ninety-minute whistle blows in the game, his mobile phone rings again.
‘Hey, JR,’ he says.
I’m trying my best to hear what the cunt on the other end of the line is saying, but it’s pointless.
‘I understand,’ replies my captor.
Shit. This isn’t good. Maybe they’re not going to offer Vincent more time after all.
‘Kill Ryan,’ he then says, staring over at me. I can see him in my peripherals, but I’m not showing him that I’m shitting it.
Kill Ryan. Holy fuck. Is this really happening or is he just running fear through me every so often on purpose?
I need to get myself out of this mess as soon as possible.
The Internet’s corridors are plentiful. There are literally millions of little websites you can access with the click of a button that would almost have your eyes popping out of your head. From being only interested in straightforward pornography, I got lulled to the darkest of X-rated arts within a matter of weeks. It all started when I began posting on forums out of pure boredom. I’d discuss my innermost fantasies with random strangers who had even more random usernames. When I began discussions about my fascination with handsome dark-haired men, other posters thought I was being sarcastic. ‘It’s such a boring fantasy,’ they would tell me. ‘Open your mind.’ I had no idea how much my mind was about to be opened. Within forty-eight hours of logging on to these forums, I was watching videos of all kinds of crazy shit. I watched one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen suck off a horse. She did her best to swallow the load too, only to gag on it and then throw up. I remember seeing a video, which has since been seen by millions of people around the world, of two Asian chicks puking and shitting into a cup before sharing the contents with each other. None of this weird shit turned me on. Whenever I fancied cracking out an orgasm, I’d return to my usual ‘Italian men’ search.
I had to be discreet though. Vincent wasn’t particularly tech savvy, he knew what the best up-and-coming gadgets were, but he wouldn’t know the ins and outs of how they operated. I’ve been deleting all the porn activity from my laptop anyway. It’s easy to lose a browser’s history. Besides, I never once saw Vincent opening the lid of the laptop he bought for me. He has his own to play with. I often wondered what he got up to online when left alone, but a sneaky search of his laptop’s history provided no evidence of naughtiness. Vincent is only interested in hard news. I’m not sure he is aware of the full delights the Internet has to offer. And I don’t just mean pornography. There’s a wealth of information online that I know he’d love. But all he seems to log on to is the BBC News website. Oh, and Bill Maher clips on YouTube. He fuckin’ loves Bill Maher. He cackles away to his old clips, nodding his head in agreement. Vincent thinks he’s as liberal as Maher but the truth is, Vincent is a liberal because of Maher. I don’t know why he’s more interested in British and American politics than he is Irish politics. But I really don’t give a shit. I wish my video viewing on the Internet was restricted to YouTube. Even YouPorn is old school for me now. YouPorn is boring. There’s not much fun to be had on there anymore. It was YouPorn that attracted me to commenting on videos in the first place though. I got chatting to a few of the fellow contributors to that website and they led me to other forums. It got dark really quickly. I blame the coke. I couldn’t give up my daily habit after I’d finished at Wow. I hid it from Vincent. Well, I didn’t really hide it, I just never told him I was still snorting lines while he was hard at work. I thought the coke would initially help me with the novel. Instead, it assisted me in digging deeper into the world of pornography. None of it seemed to really turn me on, but I was still fascinated by it. From Kaiju porn through to clown porn and anime to bestiality, I watched it all. Just because I would rather do anything than write. A guy with the username TeenCum069 led me through most of the corridors. He would post the sickest videos on the forums and we’d chat shit about them for hours each day. Then he posted one video that turned my brain upside down. I will never forget the child’s face. It was the innocence in his eyes that turned me on.
This prick has been pacing around the kitchen since the full-time whistle blew in the game. I can see him eyeballing the small mound of coke on the glass table again. His tension is creeping over to me. I’ve been particularly panicky since he got off the phone a few minutes ago. But I’m hiding it well. There’s little over an hour and a quarter left until Vincent’s deadline. I am hopeful I can get myself free of this tape and outmuscle this fucker. But even if I struggle, I still have the cum to fall back on. I can tell this fruitcake that he left his DNA at the crime scene, that he’s fucked either way. That’ll stop him in his tracks. It’s my plan B.
Just when I think the tape around my left ankle is getting the better of me, I form a small gap in the top of it with the tip of my thumb. It’s tight, but if I can force my thumb down the side of it, I should be able to snap the rest of the tape off. The sweat forming on my fingers due to anxiety is helping me. I manage to slide my thumb down the side of some of the tape and begin to tug at it. The prick is still pacing in the kitchen, humming some shit tune to himself. He’s been trying to ring Vincent back to give him the bad news, but he’s not answering. He must be in the second vault. I wonder how Vincent is feeling right now. He must be sick with worry but I bet he’s not showing it.
‘Your cock buddy better hurry the fuck up. You don’t have much time left,’ the prick shouts over to me. It’s the first time he’s spoken directly to me in ages.
‘I … I …’ I stutter before remembering I had been doing well ignoring him up until this point. ‘Vincent will be back,’ I eventually muster up. I shouldn’t have bothered.
He points his finger at me.
‘Bang,’ he says, cocking his thumb.
My thumb is doing an exercise of its own. I feel it pop through the tape. My leg falls free and I feel my heart rate quicken instantly. Both my legs and my right arm are now free. It won’t be long now until I can get to that gun. I remember my yoga breathing techniques again.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
‘Let’s see, shall we?’ I say in return. Prick!
10:40
Darragh
‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘Me and you, buddy, we’re gonna be the most feared gangsters in the whole of Dublin.’
I feel a huge grin stretch across my face. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to hear. JR is such a legend. I’m delighted that he sees a future for the two of us. I recall that sentence over and over in my head as I continue to pace around the kitchen table thingy. Kitchen island, that’s it! That fuckin’ word’s been on the tip of me tongue all mornin’. I try to ring Vincent back to give him the bad news but he’s not pickin’ up right now. He must be close to leavin’ the second bank. He better be. I stare over at the coke on the glass table again. I really shouldn’t.
‘Your cock buddy better hurry the fuck up. You don’t have much time left,’ I bark over at Ryan.
He looks shocked. I haven’t said a word to him in ages. He’s still sittin’ there like a helpless pussy. Just as he’s mumblin’ some stuttered response to me I point my finger at him and mock shoot him. His face is priceless. Poor fag. I take a peek at the time. 10:42. I can’t see how Vincent is going to get to two more banks before midday. But I don’t care anymore. Even if we come out of this with six million and one dead body, it’ll be all worth it. Me and JR have a future together. I know that for certain now.
I didn’t know what to do with the twenty grand The Boss gave me. I’ve never been good with money. I left it under me mattress. That’s probably not very smart, but nobody ever comes into my bedsit but me anyway. And nobody would want to rob my bedsit, that’s for sure. I thought about getting a better place to live in, to put a deposit down on a nice apartment, but I was comfortable where I was. I bought meself a new TV and a PlayStation 4 with some of the cash, but I soon got tired of sitting on the same old couch, pressing the same old buttons.
After a few more weeks cooped up in the bedsit all day, I decided to start a new daily routine for meself. I spent a lot of my afternoons in the Deer’s Head on Parnell Street. I’d sip cold beers talkin’ shit to either Aisling or Billy. They were the only two bar employees in the place. I didn’t really like either of them, but they were the only company I had. I tried to sell weed for a local dealer but I’d only manage to get rid of a couple of twenty-euro bags a day. Seein’ as my cut from each bag was only five euros, it really wasn’t worth me while. But I wanted to be involved in some sort of underworld crime in any way I could. I missed the big time, but I didn’t know who to turn to. I thought about investing the money in something worthwhile but I had no clue what that should be. All I knew was that I wanted a better life. But a better life to me wasn’t a nice big gaff or a convertible car. I wanted to be a gangster. That’s what a great life to me looks like. Somehow, I’d managed to get involved with the best criminal gang in Dublin and fucked it all up. And I did fuck it up. My unravelling was all my own fault. Moving to a different county crossed my mind regularly. Dublin had fuck all to offer me and I had fuck all to offer Dublin. But I’m glad I didn’t move. Billy the barman told me one day that some geezer had been enquiring about buying weed in the area and asked if he could arrange a meeting between the two of us. Billy knew I flogged the odd bit of grass here and there.
‘Well, you know I’m here every day from about two-ish,’ I replied.
‘Perfect, I’ll let him know.’
It didn’t take long for me to meet this guy. He dropped by the pub the very next day. I feared he was a cop straight away, but he convinced me he wasn’t by showin’ me his dirty fingernails. He told me he worked in an old paint factory. It’s unusual to come across a middle-aged man looking to buy a small bag of weed in some city centre pub, but he seemed very cool to me straight away. Behind his odd haircut and strange beard, JR has kind eyes.
I stop pacing round the kitchen island and sling myself back onto the couch as extra time begins in the game. I have to remind myself constantly not to look at the coke. I take a sly look over at Ryan. I try to figure out if I feel sorry for him in some way. I don’t. I don’t know why I don’t. I just don’t. It’s not because he’s a fag. I don’t mind fags as long as they keep their fuckin’ dicks away from me. Maybe I don’t care about him because he’s been such a jammy cunt. This guy doesn’t even work yet he lives like a king. He’s a little bitch, I guess. I like the way coke makes me think. I can dig deeper into my thoughts when I’m high. Me imagination runs wild. I come to the conclusion that this spoilt little asshole has had luck at every corner he’s turned. I’ve been nothin’ but unlucky all my life. Well, that changes today. I haven’t done anythin’ to scare Ryan since I whipped me cock out earlier this morning. Maybe I’ll try somethin’ in a while just to fuck with his head again. A few possibilities are skippin’ through my mind when his boyfriend calls back.
‘Hello,’ he whispers down the line to me.
‘Midday is your deadline and that’s it,’ I say as straight as an arrow. This is my opportunity to act like a gangster again. But he stumps me.
‘Whatever,’ he snarls back.
His reply is a surprise. Fuckin’ fag! I’m about to hang up on him when I realise I need to ask if he’s out of the second bank. I guess he is.
‘Yep. I’m walking towards the car with another two million now,’ he replies, tryin’ to act as if he’s not bothered.
‘Well, hurry the fuck up,’ I say, giving me the perfect opportunity to hang up in style yet again. I’m good at this shit. I toss the phone back onto the glass table, making a point, before realising I need it to ring JR back. I was almost cool then.
