Midday, page 18
What the fuck’s going on?
My stomach flipped upside down. I felt like throwing up. But so too did my dick. It stood on end. That mixed feeling between a sour stomach and horniness thrashes through my body every time I watch kiddie porn. TeenCum069 introduced me to other like-minded Internet scum. It wasn’t long until they were teaching me how to contact kids online. I still can’t believe how easy it is for us to interact with teens. Why the fuck do their parents allow them this sort of access online? I guess they can’t help it. Every kid wants to have their own social media accounts and that is where they’re most vulnerable. All it takes is for people like me to set up a fake account, using images of a hot young girl, and boys will do or say anything you ask them to. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been this gullible when I was ten or twelve years of age. Kids these days are more stupid than ever. Despite me contacting quite a few cute kids when I first set up my fake account, it was a ten-year-old named Brady Donovan who fell for my bullshit first. He was fascinated with Nicole Blake, my alter ego. It didn’t take long for him to agree to meet me. But I kept putting it off. Every time we arranged a date, I would freeze. So many permutations crossed my mind. The guys in the forum tried to help me fight those fears. They’d all been through this countless times before. They knew how to deal with the fact that the boy was looking to meet a cute schoolgirl only to be met by a middle-aged man. They gave me all the lines, all the subtleties required. It was like being handed ammunition. I remember the date well because it etched itself on my mind. I arranged to meet Brady in the car park of the Travelodge in Derry on the sixth of December. That was about a year and a half ago now. I had a room booked in the hotel under the names of Charles and Brady Donovan – a father and son. When I first bumped into him in the car park, I figured straight away that the guys’ hints and tips would work almost effortlessly.
‘She can’t make it,’ I told Brady’s disappointed face. ‘I’m her uncle. She asked me to come and meet you just to make sure you can be a good enough boyfriend for her. If you come with me, she asked me to show you some things. She wants to know if you’re ready. Ready to meet her. To really love her.’
‘Okay,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders.
‘Cool,’ I reply. ‘I have a room booked up here in the Travelodge hotel. I have some videos for you that Nicole would like you to watch.’
‘Let’s do a fuckin’ line, dude,’ the prick finally offers up after a long silence.
He’d been staring at me all that time. I sigh. I don’t want another line. I just want to get the fuck out of this mess. The prick grabs at the magazine lying on the glass table with the mound of coke and the old five-euro note sitting on top of it.
‘Me first this time,’ he says while rolling the note back together.
I don’t have time for this.
10:55
Vincent
The Church Street building is similar to the one on Camden. It’s a modern slice of Dublin architecture, right next to St Michan’s Church. But it’s nicer. It’s fully clear glass. No dimmed black pointless windows here. I don’t visit this branch that often, at least not anymore. The further I stay away from Noah, the better for everybody involved. Nobody notices as I come through the first door. By the time I’m buzzed through the second, Kelly at the first Customer Service desk is smiling at me. She waves out from behind her glass-protected window. I mouth the name ‘Noah’ to her in return and she points me towards his office. I rattle on the door before letting myself in.
‘Noah,’ I say, fake grinning as he reaches for his mouse to click a button.
What the fuck is he hiding?
‘Ah, Mr Butler,’ he says, flashing both his gums and his teeth.
Are some people just not aware that they do that? Nobody wants to see anybody’s fuckin’ gums. I really hate this prick.
‘I thought you were coming at ten-thirty, sir?’
‘No – I said ten-thirtyish, Noah and I’ve been held up. So if you don’t mind I’d like to collect the funds as quickly as possible.’
‘Yes, Mr Butler, of course, sir,’ he says before walking towards me, holding my stare.
He’s an awful-looking asshole. I initially thought he was coming to hug me, but he rests his left arm on my shoulder and shouts past me.
‘Gary!’ he calls out.
His spotty junior member of staff screeches back, ‘Yeah, Noah?’
‘The paperwork for Mr Butler, please.’
‘Yeah, I got it.’
‘Okay then, will you bring it to me, please?’
‘Yeah, in a minute, Noah.’
This is why I don’t like Voss. Nobody has any respect for him.
‘Excuse me, Gary!’ I shout so loudly that everybody in the branch takes notice, including the queue of customers. Gary must have leapt to the sound of my voice. He sprints towards Noah’s office, his stupid haircut flopping on top of his head.
‘Gary, do you think it’s okay to talk to your boss the way you just have?’ I ask, flippantly.
‘What way, Mr Butler?’ he answers, looking puzzled. I don’t have the energy for this shit. Not this morning. I swipe the paperwork out of his hands while offering him an evil stare.
‘That is Mr Voss, do you hear me?’ I say, pointing the paperwork in Noah’s direction.
‘But eh … but … He told us not to call him Mr Voss, Mr Butler. He … he said it’s too formal.’
I breathe heavily in the direction of Gary, thinking about what to say next. I then look at Noah who offers no support, just that ugly gummy smile of his.
‘Well I’m telling you formal is what we do round here. He’s Mr Voss, got it?’
‘Yes, Mr Voss, Mr Butler, sorry,’ Gary replies as his head sinks lower into his shoulders. What a mess of a branch this is.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Butler,’ Noah says as Gary makes his way back to his desk. ‘I just thought I would change things up a little. It’s no problem keeping it formal. I understand your decision on that, sir.’
I don’t respond. Instead I try to think what lurks behind Noah’s fake politeness. This fucker is dark. I need to know what he’s hiding.
Noah told the interview panel that he rose from bank clerk at Barclays in London to eventually managing his own branch within three years.
‘They really liked me and rated me. I got promoted seven times in my first two years,’ he boasted, flashing his gums at everyone.
My nose pinched itself as I recoiled in my seat, but I was the only one. Each of the other three board members who bothered to turn up for the interview were grinning back at him, nodding in approval. They’d clearly hired him in their heads already. I was devastated. I didn’t want to be working with this prick. On his first day in the job he told me God was looking down on him that day in the interview and that he has since prayed for each of us that were in that room. My mouth opened and closed in a swift second as a response. I was about to screech something in return but managed to stop myself.
Don’t you fuckin’ dare pray for me!
I wish I had followed through and said it. I should have nipped this religion bullshit in the bud, right from the start. He hasn’t told me he’s prayed for me since, but if he does today he’s getting a fuckin’ reality check. I really shouldn’t allow myself to get wound up by him. I need to get in and out of here as quickly as I possibly can. It’s hard for the blood not to boil in here though. There’s a pathetic looking figurine on his desk of baby Jesus being swaddled by his whore of a mother. There’s a framed picture of an older Jesus with a halo above his head eyeballing me on the wall behind Noah. It’s creepy as fuck. I saw Noah hang that on his first day in the office – the day he told me he had prayed for me.
‘I looked at the specifications of the withdrawal procedure,’ Noah says, flipping over the paperwork on his desk. ‘You know it doesn’t specify an amount you can personally withdraw, Mr Butler. I think two million euros is a lot of money—’
‘Of course it’s a lot of fuckin’ money, Voss,’ I shoot back. It stuns him. I’ve never sworn in his company before.
‘I … I’m sorry, Mr Butler. Yes, of course it is a lot of money,’ he stutters with his African accent weighing more than his put-on posh English tone for a change.
‘Listen, Noah. I don’t have time for this box-ticking nonsense today. I’m under stress from the board members to take two mill from here this morning and deliver it to Mayor Street, okay? That’s what I’ve been ordered to do and it’s what I am ordering you to do, so can we just please get to it? I’ve a hundred and one other matters, more urgent than this, to get to today and I really need this out of the way.’
‘The board asked you to do this?’ he asks, looking up at me.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s just I mentioned it to Mr Sneyd this morning and he didn’t know anything of it.’
I feel my face flush with rage. If I was to touch it, I’m sure I would burn my fingers.
‘Clyde Sneyd?’ I ask in a firm tone.
‘Yes. But it’s okay, Mr Butler.’ Noah is panicking. ‘He said you’re the boss. He said he doesn’t know anything about bank transfers and that you know what you’re doing, so all is … all is …’ he stutters again.
‘Listen you, Voss,’ I say as I rise to my feet. ‘You ever fuckin’ go behind my back again and I’ll—’ I don’t get to finish.
Noah stands up, matching me for height. ‘Sir, sir, please, please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ He keeps repeating himself. He knows he fucked up. ‘Please sit down, sit down. Relax, Mr Butler.’
I tug at my tie, loosening it from the collar and perch back slowly onto the chair, keeping eye contact with Noah.
‘I am sorry, Mr Butler,’ he offers once more. ‘I just wanted to know the amount allowed to be taken in one lump. That’s all. I couldn’t reach you by phone, so I contacted Mr Sneyd.’
I allow a silence to wash over us both as I take all this information in. It’s a good job he contacted Sneyd and not any of the others on the board. Sneyd is the least interested. I bet he’s forgotten all about Noah’s call by now anyway. It would have been too much trouble for him having to field such an enquiry. I’m surprised he even answered, to be honest. It must have been midnight in New York when Noah called him. He doesn’t answer any of my calls when I ring him at a reasonable hour. He never has.
‘Let’s just get this done, Noah, shall we?’ I suggest, trying to defuse any tension between us.
‘Yes, Mr Butler,’ he agrees, picking up a pen from his desk. Even his fuckin’ pen has a picture of Jesus’s face on it.
10:55
Darragh
I may have gone over the top jumping for joy when Paul Pogba scored that penalty kick. I don’t mind. Only this fag saw me anyway. I take a moment to think this through. United are now two–one up in this game but three–two up in total over the two legs. Even if Bayern Munich score a goal here, they won’t go through due to the away goals rule. It’s complicated but cock breath here explained it to me earlier and I think I’ve got it right. Bayern need two goals in the remainin’ five minutes and they’re not gonna get them. Game over. I fist pump the air and make a silent vow to follow United’s fortunes from now on. They remind me of home, even though home isn’t Manchester. The fag is staying pretty silent. He’s obviously not a United fan. I grab at the kitchen chair close by and drag it right in front of him. He shits himself, I’m sure of it, as I sit down on it and eyeball him from close range. Our kneecaps are almost touching. I decide to play nice cop to start off with, but only because I still haven’t figured out what to do yet. We talk football again. He thinks Real Madrid will make it to the final to play United, but I think Juventus will do it. I’ve seen them play before, years ago. They’re an Italian team and very good as far as I remember. This little fag doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Fags really don’t have a clue when it comes to sport. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for talkin’. He’s just shittin’ himself, not knowin’ what I’m gonna do next. I guess neither of us do. I pause to take a look around the room. I’m looking for inspiration.
‘Let’s do another fuckin’ line,’ I say, grabbing the sports magazine from the glass table.
I don’t need him to test this shit for me anymore, so I’m going first this time. I use my library card to separate enough for two decent lines before rolling up the five-euro note. This coke burns the edges of the nose before it’s even in the system. I love this stuff. The little fag cunt ain’t getting his bag of coke back. It’s coming with me.
‘Here ya go,’ I say, handing him the note. I haven’t forgot that his right arm is free. I’m not stupid. He sucks up his line in less than a second before staring up at me with his eyes watering.
‘That’s some fuckin’ shit, dude,’ I say, laughing into his face. He doesn’t respond. Fine by me. I just wanna have some fun. I am a gangster after all.
JR’s kind eyes reflect his personality. They kinda sparkle a bit. That was the first thing that struck me about him. It’s probably because his eyes are the only feature you can actually see on his face. He told me his work at the paint factory was a front for his real job. He used to work for one the hottest gangs in Dublin but had given up on a life of crime years ago to go straight. But after losin’ his family he turned back to crime. He thought life was too short for pussyfooting around with a regular nine-to-five job. He needed that adrenaline buzz again. He told me he was on the lookout for an apprentice who could handle the sort of shit he wanted to get involved in. It was like music to my ears. He knew I’d been involved with The Boss before and had been told I was very trustworthy. He had a lot of information on me. JR is a perfectionist. It’s why I love workin’ with him.
‘I’m not interested in any drama,’ he would say to me repeatedly. ‘I just want a guy who can get the job done.’
‘No better man than me, JR,’ I would tell him over and over again.
He liked the fact that I had a clean record and decided to take me on after meetin’ me a couple of times. I couldn’t believe my luck. I still can’t. I’ve gone from earning ten euros a day for selling two bags of weed to, today, earning four million for five hours’ work. From day one, JR has been open and honest with me. He told me how he made his way up the ranks of the criminal underworld in Dublin, from being a junior member of a protection racket right through to aiming to become the number one bank thief in the whole of Ireland. We would meet up in the Deer’s Head and he would amaze me with stories of his past. He told me from the outset that if we were going into business together he would only consider it fair that we split everything down the middle. He said that’s how his boss operated with him when he first started. I insisted it wasn’t about the money. For me it was about the work. I think that’s what ultimately won him over. He liked me right from the start and I adored him. I owe him so much. He’s my knight in shining armour, really.
I’m not sure what real-life gangsters do in these situations. I flick through the movie library in my head for inspiration. Reservoir Dogs springs to the forefront of my brain for some reason. Probably because Ryan is tied to a chair. Yes, of course! The fuckin’ ear cut-off scene. Brilliant! I leap for the TV remote and push at buttons to find the music channels. How many fuckin’ channels do these fags have?
‘What number’s the MTVs?’ I have to ask.
‘They start on 701.’
I continue switching through the music channels until I see something I like. Eminem. I notice the title of a show currently on called Eminem’s Top 10. Fuck yeah! The channel’s on a commercial break at the moment. I look over at Ryan. He has no idea what’s coming. Poor fag. While the ads play I head towards the bathroom mirror. I noticed a razor in there earlier. I clip the head off to give me access to the blades. The final ad is playing on the TV when I return. I know it’s the final one because it’s for the channel itself. They always advertise themselves each side of a programme. You get to know this kind of shit when all you do is watch TV all day. Then I hear the beat kick in. ‘Cleaning Out my Closet’. Probably me favourite Eminem track. Well it’s in my top three anyway. I hold up a pretend mic to my mouth and dance towards Ryan.
‘Have you ever been hated or dis-sumtin-ated against?
I have, I've been protested and demonstrated against
Spicky signs for my rhyme-y rhymes, look at the times
Sick as the mind of the motherfuckin' skin skanny skind
Dosy ocean techosim um dip oceans explodin'
Tempers flaring from parents just blow ee owe ee o-opin …’
I know this spit so well. I nailed the lyrics years ago. Well, I know most of them. If you don’t know a particular line in a rap song, then it’s easy to just flow over it. Just make similar sounds to the rapper. Everyone does it, it’s simple. I sway in front of Ryan, moving my arms to the beat of the track, spitting out the lyrics. It’s such a good fuckin’ tune. I try to think what the dance is like in the Reservoir Dogs scene. I think I know it. It doesn’t really suit this beat, but I make up my own version. I pace my moves to and from Ryan, just to freak him the fuck out. That’s the way the guy does it in the movie. I feel sinister cool right now. This is the feelin’ I’ve been chasing all me life. I palm the blade in my right hand. I bet Ryan is shitting himself. He must think I’m a fuckin’ psycho.
11:00
Ryan
My nose is still stinging from that line of coke. I really didn’t want it. At least he’s left me alone now. He’s too busy changing channels on the TV. He wants to know where the music channels are. He eventually settles for a channel with adverts on and then walks out of the room. He’s unpredictable, I’ll give him that. His departure gives me time to really tug away at the tape around my left wrist. It’s tough to get a good grip on it to free myself. I have to give up when I hear him strolling back into the room. He appears in front of me, his arms flapping.
