Northern Heist, page 9
‘I’m leaving. I’ve my stuff packed. I’m heading home for a while and then I’m going travelling. South America.’
Ructions doesn’t respond.
‘Are you still there, Ructions?’
‘Yes, I’m still here.’
‘It’s run its course, Ructions. We both know it.’
‘I’m not sure what to say, Maria.’
‘Nothing to say. Everything has a sell-by date. We’ve reached ours. I’m glad we’re ending it as friends, though.’
‘We’ll always be friends, Maria. You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you? Call me if you need anything or run into any trouble over there. Bail money and the like.’
Maria laughs. ‘Thanks, Ructions. Hopefully there’ll be no need for that. Same goes for you too. And if you need anything, you let me know. You can contact me through my Dad.’
‘Good luck, Maria. Y’know, I think you will save the rainforest.’
Maria laughs. ‘Bye, Ructions.’
* * *
—
In the Butler household, Declan’s sister, Kate, comes into the kitchen holding a vacuum cleaner. She sees her brother having a whispered conversation with three men. There is tension in the room and then there is Billy Kelly with his dazzling, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth smile. These men look like an odd bunch. Why are they wearing hats inside the house? Every one of them has facial hair. That looks like a wig. Why is that fella wearing surgical gloves?
Declan looks up. ‘Give me a couple of minutes, will you, Kate?’
‘Come again?’
‘Give me a minute, please.’
‘What’s going on here, Dec?’ she asks, leaving the vacuum cleaner aside. Pointing to Billy, she asks, ‘Why’s he wearing gloves? And why are these people disguised?’ Her hand goes to her mouth as it dawns on her that they are there because Declan works for the National Bank and they intend to rob it. ‘Get out,’ she demands, pointing to the door. ‘I’m telling you to get out of our house now or I’m calling the police.’
‘Go ahead,’ Billy says, handing Kate his phone. ‘Go on. Take it. Phone the cops. I’ll not stop you.’
Kate stares at the phone, then shakes her head.
‘You’re sure?’ Billy says.
There follows a barely audible grunt from Kate.
Billy inclines his ear to Kate’s mouth. ‘I didn’t hear that?’
‘No.’
‘Congratulations, Kate.’
‘Why? What have I done?’
‘You’ve weighed up the situation and adjusted appropriately.’ Billy leans towards Kate conspiratorially, ‘You’ve done very well.’
‘Don’t patronise me, you—’
Billy simulates shock. ‘Dec, she’s going to call me names. Can you believe that?’
Declan moves to defuse the friction. ‘Don’t call him names, Kate. Don’t do that.’
Billy presses his hand to his heart in a display of mock indignation. ‘I’m not feeling the love from you, Kate. Like, do you really want to make me feel unwelcome in this house? If you do, just say the words “I don’t want you here” and me and the boys will disappear – with our new buddy Dec. Disappear – that’s a big word, Kate. A big word with a big meaning.’ Billy looks at his watch. As quickly as it had flourished, the humour in his voice dies. ‘Listen, girlie, you can’t afford to get angry with me. Not for a fuckin’ second. Now go stand in the corner till I tell you to come out.’
Kate goes to the corner.
‘Turn around,’ Billy orders, his finger twirling. ‘Face the wall.’
It is time to go to the next level. ‘We’re going to take you away for twenty-four hours,’ Billy says to Declan.
‘Where to?’
Kate turns around. ‘Where are you taking my brother?’
‘Kate, face the wall.’
Billy turns to Declan. ‘Tá tú ag dul go dtí Tír na n-Óg, a mhic.’
Declan recoils at Billy’s ability to speak Irish. ‘An ceart é sin? Ní raibh mé ann riamh.’
‘Sa chás sin, bhainfidh mé sult as,’ Billy says.
So, I’m off to The Land of Eternal Youth? Off to the afterlife to live forever? Spirited away by a lowlife who has taken the time to learn the Irish language and Gaelic mythology? Declan is not sure if he should be impressed with Billy’s seamless changeover from English to Irish, and his eyes irreverently inspect the intruder from head to toe.
Billy has not missed Declan’s derision. ‘Are those daggers in your eyes, sonny boy?’ he says. ‘Tell me you’re not being disrespectful, kid, or by Jesus you’ll be swallowing teeth in the next few seconds.’
Declan shakes his head. He is perplexed. He had learned Irish at school and at the Gaeltacht in Gweedore, an Irish-speaking area in County Donegal. But where had the tiger-kidnapper learned it? He doesn’t know that Billy was born into an Irish-speaking family. Declan knows hoods and criminals, most people do; they are your next-door neighbour’s son whom you suspect is plotting to steal your car every time he walks past it, or, God forbid, your next-door neighbour himself, who watches and waits for you to carelessly leave a window open so he can break into your house. But none of the hoods Declan has ever known has taken the trouble to learn Irish – they can hardly speak English, their vocabulary restricted to the same few thousand words. Who am I dealing with here? Is this an IRA job? Should I ask them? They mightn’t like that, and they’d hardly tell me the truth anyway. I reckon they’re IRA. He surveys all three gang members. Look at them – total confidence; not even as much as a hint of confusion or panic – and their leader – he’s lapping up every second of this. They’re IRA, Declan. Be very careful.
Any sign of impertinence evaporates from Declan’s face as his spirits plummet. The realisation that these guys are most likely IRA smacks into him with the power of a wrecking ball. He shifts from one foot to the other and then puts his hands in his pockets, only to take them out again. He swallows. Don’t break down. Don’t.
A meltdown is the last thing Billy wants to see; he needs Declan to be frightened, but not so frightened that he becomes incapable of functioning in the required manner. He grabs Declan by the chin and says, ‘Hey, stop that snivelling.’
Declan’s windpipe bobs like a fishing float in a fast-flowing river.
‘Dec, no one has to die here,’ Billy says. ‘Do you hear me?’
Declan nods.
‘If you do exactly as you’re told, and your family does exactly as they’re told, everything will be fine.’
‘You’ll have no problems with me, mister.’
Billy releases Declan’s chin. ‘Good man. That’s what I needed to hear. It’s all down to yourselves,’ Billy says, ‘but mostly it’s down to you. You play the game, you follow instructions, and we don’t need to kill your family. It’s simple enough.’ Billy pats Declan on the back. ‘But if you fuck up, if you try to get clever, they end up in boxes. An dtuigeann tú?’
Declan manages to summon up a weak smile. It’s the best he can do. ‘Yes, I understand. Don’t worry about me. I’ll do whatever you tell me.’
‘Good. Now, you’ll be leaving in…’ Billy looks at his watch, ‘ten minutes. I need to speak to your family. Kate…’
Kate turns around.
‘Come here, Kate.’
Feelings of uncertainty and vulnerability take hold of Alec when Declan, the three men and Kate enter the living room. It’s as if all the goodness has been drained out of the room by a malignant spirit. While one gang member closes the blinds and stands beside Declan in the middle of the room, another remains at the door. Kate sits on a chair to the side and folds her arms. Declan’s mother, Colette, occupies a chair across from her husband.
‘Sit down on the sofa, Dec,’ Billy orders.
Declan sits on the side of the sofa directly adjacent to his father.
‘Not there. That’s my seat.’
Declan moves over. Alec and Colette look at each other uneasily as Billy disrespectfully flops himself on the sofa, opposite Alec. He buffs up some cushions and places them behind him. Billy then eases into the cushions, stretches his legs and cups the back of his neck with his hands. He looks at Alec and yawns. He notices that the red light below the Sacred Heart of Jesus picture in the alcove wall has just gone out. Alec notices too. Alec does not need a sign from God to tell him that something is seriously amiss. It is evident from Billy’s attitude that he considers himself, not Alec, to be the master of the house.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Alec asks.
Billy flicks open his coat to reveal a gun in his waistband. ‘I’m the big cheese, the guy who puts holes in people.’
Alec looks at the gun. ‘If you say so.’
Billy’s phone rings. He holds up the phone for Alec to see, puts his finger to his lips and answers it. It is Ructions checking up on how things are going. ‘Grand,’ Billy says. ‘I’ll phone you back shortly.’ He hangs up.
‘I’m scared, Alec,’ Colette says, her voice quivering. She begins sobbing softly.
‘Colette, love, it will be okay. Don’t worry,’ Alec says.
‘Mum, Dad’s right,’ Declan says, reaching over to take his mother’s hand. ‘It’s—’
‘But, son, they’re—’
‘Sit,’ Billy orders sternly.
Declan looks down coldly at Billy.
‘I said, sit.’
Declan obeys.
‘Jesus, I hate crying women,’ Billy says disparagingly, as he takes a packet of tissues from the inside pocket of his coat and hands them over to Colette. While Colette sniffs into a tissue, Billy says, ‘Okay, folks. Here’s the deal. If you all do what you’re told, we’ll sail through this. If you don’t, you’ll end up with a black bow tied to your front door. End of speech. Have any of you trouble with your hearing?’
Billy looks at each family member individually and they all shake their heads. As if reminding Billy that he is not in control of everything, rain and a vicious gust of wind rattle the window. ‘A bitter night,’ Billy says. ‘Phew. You’ve no idea what a day I’ve had, Alec. I’ll be glad to see the back of it, I swear.’ He yawns again, his mouth a gaping hole. ‘So, how’s it going, Alec?’
Alec is in no mood for merry banter and does not answer.
‘You know,’ Billy adds, ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for quite a while now. You appreciate what’s going on here, don’t you?’
‘I know it’s sheer folly to be impolite to a gunman.’
Billy smiles. ‘Folly…I like that word. Very well put, if I may say so. Now, about you: Alexander Ciaran Butler, born 12 December 1944; father’s name, Alexander Patrick Butler; mother’s maiden name, Bernadette Patricia Millar. You married Colette Duffy on Saturday, 17 May 1969. You had your wedding reception in the West Belfast Social Club on the Falls Road. You both lived with Colette’s parents before getting your own house in Beechmount Avenue. Like your father, Alec, you were a deep-sea docker until decasualisation in 1970. After being made redundant at the docks, you worked at Corry’s timber yard on the Springfield Road until—’
‘So you know me,’ Alec says. ‘What do I say I called you when I’m being questioned by the police?’
Billy’s hand caresses the butt of his gun. ‘What makes you think you’ll be around to talk to the police?’
Alec puts up an appealing hand. ‘Hold on, fella. I wasn’t trying to insult you.’
‘It sounded like it to me,’ Billy says. He runs his tongue around the outside of his teeth. ‘What about Mister X? That sounds good, doesn’t it?’
Alec nods affirmatively.
‘The mysterious, macabre Mister X,’ Billy says. ‘I like that. It has a bit of the Hitchcock about it, don’t you think?’
Alec looks at his son. Their eyes connect, each know intuitively what the other is thinking: These are dangerous criminals. Whatever happens, let’s not wind them up. ‘I want this to be as painless as possible,’ Alec says.
‘Ditto,’ Billy says, putting out his hand to Alec.
Alec hesitates, staring at the hand as if it was covered in warts. Alec’s gaze turns to Billy. It is then that he beholds the dark matter in Billy’s eyes: the ruthlessness; the potential for unlimited violence. Alec judges that this man would have no hesitation in killing his family, if he thought it necessary. He takes Billy’s hand and shakes it.
‘A strong handshake, Alec,’ Billy says. ‘I like that. I said you’d be a reasonable man. I told them all. Everybody’s going to come out of this hunky-dory. I can feel it. Can’t you feel it, Dec?’
Declan smiles submissively.
Billy slaps Declan’s leg. ‘For Christ’s sake, cheer up, man. Anyone would think you were about to have a root canal.’
Declan wishes that a root canal was the sum of his troubles.
‘Kate,’ Alec says wryly, ‘put on the kettle for our guests. Mister X, what do you like? Biscuits, buns, a few sandwiches?’
‘We’re okay, thanks,’ Billy says. ‘We’ve brought our own cups and tea.’
Alec looks at him. ‘Forensics?’
‘Something like that. You guys act as if we’re not here. Dec, we need to talk.’
Colette Butler gets up from her chair and touches Billy’s arm as he leads Declan from the room. ‘You’re not going to hurt my son, are you? You don’t look like a murderer.’
Billy rubs the top of Colette’s head and smiles. She turns to her son and wags her finger in his face. ‘Declan, you do what these gentlemen tell you. Do you hear me? This is about money – but it’s not your money.’
‘Words of wisdom, Colette,’ Billy says. ‘Words of wisdom.’
ELEVEN
Bank manager Liam Diver knows himself well enough to accept that he is not cut out to be a hero. He is, however, an intelligent man, one who has considered the possibility that, some day, tiger-kidnappers might invade his home. Should such a catastrophe occur, his wife Stephanie and he had decided that they would fully co-operate with their captors. Translated into hard reality, that means he is now tied up on a mattress in a bedroom of his home with a hooded gunman standing over him. What feeds the hurricane in Liam’s stomach is the coarse way in which his captors have been treating Stephanie. One of the gang has already slapped her face three times. Liam would like to have shouted to the thug to leave her alone, to threaten to track him down when this was all over, to promise that he would cut out his tongue; but his own tongue is immobilised, and anyway, he’s a bank manager, and bank managers are not cut out to be heroes.
Stephanie Diver is rocking on a sofa in the living room, her hands clasped tightly on her lap. Seamus McCann pulls out a boiler suit from a duffle bag and hands it to her. ‘Put this on.’
Stephanie stares blankly at McCann.
‘Did you hear me?’
Stephanie’s mouth opens and closes as she looks straight ahead.
‘I said, put on this fuckin’ boiler suit,’ McCann demands, stabbing the top of her head with his finger, ‘or I’ll put it on for you.’
Stephanie’s eyes blink incessantly and she inhales deeply, giving the impression that she is awakening from a trance. She turns slowly to McCann, takes the boiler suit and puts it on over her clothes. It is a loose fit.
McCann goes into the bedroom, sits down on the mattress beside Liam and sniffs him. Liam instinctively pulls back his head. You absolute shit – you’re treating us like animals and you’re enjoying it.
McCann lets out a whistle. ‘I can smell it. Yip, it’s there. And it’s good. It’s very good. That fear will keep Steph alive, Liam. I don’t often do this, but I’m going to give you a piece of advice, a one-off break: keep that fear if you want to see Steph at the end of this. Otherwise…’ McCann puts two fingers to his temple, ‘we’ll execute her.’
Liam holds his breath, fearful that breathing might be interpreted as a sign of rebellion, as an excuse to execute.
‘Now, so you know the score, we’re going to take Steph away till this is all over.’
Liam’s eyes bulge. ‘Please take me. Don’t take Stephanie.’
McCann grabs Liam by the hair and pulls back his head. ‘And there’s me thinking you’d a titter of wit. Seems I’ve overestimated you.’
‘I—’
‘Tell me,’ McCann says, ‘what would be the sense in us taking you away as a hostage and letting Steph go? She doesn’t work in the bank; she can’t bring us our money. Only you can do that.’
Liam tries unsuccessfully to pull his hair free from McCann’s grasp.
‘Hey, hey, hey!’ McCann says, his grip tightening on Liam’s hair. ‘What the fuck’s got into you?’
‘I’ll co-operate. Totally. Just, just don’t hurt my wife. Don’t take her away.’
‘I’m curious. What did you expect was going to happen? You didn’t seriously think we were going to let you go to the bank and wait about here with Steph so you could set the cops on us? That would be real fuckin’ smart, wouldn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Liam says, more in the hope that remorsefulness will mitigate in his favour than with conviction.
McCann slaps Liam’s cheek with his free hand. ‘Pay attention. If you want to walk into the bank tomorrow morning and tell the cops all about us,’ McCann waves his hand in a carefree manner, ‘go right ahead. But remember two things: one, we’ll not be here when they show up, and, two, we’ll execute Steph if we get a sniff of any cop involvement. Now, I’d have assumed a brainbox like yourself, a clever bastard, would see the world as it is, not as you’d like to see it.’ McCann cranks his neck as if it has only just been greased. ‘Liamy, you’re our man in Havana, see? Our man on the inside. Get used to it, comrade.’ McCann smoothes down Liam’s hair and leaves the room.
In the living room, McCann takes aside his ‘fellow policeman’ and, holding his hand across his mouth, quietly orders him to phone another member of the kidnap gang. McCann sits beside Stephanie. ‘Are you ready to move?’
