The Tick-Tock Trilogy Box Set Page 12

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins as the second door beeps open. When I push through I feel the heat of the morning sun hit me straight in the face.

  What a fucking day this is.

  09:35

  Darragh

  I’m just about to fill the cup me hands are forming with cold water when I’m sure I hear me phone ringing.

  ‘That my phone?’ I call out after turning off the tap.

  ‘Yeah,’ he answers. Fuckin idiot.

  I race out to answer it with me hands still wringing wet.

  ‘Have you not got your phone right beside you?’ JR shouts down the line at me.

  ‘Yes, I have the phone here beside me all the time,’ I lie. This is the second time I’ve left the phone behind while I’m out of the room. I need to get me fuckin act together. This is not how proper gangsters do it.

  ‘Have you heard from Vincent?’

  ‘No, he hasn’t been onto me yet. It’s just gone nine-thirty, like, he shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘Listen, I’m worried about him. Give him a call for me now. Tell him he shouldn’t be fuckin about or you’ll kill that little darling of his, alright?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll give him a call now,’ I say before hanging up.

  It’s literally five minutes past the estimated time Vincent should be coming out of the bank. And even at that, nine-thirty was just a rough guess. JR is certainly lacking patience. When we were planning all this, JR said Vincent will be thirty to forty minutes in each bank. He’s given him thirty-five minutes in the first one and I already have to get in touch. Maybe he’s freaking out because Vincent collapsed earlier. I’d almost forgotten about that. Bleedin’ coke.

  JR has the number for the phone we gave Vincent stored in as number two on the speed dial, but I can’t seem to get my head together to dial it. I wipe my wet hands on my T-shirt. After a fumble, I manage to dial his phone, but it’s ringing out. I kick the floor in frustration and try him again. He’s still not picking up. He must be in the vaults filling his cases with notes. He fuckin better be. I’ll leave it for a few minutes before I try him again. I’m about to put the phone back down on the coffee table to return to the bathroom when I realise I really should be bringing it with me. I pick the gun up too and force it into the waistband of me jeans. I need to be more careful. Ryan wouldn’t be able to get to the gun, but I know I must get me head together and stop flutin’ about. I stare into the mirror over the sink in their huge bathroom and shake my head. My eyes are fuckin purple. I need to chill. I twist at the cold tap again and let out a big sigh that clouds up the mirror. I gotta splash me face.

  The Boss insisted I didn’t put my hand in my pocket throughout the celebration night. He must have thrown his arm around me at least a hundred times. I felt like the young Henry Hill at the start of Goodfellas when De Niro greets him on the steps of the courthouse.

  ‘You took your first pinch like a man and you learned the two greatest lessons in life – you never rat on your friends and you always keep your mouth shut.’

  I’d performed even better than the young Henry Hill. I didn’t even get pinched. I don’t like champagne but the whole gang kept popping bottle after bottle in celebration. It wasn’t just my heroics that we were celebrating. The Boss now had a major player from Limerick involved in his circle, which was likely to bring in another half a mill or so every year. The lines of coke were being shared among us as often as the bubbly was being poured out. If I remember correctly, there were twelve of us out celebrating that night. Every one of us was wasted. The Boss may have been talking drunk bullshit into me ear most of the time, but what he was saying was really getting’ me excited. He wanted to start getting’ me involved in a big money laundering scam he was starting up. He said it would bring me in a rake of dough every couple of months. It was the compliments more than the cash that got me pumped. I could finally sense that The Boss liked me. I think that was the first time I ever felt accepted. I remember the air hitting me when meself and two other lads left the club that night. The champagne went to me head instantly. One of me new mates, who we called Smack, started to take the piss out of a group of slutty-looking bitches because that’s what Smack did for fun. He had a way with words. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone funnier than Smack, not even a professional comedian. I don’t know why I ever thought I could outdo him. But I did try that night as we walked further down the Tallaght Road and came across a couple sucking the faces off each other outside one of those run-down gaffs.

  ‘She must be easy, snoggin’ an ugly fuck like you,’ I shouted out to the laughter of me two mates. They were egging me on, especially after the fella stopped kissing his bird to stare back at me.

  ‘What you lookin’ at, you ugly piece of shit?’ I barked over to him.

  Then his girlfriend turned around.

  ‘Ah, I see now,’ I continued, laughing. ‘She’s ugly as fuck too.’

  Me mates didn’t really laugh at that one. I got the feeling even Smack felt I’d crossed the line. I felt so uncomfortable that I couldn’t leave it there. The bloke wrapped his arm around the bird to walk away from me and for some reason I jogged towards them in a rage. I watched the girl fall to her knees as she began to run. The thought of picking her up crossed my mind for a split second before I noticed a fist coming at me. I just managed to dodge it with a quick turn of my head before responding with an upper cut of me own. I’d never caught anyone sweeter. I heard his jaw shatter. He fell backwards, smacking his head off the bottom step of a doorway. I can still hear the two noises today: the smack of my fist off his jaw and the smack of his head off the step. I remember every beat of that whole ordeal because I replayed it over and over in me head for months afterwards. Smack and Greggo grabbed me away from the scene as quickly as they could. I knew that bloke was dead there and then.

  I seem to be able to focus a bit better now that I’ve splashed water on me eyes. This match is getting really interesting. United are desperately chasing a goal to advance to the next round and they seem to be getting closer each time they attack. They hit the post two minutes ago. I lean forward to check the time on my phone. 9:45. I seem to have got lost in this match. JR will be wondering what’s going on. It’s been nearly a quarter of an hour since I told him I’d get onto Vincent. As I lift the phone to my ear after dialling JR, I hear a strange beep piercing through the speaker. I take at a look at the screen to see if I can make out what’s causing the noise.

  Incoming call from 2

  That’s Vincent calling me. Perfect timing! I tap on the green button to answer it, hanging up from JR. He won’t mind waiting. Not if it’s good news.

  ‘What up, fag?’

  09:45

  Vincent

  I wink at John as I approach the car. I don’t know why I feel excited. Adrenaline is a bipolar hormone. It doesn’t always relate to what the mind is thinking. John raises both his eyebrows at me before getting out of the car. He pops the boot just as I reach him and assists me in unlocking the two cases from my wrists.

  ‘I got ’em,’ he says as he grabs both before shoving them towards the back of the boot. ‘Some day, huh?’ he adds, gripping both of my shoulders.

  ‘Sure is,’ I reply. I realise the smile is still etched on my face as I say it.

  ‘Now … it’s Camden Street you want to go to next, right?’

  I hesitate. ‘Yeah, Camden Street.’

  John opens the back door and I immediately feel the cold waft from inside the vehicle hit me. John had left the air conditioning on while he waited on me. He was probably freezing. But I’m delighted. It’s a welcome relief from the heat.

  ‘Ye look a lot better,’ he says, readjusting his rear-view mirror after climbing into the driver’s seat.

  ‘I feel it, John, thank you.’

  The drive from here can take less than ten minutes, but the traffic around Stephen’s Green is unpredictable. I check the time and realise I have less than two hours and fifteen minutes to complete the
whole mission. That wipes the smile from my face. I take a peek at my reflection in the car window and stare into my own eyes. I let out a small sigh as I register with myself. Time to make a call. I hit speed dial one as instructed and squint my eyes as the tone rings through my ear. I haven’t thought through what I’m going to say.

  ‘What up, fag?’ snarls the greasy little prick in my ear.

  ‘It’s all done,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Two mill?’ he asks.

  ‘Two mill,’ I reply. ‘I’m on my way to Camden Street now, should be there around ten. How is Ryan?’

  ‘Ryan will be fine up until midday,’ he snaps back at me. ‘Call me once you’re out of Camden Street with two more million, huh?’

  I glare at the small screen of the phone after Ryan’s captor hangs up. But that doesn’t stop me from noticing John staring back at me through the rear-view mirror. He never questions anything I do and I know for certain that he won’t ask anything today. But maybe my suspicious mood swings are playing on his mind. He’s probably worried about me. To quell this feeling in both of us I offer a wide smile into the rear-view mirror just for him.

  ‘I need a little pick me up, John boy,’ I follow up with. ‘You got some classical in the CD player?’

  ‘You betcha,’ he replies, reaching over to one of the many buttons on his dashboard. Ah … Tchaikovsky. He’s no Beyoncé, but he’ll do. Classical music can take the mind places.

  Our first date went perfectly well. I’ve often told him that I fell in love with him at our very first dinner, but that’s a bit of a lie. If I recall correctly, I was thinking he wasn’t as cute as I initially thought he was when he dressed up in a shirt and tie to see me at the bank. He wore a T-shirt – that didn’t fit – on our first date. The round neck was out of shape and one sleeve seemed longer than the other. It made me question whether I fancied him or not. I guess I used to be shallow. I went on our second date feeling it was make or break, and he somehow won me over by opening up. My instinctive observation of a sadness behind his eyes turned out to be true. His father sounded like a right stubborn prick while his mother, though dear to him, seemed weak. I felt this kid could do with a father figure and I knew the perfect man for the job. Me! I probably spilled the beans on my wealth a little too hastily, looking back. I couldn’t help it. It made me realise I had an ego. People used to tell me I was vain but I never thought I was. I guess I figured telling him about the plans for my new penthouse and alluding to how much I got paid would help him fall in love with me. I didn’t want to lose him. Especially not after I’d restyled him – finally getting rid of that stupid haircut. The new and improved Ryan looked absolutely delicious and I was only too delighted to show him off. He told me he didn’t fall in love with me until I sorted out his career about four months later. After I’d gone to the trouble of finding him a journalism placement at DCU and filling out his application forms, he grew really close to me. I think I was the first person he really trusted. I would have been happy for Ryan to stay at home, but he felt he needed his own path. I wasn’t surprised when he told me he wanted to be a writer, but I’ve never considered him very talented. I’ve never told him that, of course. I genuinely sensed from the outset that PR was the wrong profession for him. I felt he’d get eaten up and spat back out by the sharks in that game. I guess that’s what happened in the end. Out of all the gobshites who worked in media that I met through Ryan I don’t recall meeting anyone I liked. People who work in that industry tend to be cunts. For some reason, they have massive egos that don’t equate to their status in society. They are literally middlemen. That’s what media means: medium. Why the fuck would being a middleman afford you an ego? I could never understand that.

  I think this one is from Swan Lake, though I’m only guessing. I like to listen to classical music but I’m no expert. John would be able to tell me which Tchaikovsky composition this is. He listens to this stuff whenever he can and is responsible for my recent fondness for it too. He keeps looking at me through the rear-view mirror. Perhaps he does this every day and I’m only noticing today due to paranoia. I can see his lips hum along to the strings of the violins. Inspired by the music, I stare out of the car window feeling like I’m in a movie. I’ve had a habit of doing this ever since I was a young boy. We’re stuck in traffic at the back end of the Green. I watch people walking by almost in slow motion with Tchaikovsky’s mid-tempo concerto as a backdrop. It helps me calm down.

  I’ve got this.

  Jonathan Reilly will be quick and professional. I should be in and out of the Camden Street branch in no time. I allow myself a peek at John’s dashboard to read the time again. 9:51. I’ve definitely fallen behind but I can make it up in this next branch. It won’t be long now until I have four million euros in the trunk of this car. That’ll have me halfway there.

  09:50

  Jack

  I’m walking too quickly for this heat. But I can’t help it. I’m agitated. It’s 9:50 and I still haven’t heard from Darragh, despite watching Vincent leave the first bank what must have been about ten minutes ago. It’s just over a twenty-minute walk to the Camden Street branch from here, right through the Green. I should arrive there around about ten past ten. Hopefully Vincent will be well in the branch at that point. Just as I turn onto Kildare Street the phone finally buzzes in my hand, but when I answer it there’s nobody on the other end of the line.

  What the hell is Darragh up to?

  We went through this whole plan countless times in meticulous detail. He can do the difficult tasks no problem, but he seems hopeless at being able to make or take phone calls. I hope Ryan isn’t getting inside his head and changing his mind. Nobody knows more than I do just how gullible Darragh is.

  Frank missed his mother for about two weeks before getting back to normal. Karyn hadn’t been herself for months so he slowly got used to her not being in our home. She was mostly in hospital for her final half a year. I was relieved that I didn’t have to go through much of the grieving process with him. I felt relief initially after Karyn passed but it soon turned to heartache about a month in. I just missed her presence so much. It hurt my heart. But I don’t believe in looking backwards. It genuinely is a complete waste of time. I tried to be positive. I saw a bright future for Frank and me. I wanted us to be the best dad and son combination ever and to go out and take on the world. Unfortunately, taking on the world meant me having to take a job at a paint factory out in Blanchardstown. It was fine. It was a half-an-hour drive from where we were living but it was an okay way to make some honest money. They offered me a manager’s position and it paid better than any normal job I’d had before.

  The Ritchies were practically throwing money into my pockets for months after Karyn died. They went out of their way on a regular basis to make sure Frank was okay. I never minded them calling by to see him and I felt obliged to take their money offerings early on – for his sake, of course. Frank adored his grandparents and uncles. When I told Harry I wanted to go straight, he held his hands up and said it was understandable. I think he genuinely respects me. And I respect him. The Ritchies’ generosity gave my bank balance a good cushion. It meant Frank and I never had to go without the necessities in life and things never got too tight. I was able to sit on the savings and felt positive we would have a bright future. Frank needed minding during the day while I worked. That was how Margarite came into our lives. She really was adorable. She was the very first person I interviewed for the position of minding Frank and I loved her straight away. She was mad about my son, and he her, from the very first moment they met. Margarite was one year older than me and possessed the kindest smile I think I’ve ever seen. She had Norwegian heritage, but that was from two generations back. I’m certain she used to be really pretty but by the time I met her, she had let herself go. I loved her, but I never fancied her. I’m sure people used to think we were an item but we never were. Margarite fancied me though. She never hid that fact even though she never actually said it out l
oud. I sometimes tried to will myself to be interested in her that way. It never worked. It would have made so much sense for us to be a couple. We were both otherwise free and single but for our dual responsibility of taking care of my son. I was happy being a single dad and assumed I’d stay that way forever. I was living a contented life, despite the tragedy that had struck me. After a while, the Ritchies started to phone us rather than knock, which made things more ideal for me. Harry was trying to stay low-key after the Criminal Assets Bureau kicked into gear in Ireland. He was afraid he’d lose all his money. He and Yvonne moved to London. It still didn’t remove the niggle I had in my head that they would, one day when he was older, expect Frank to get involved with the family business. I always felt Harry’s ‘low-key’ move to London was temporary. The last thing I wanted was for Frank to get involved in any sort of trouble. I lived every day to keep us out of it.

  As I’m trying to call Darragh back for the fourth time, the phone starts to buzz in my hand again.

  ‘Sorry, JR,’ pants Darragh. ‘Vincent rang me just as soon as I was about to ring you back, so I thought I’d take his call first.’

  I pointlessly nod with approval while saying nothing, allowing Darragh to fill the silence.

  ‘Well, he had no problem in Nassau Street apart from the delay. He has two mill in the car and should be arriving at Camden Street in the next few minutes.’

  ‘Great stuff, Darragh. How are you getting on over there? Don’t let Ryan get into your head.’

  ‘Course I won’t!’ he grunts back. ‘The little fag is helpless. He’s just watching some poncey football match now, tied up in his chair. He knows there’s nothing he can do but wait.’