Between twenty past and half past, they received two more drops totalling thirteen thousand.
Claire was late.
It had been arranged that she would turn up at half past, and be the last customer. At thirty-one minutes past, maybe thirty-two, the guards were due to get into their unmarked van and drive away.
By thirty-four minutes past, Claire still hadn’t turned up. Ed had never heard of this job going longer than thirty-five minutes, which is why he’d planned it the way he did.
There was some scientific study he’d heard of once, where scientists proved that neutral observers will watch crimes like this for twenty minutes before calling the police. Violence or murder, or crimes committed against themselves, they’ll call straight away. But if they are watching something like this, they will wait twenty minutes before it annoys them enough to call the police.
At thirty-six minutes past the hour, with Claire still not turned up and Ed starting to sweat, a police car cruised past. It stopped at the traffic lights, ten feet away from the bank, and sat there while the light stayed at red.
Tom’s nervous tic kicked in, and Josh began deep breathing.
When he’d wrestled in front of crowds, he’d learned that the only way he could get by was to block out the crowd. Think through the script, think a few moves in advance, and you’re not thinking of what’s going on outside the ring.
He blocked the police car out.
He thought about Claire turning up, they’d talk for a minute. She’d deposit her fake money. Tom would put the case in the back of the van, Jake would pull down the metal plate, and they’d drive away.
That’s what he thought about.
The lights took forever to change. The police looked right at the bank, one of them made eye contact with Jake. He nodded a stranger’s greeting, uniform to uniform.
The lights changed and the car drove on.
Ed was no longer keeping track of the time when Claire turned up a few minutes later. Even from the safety of a coffee shop across the road, he was preparing to run. Claire strolled up, carrying half a dozen shopping bags.
“There was a sale on.”
She deposited her fake money, and collected her genuine receipt.
She was barely ten feet away when Jake and Tom pulled away in the van.
Police were called. By the time they got there, all they could do was canvass for witnesses and speak to the bank management.
The bank’s security cameras picked up the whole thing, but it was impossible to make out the features of the security guards. They did pick out the faces of the people depositing their money, and the cash as it was handed over.
Everyone held their breath and waited.
They didn’t have to wait long. Three working days later, the first of the shopkeepers noticed that the money hadn’t appeared in their account, and they came in to complain. Not long after that, another victim came in; bringing a copy of the local newspaper that ran the story of the crime.
It was a full week after the crime that Ed Baker came in with a receipt for ten thousand pounds and demanded the bank cover his loss. The bank was still reeling from that blow when, the following week, Claire Gaines visited the manager. She brought with her a young ambitious lawyer by the name of Jamie Prescott. She produced a receipt showing that she had, in fact, paid two hundred thousand pounds into the bank that day.
Her lawyer not only pointed out the bank’s liability, but also how much he would enjoy making his name out of suing them if they refused to cover the loss.
“And they paid?”
“They paid.”
Claire, Jamie and Jake were sharing a drink in one of Ransford Gaines’s restaurants. It was after hours, they could talk about whatever they wanted.
“It took some major bluffing,” said Jamie. “For a while I thought they were going to call us on it.”
“I just had to mention my daddy’s name a few times, the manager shit himself.”
“Hey, don’t talk down my contribution. That was my best suit that I wore, and my best legal bullshit.”
Jake called a taxi and left while Claire fetched drinks. She sat down close to Jamie, toying with her glass.
“Does your dad mind you doing things like this?”
“Oh no. He’s always offering me work. But, you know, it’s impossible to make your own name when your dad is one of the most feared men in town. I can’t get a normal job, and I don’t want to work for him. I mean, he’d let me run any of his places, like my sister does, but I’d hate it, and the staff would hate me.”
“Must be tough.”
“It is. I keep trying to find something that’s all my own, you know? Even this, the whole thing revolves around cashing in on my daddy’s name.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?”
“A little bit.”
“You can kiss me, if you want to.”
Once Ed gave the all clear, they met in the old church hall.
Four guys, one woman, several beers and a pile of money.
Tom and Jake had been first, bringing in the twenty thousand pounds they’d collected on the day. They emptied the money out on the table, piling the bundles as high as they could for the best effect. Ed was next, bringing a crate of beer and a briefcase holding twenty-five thousand pounds.
They sat and drank for an hour, talking about football and films. They tried not to show how worried they were that Claire was, again, late.
It was just over an hour later when Claire and Jamie walked in. They were carrying a suitcase each. Two hundred thousand pounds; they set it on the table.
Everyone who wasn’t already drunk caught up.
Jake drank the most but didn’t really show it.
“You guys know the problem with modern wrestling?”
“Yeah, you said it was because it was fake.” Tom thumped the table.
“No, I said it was the endings. Everyone knows how a match is going to end. The finishing moves are all that anybody bothers with.”
“But isn’t that what they pay for?”
“No. They pay for the drama, we sell them a story, the hard way. The little guy, the monster, people giving in or people going the distance. It’s about guys who have no right to win, but do. It’s—”
“It’s about selling tickets. It’s about money.”
Everyone turned to see who the new voice belonged to. It was Ransford Gaines, flanked by an armed escort.
“Dad,” said Claire. “What kept you?”
Everyone now turned to stare at Claire. Everyone except Jake, who kept his eyes fixed on Gaines.
“I was busy,” said Gaines. “I had a few other things to do. Is this all the cash?”
“Yes.”
“Come on, kids, get it together.”
Claire and Tom stood and shovelled the cash into the bags while nobody else moved.
“Think of it as a lesson,” Gaines said. “Next time you decide to use a man’s name, make sure you’ve asked first. And you really want to take a man’s money? Point a gun at him.”
His escort smiled and waggled his gun.
Gaines reached into one of the bags and tossed a bundle of notes on to the table.
“Get drunk and learn your lesson,” he said to all of them. He turned to Jake, who was still staring at him, “What you staring at?”
Jake just shrugged and leaned back in his chair.
Gaines smiled, “You’re the guy who held up a store with a banana, right? Give me a call, you’ve got balls.”
He nodded and left, followed by his escort and, holding hands as they carried the cash, Claire and Tom.
The room stayed silent for a long moment.
Jake reached for a fresh beer and took a long swig.
“Now that there? Exactly the kind of ending I’m talking about.”