‘So where’ve you been all day an’ half the night?’ Bella asked.
Shirley opened the fridge. It was empty, not even a bottle of milk left. She slammed the door shut. ‘At the club, rehearsing.’
Bella perked up. ‘What club?’
Shirley pushed past her. ‘I’ve told you, it’s this big charity show, tomorrow night.’
Bella grabbed her sleeve. ‘What club?’ she repeated urgently.
Shirley looked at her. ‘Amanda’s.’
Dolly knew it was Morgan before she even picked up the phone. How he got her number she didn’t ask; she was just pleased he’d called. Morgan thanked her for the jacket, saying she really shouldn’t have given him such an expensive present. The conversation was easy, and Dolly was so enjoying their chat that she ignored the doorbell when it rang. But when it kept on and on, with no sign of stopping, she had to cut the phone call short, promising that, yes, she would see him again very soon.
When she finally opened the door, Dolly was almost flattened as Bella burst in, pushing Shirley in front of her. Bella marched Shirley into the front room, where she stood, red-eyed and sobbing, clutching a sodden tissue. Bella stood by the door, hands on hips, eyes blazing.
‘Tell her, then. Go on, tell her!’
‘I...’ Shirley began.
Bella didn’t give her a chance to finish. She turned to Dolly. ‘We know exactly when they’re going to pull that raid, Dolly, down to the last sodding minute!’ She whirled on Shirley. ‘Don’t we?’
‘Oh, leave me alone!’ Shirley wailed.
Dolly was losing patience. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘She’s only one of the models, isn’t she!’ Bella shouted.
Dolly looked at Shirley incredulously.
Shirley swallowed. ‘All right, yes! I’m one of the models, at the club. I’ll be wearing the jewels.’
Dolly had to sit down. It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true. But she knew by their faces that it was.
Harry made Micky repeat what Shirley had told him one more time: that at the end of the show, the finale when all the jewels would be worn, there would be a blackout. He shook his head wonderingly. It was almost as if they wanted to be robbed.
It was Colin Soal who added the next piece of the jigsaw. Unable to resist the money, Soal was now going to take part in the robbery. With his press card, he would have genuine access to the club. Along with all the other press photographers, he had been invited to take photographs during the dress rehearsal. And that’s when the hit would take place. The models would be wearing the jewels, but the place wouldn’t be full of punters getting in the way... All Soal had to do was give them the signal just before the blackout, and they could move in unobstructed.
Harry summoned the team and laid it out. Rintle wasn’t convinced.
‘It’s one thing pulling a robbery at night. It’s a different kettle of fish doing it in the middle of the afternoon. You ain’t got the cover of darkness.’
Harry looked round at the rest of the men. ‘Anyone else?’
There were no other dissenting voices.
‘Daylight robbery it is, then,’ Harry said with a chuckle.
‘Just one question,’ Colin Soal piped up. ‘About the pay-off...’
Always the money, Harry thought sourly. Let’s get the sodding jewels first.
‘Just wondering where it was going to be,’ Soal continued. ‘Where you’ll be.’
Without a flicker, Harry looked round at the men. ‘I’ll be there at the lock-up with fifty grand for each of you.’ Except for Rintle, he thought with a trace of annoyance. The big man had insisted on being paid up front.
As the men filed out, Rintle hung back. Harry smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘The money will all be taken care of,’ he assured him.
‘It better be,’ Rintle answered, ‘’cos after the job, I’m not coming back here. I’m straight on my bike.’
Harry smiled again. ‘Sure, sure. It’s all in hand. How’s Jackie, by the way?’
Rintle gave him a long look. ‘Jackie’s fine, just fine,’ he said quietly.
As the outer door clanged shut behind Rintle, Micky and Harry were left alone. Micky rubbed his hands together.
‘So, Harry, it’s three-fifteen tomorrow, then?’
Harry was deep in thought, acutely aware of his shortage of cash. This cocky young so-and-so had no bloody idea what it took to pull off a big job like this, no idea how it was really going to go down.
Harry was the only one who knew, and that was the way he had always worked — well, up to a point. There’d been Dolly, of course. Harry sighed. He hadn’t given much thought to Dolly of late. But in time he would take care of her. He sat down and rubbed his head.
Micky began picking up the used coffee mugs. It was hard talking to Harry when he was in one of his moods. Normally he couldn’t stop — giving Micky orders, have you done this, do that. But when he was like this, just sitting, staring into space, you couldn’t get a word out of him, unless it was ‘piss off!.’
‘Murphy sorted, is he?’
Micky didn’t hear. Harry got up and walked into the kitchen. ‘Murphy sorted, is he?’ he repeated.
Micky turned the tap off. ‘Sure, Harry. Got a top brief working on it.’
Harry nodded thoughtfully. ‘You contacted his mother?’
‘Er, not yet, Harry.’ Micky tried to change the subject. ‘We should do something about that fucking Sonny Chizzel — get someone to break his legs for him.’
Harry ignored Micky’s outburst. ‘I’ll go talk to her then,’ he said in a cold voice. ‘I’ll be round your place later.’
When he was gone, Micky threw one of the mugs in the sink, where it shattered noisily. Then another. Every time he thought he had got close to Harry, he just got slapped down. They were in this together, but the way he acted, it was as if Micky was of no more importance than the kid they had hired to ride the motorbike.
Micky walked over to the big motorbike and checked the saddlebag. This was where the jewels would end up. Micky got astride the bike and stroked the gleaming metalwork — it looked like Fisk had cleaned it. He kick-started the bike and it roared into life, the engine growling. Little Brian certainly knew his bikes. He’d even won a couple of track races. That was why he was on the raid: to bankroll his entrance on to the race circuit. Well, after tomorrow he’d have enough to buy a whole fleet of bikes. But he still wouldn’t have as much as Micky. He felt a warm glow at the thought of eight million quids’ worth of jewels. Him and Harry could live like kings...
From the outside, Gordon Murphy’s council house looked like a tip. Graffiti defaced the walls, and the garden was littered with used beer bottles and empty Coke cans. The curtains were drawn. Harry rang the doorbell and waited, then rang again, before lifting up the letterbox flap. He was about to shout through when he heard someone shuffling to the door. It opened a crack, and he smiled through it.
‘Hello, Ma, it’s Harry, old friend of Gordon’s.’
Mrs. Murphy took an age to unlock the door, then without looking at Harry, she turned her walking aid round and began to shuffle back to the kitchen. Harry closed the door and watched her ease her body into the chair. She had aged a lot since he last saw her, but then it had been a long time.
She peered over at him as Harry placed a solid wad of twenties on the table. He got down on his haunches beside her, looking up into her face.
‘Gordon won’t be back for a while. Just a couple of days. Spot of trouble...’
‘Yeah, I know. Filth’s been in an’ out all day. All right, is he?’
‘Fine, Ma. We got a top brief working to get him out. He just needs a little while to sort it out, but they can’t hold him.’