Steve was facing the stairs, listening to the rock music belting out. Rintle tapped him on the shoulder, and as the guard turned round, he dealt him such a flurry of fierce blows to the head and neck that he quickly collapsed in an unmoving heap. Rintle got his arms under Steve’s shoulders and heaved him up into a sitting position, so it looked as if he was just taking a break, then picked up his radio.
‘Time to roll, fellas.’
Dolly saw the van move through the ‘In’ gate into the forecourt. They were too late to warn Shirley. All they could do now was watch.
The Transit moved into the side alley. Micky was first out, followed by Kevin White with the shotgun. Micky strolled toward the kitchen. He looked through the railings, and there was the guard, standing in the basement by the door.
Micky called down. ‘I think we’ve got a problem out front.’
‘What are you on about?’ the guard grumbled, climbing the steps. As soon as he was within reach, Micky’s right hand shot out, grabbing the man’s windpipe and squeezing for all he was worth. The guard grabbed on to Micky’s arm and Micky could feel his grip weakening — then Kevin White slipped behind him and smashed the guard on the back of the neck with the shotgun barrel. Micky grabbed the guard’s radio and stomped it under his heel. Then, with the unconscious man held between them, they moved down the steps to the kitchens.
Micky got on to the radio to Rintle. ‘Hold your position.’ Then to the waiting van: ‘Go!’
The Transit van, with Ray behind the wheel, hurtled into the yard behind the club, and Terry Summers and Colin Soal leapt out. They legged it up the fire escape, each stopping to wait at his allotted door.
The kitchen staff turned to look as the body of the guard was pushed into the room. He fell heavily, his helmet crashing against a table leg. Micky swung the shotgun round.
‘On the floor — now!’
The four men and two girls didn’t need telling twice, throwing themselves to the ground.
The guard was coming round. Kevin White hauled him up, flung him across the table and pointed his shotgun between the man’s spreadeagled legs.
Micky kicked one of the kitchen staff in the ribs. ‘You lot stay down!’ he shouted. ‘Now put your hands out in front of you!’
‘I’ve got this lot covered. Go!’ White shouted, and Micky darted out through the door.
The girls were sashaying down the catwalk, most of the dressers and staff crowded round the ramp to watch the show. This was the climax, and the volume of the music went up a notch, helping to build the excitement as the lights blinked on and off, the spotlights picking out the pouting faces festooned with sparkling gems. Press cameras flashed crazily, the men yelling for the girls to come down the ramp again together. They moved back, then walked forward again, the music pounding all the while.
Rintle watched the two guards outside the office door, their attention focused on the catwalk. Where the hell was the rest of the team? Any minute now all the goddamn lights were going to come back on.
Then he heard the crash as Johnny Summers kicked open the doors, screaming at the top of his voice. At the same time Colin Soal barged through the second fire exit. Still yelling, Johnny fired two shots into the ceiling.
The whole place went mad.
Rintle caught the security guards on the blind side as they ran toward the ramp, hitting the first one with a vicious punch to the neck that sent him to the floor. The second guard checked his run and managed to grab Rintle from behind. Rintle dropped a knee, pivoted and swung him round, just as the first guard got to his feet. Rintle kicked out viciously, connecting with his groin, then put his hands round the second guard’s neck and twisted hard. As he flopped, doll-like, to the floor, he lashed out at the first guard’s head with a boot, making contact with a sickening crunch. He dragged the inert bodies toward the office door, just as it opened, revealing the open-jawed stare of a terrified little man. Rintle shoved the guards inside and locked the door.
Down below, the women were screaming like alley cats and most of the pressmen were instinctively lying face down. Colin Soal was pushing and shoving those still on their feet, shouting out orders, kicking the men’s legs from underneath them. Rintle joined him. They now had the room more or less covered.
The models were darting this way and that like a flock of crazed birds, their brightly colored feathers flapping, jewels sparkling in the flashing strobe lights. Most of them huddled together in the center of the ramp, where they were confronted by Micky Tesco. He wore a bag at his side, already open for him to drop the jewels in. A hysterical Mrs. Harper made a lunge for him. He grabbed her by the hair and swung her over the side of the ramp. She fell badly, her head hitting the side of one of the gilt chairs. The floral displays were falling like ninepins, showering petals on the people scrambling round on the floor. Pressmen tried to save their cameras, as tables, flowers and chairs crashed around them.
Above it all, standing there calmly, Johnny Summers surveyed the room, then pointed up to the boy on the lights.
‘Get down here now!’ he screamed, barely audible above the blaring music, the vocalist bellowing out: ‘Let’s dance with the moonlight in our eyes...’
Then the tape ran out, and the music was replaced by a whining, crunching noise, as if the band were being put through a mincer.
Micky was snatching necklaces and bracelets off the models. They tried desperately to help, ridding themselves of the cursed gems with fumbling fingers. He had already torn one of the girls’ lobes as he ripped off the earrings. They were crying, desperate to save themselves, terrified of being hurt — all except Myra. With a scream she went straight for Micky, and just as it looked as if she was going to claw his eyes, he brought his hand up hard and punched her in the jaw, before viciously tearing at her earrings. Despite the pain, she tried to fight him off, screaming at him to let her take them out. But Micky didn’t have the time to mess around and continued pulling.
Shirley grabbed hold of Myra. ‘Don’t fight him!’ she pleaded, terrified that Micky was going to do her real harm.
Micky finally got what he was after, leaving Myra sobbing, with her hands to her ears.
Then it was Shirley’s turn. His eyes were glazed and he showed no sign that he recognized her; all he could think of was what was round her throat. Her skin was slashed by the diamonds as he tore them away and she screamed in pain. She already had her hands full with the ring, the bracelet and earrings, just wanting him to take them and leave her alone.
He grabbed the jewels, but instead of letting her go, he pulled her wrist as he started walking backward, using her as a shield. She fell over the side of the ramp and he hauled her back. She was sobbing now, stumbling over the long frock. He grabbed her hair and, like a caveman, dragged her back toward the kitchens.
Harvey Rintle did a slow move backward, ready to take off for the front exit. Now Johnny Summers did likewise, knocking over a chair as he backed toward his exit route. He turned to Colin Soal, who was also making slow, steady progress to the fire exit.
Micky half dragged, half pushed Shirley into the kitchens, his pouch bulging with jewels.
Kevin White turned. ‘Drop the fucking girl, Micky, and get the hell out!’ he shouted.
As the shotgun aimed away from him, the guard on the table saw his chance, slid off the table and made a grab for it. Still holding Shirley, Micky tried to pull a .38 revolver from his waistband. As Kevin swung back in front of him, with the guard desperately hanging on to the shotgun, Micky lost his balance, fell against Shirley, and the gun went off. Screams came from the kitchen staff, still face down on the floor. His head spinning, Micky just ran, almost knocking Kevin over in his desperation to get out and save his skin.