R.I.P Robbie Silva (10 page)

They put two screws in the room with me when they broke the news.

'Sit down would you, Jed,' said Mr Parker, he was the Governor, he was a doctor and wore a white coat sometimes, but not today; he had a tweed jacket on, I remembered the elbow patches on it, leather, brown leather they were, and frayed at the edges. I wondered who had sewn them on for him. Funny that, the things that stick in your mind sometimes.

'Why?' I didn't want to sit.

'I think it would be better.'

I knew now why he was telling me to sit, but I was too young then to get the picture. He sat beside me on the bed, then turned to face me. I tried to face him but my mind was on the screws and what they were up to. I didn't want to be jumped by them. I thought it unlikely with Mr Parker – Old Nosey they called him – around but you couldn't be too sure.

'What is it?' I said.

'I'm afraid we've had some bad news today.'

I shrugged; I wasn't following him.

'Yes, some bad news ...' I smelt aftershave off him he was so close. Years later I found out it was called Tabac and came in little white bottles; I've never liked it since. He went on, 'I'm sorry to have to tell you that your sister, Jody, has died.'

The words hit me like a boot to the gut; I swear I doubled over. 'No. It's not true,' I said.

'I'm very sorry. They found her this morning, there's no doubt.' He stood up. I felt his hand on my back for a second but I pulled away. The screws moved in at that point but Old Nosey flagged them down.

'How?' It didn't make sense; she was younger than me.

He hesitated; I watched him remove his glasses and rub at his eyes. 'Your sister ... your sister took her own life.' He put on his specs again. 'I am dreadfully sorry, Jed.'

As I started to cry they left me alone.

My memory of this time is patchy now, always has been, but I can still recall rocking to and fro on the bed for ages, the springs squeaking and squeaking. At some stage I must have fallen asleep and I awoke in the middle of the night. It was a clear night and I saw the moon in the sky through the bars on the window. I thought about Jody and then I couldn't look at the sky anymore. As I pulled my gaze away, it fell on the light-bulb dangling above my bed and I rose and unscrewed it.

The glass bulb smashed easily as I tapped it against the wall. I selected the largest shard and stuck it into my wrist; the blood flowed freely and I repeated the process with my other wrist.

As the blood spilled I wanted to get away from it; I didn't want to have any of my father's blood in me. It was foul, tainted.

'You killed her, you bastard.' I said this over and over to myself. I wanted him back, so I could kill him myself. If I had killed him, it might have saved Jody; I knew she blamed herself for his suicide and she just couldn't live with it. I could have got by with her hating me for killing him, but I couldn't get by with her hating herself.

When I woke my wrists were bandaged and they had me in a straitjacket; I was pumped full of tranquillisers. I felt gutted to be alive.

* * * *

The flop was a deserted farmhouse on the edge of Midlothian. The place looked like it hadn't been lived in for years. Silva seemed quite pleased with himself to have found it, but Gentle Ben was shivering and snivelling, complaining about the cold and Gail was complaining about the smell.

'What is it? I've never smelt anything like it!' said Gail.

'It's the smell of fucking poverty, gel,' said Silva. 'And the reason you haven't come across it before now is I've fucking silver-spooned you.'

I looked away. Ben was poking at the grate in the fireplace. 'I think I'll get a fire on.'

'Think again, cuntybaws,' I said. 'You want to send a smoke signal to the filth, do you?'

He threw down the poker and stomped out the room.

Silva was sparking up a tab, running his fingers through his Brylcreemed hair.

'We need to have a little chat,' I said. He looked nervous; I didn't need anyone nervous on this job.

'Yeah, yeah ... all right, through here.' He nodded me through to the next room, the kitchen. On the table was a large Lotto sports bag. He walked over to it, unzipped. 'Take a look in there.'

I wandered over to the table, stuck a hand in the bag. I saw the wooden handle of a gun. As I reached for it I saw there were two more of the same. I took out the shooter; it was an old hammer-cock shotgun. It looked ancient. 'The fuck is this?'

Silva looked scoobied. 'Guns, innit?'

'I said I wanted decent shooters ...' I held up the hunting weapon; it had a single barrel that looked about three-foot long. 'How the fuck are we going to manoeuvre with these?' I had visions of Gentle Ben tripping on his at the moment of truth.

'
Hang about.
'
He reached in the bag, removed a small handgun; it was a snub-nose Colt. 'I got this for the girlie. We
'
ll be mustard.'

I shook my head in disbelief.
'
We can
'
t use these shooters. They
'
re a fucking joke.
'

Silva stirred, pointed a finger.
'
Now look.
'

'
Don
'
t fucking look me – you
'
ll have to saw the stocks off.
'

'
We haven
'
t got fucking time, or a fucking saw.
'

I opened the gun; it was empty; I threw it on the table. I knew a bloke in Leith that would hire you old shooters for a ton-a-time. They were manky old things held together with gaffer tape but I
'
d have sooner had them on the job than this lot.

'
Let me call a pal.
'

'
No!
'
Silva roared.
'
Not on my job!
'

I tilted my head.
'
I thought this was my job.
'

'
I said you could plan it.
'

He
'
d changed his tune, but it was too late to argue.
'
Well I
'
m planning to have different guns.
'

He seemed to find some calm.
'
Look, I know these guns like the back of my hand, and so do the kids – I taught them how to shoot with them. They
'
re mustard! Trust me.
'

I felt time ticking along, I sensed this was not a battle I was going to win, said,
'
I
'
m not happy with this.
'

'
The guns look the part, that
'
s all that matters ... they
'
re for putting a scare out.
'

I took a deep breath, picked up the shooter and put it in the happy bag.
'
Call the others.
'

Silva nodded, went to the door and summoned Gail and Ben. They trotted through like sullen teenagers a few seconds later. As we stood round the table I told them how I wanted the job to go, what their roles were and who they took their orders from.

Ben huffed.

'
You got a problem?
'
I said to him.

His huff turned into a sneer.
'
No.
'

'
Good.
'

Silva started another tab. He was smoking like a fucking lum.

I tapped a finger on the table.
'
This should be a simple job, if you all do what you
'
re told, when you
'
re told. I
'
ve got it timed to six minutes and I
'
ll be clocking it at that. If we go over the six minutes I want all of us to pull back. Got that?
'

Silva nodded first, then the others.

I continued,
'
Now, this is a heavy bit of work, and we know that, so it has to go like clockwork or we
'
re fucked. Gail, you
'
re gonna be our bag man – I want the money bagged and booted fast as you can.
'

'
Okay. Got that,
'
she said.

'
Now, the old fella is gonna stay in the car, soon as the doors shut – you boot it.
'

'
Got ya,
'
said Silva.

'
Ben, you and me are doing the frightners. That means noising up the security guards, shaking them up. But remember – first and foremost – get them to open those boxes. There
'
ll be bangers and dye packs in there and you have to get them to take them out ...
'
His eyes wandered.
'
You hearing me?
'

'
Yeah, yeah ... only bag the money, no other shit.
'

'
Right ...
'
I scanned the group. They were fuck-all but I knew my own abilities and figured I could hold this together.
'
Now, one last thing. Do not fire off those shooters.
'

'
What?
'
said Ben.

'
You fucking heard, I
'
ve not been on a job yet that needed gunfire and I
'
m not fucking starting now.
'

'
But what if they try it on?
'
said Ben.

I locked him down.
'
Leave it to me. No fucking shots, right. You start firing off rounds and the filth will be on us quicker than a fucking rat up a drainpipe. We need all the time we can muster to get back to the flop and I don
'
t want to be playing dodgems with plod.
'

Silva started to nod and the others followed suit.

I checked my watch.
'
We
'
ve got an hour and a half before we go. Be ready.
'

* * * *

As we were getting into the Toyota that Silva had sourced, Gail leaned over and placed a little kiss on my cheek.

'
What was that for?
'
I said.

'
Luck, or something.
'

'
I
'
d sooner something ... we don
'
t want to be relying on luck.
'

Gail winked.
'
Well, go for something, then.
'

We drove out of the farmstead. The road was rough and ready but the car cleared it no trouble. Silva had a tab in the fingers of his rope-backed gloves. I kept an eye on him; he was nervy, but I think he was more worried about the rest of us than himself. My main concern was how Ben would go; Gail, I had experience of and I think she had learnt her lesson, but this gimp was a mystery to me and I didn
'
t like unknown factors on any of my jobs.

The day was clear, not exactly sunshine but as close as you get in Scotland. There was a low cloud covering but I didn
'
t expect rain. That was good, making a getaway on wet roads was not a great idea. Tyres spin and cars lose control.

At the by-pass Silva flicked his tab out the window. The others were quiet. I could feel my pulse calming as we got onto the M8; I knew I was readying myself for the job. Some people, they get edgy; me, I get fucking Zen. I
'
m never calmer than when I
'
m on a bit of work.

As we cruised along the road, no-one spoke. It was getting hot in the car and Gail opened her window a little. I felt a few spots of rain coming in now, but it was nothing to worry about – didn
'
t even require the wipers on.

'
There she is,
'
said Silva. He
'
d spotted the service station up ahead.

'
Ease off the peddle,
'
I said. I looked out to see if I could spot the security van but there was no sign. One or two cars were parked out the front of the Little Chef but there was no sign of the wagon we
'
d come to target.

'
Where the fuck is it?
'
said Ben. His voice whined and grated. I felt like giving him a backhander.

'
Easy. We
'
re ahead of schedule,
'
I said.

'
But they should be here, surely.
'

'
Not necessarily ... might have been heavy on the roads.
'

Silva put on the blinkers and pulled the motor up at the edge of the carpark, facing the exit junction.

When the car came to a halt, Gail spoke.
'
What now?
'

'
We wait.
'

'
For how long?
'

'
Long as it takes.
'

It didn
'
t take too long. I
'
d no sooner uttered the words than the big dark van pulled in. It was a heavily-armoured job. I couldn
'
t see the driver
'
s face but he drove cautiously, passing a spot at the front of the Little Chef and reversing into another one at the side.