The Killer (11 page)

Enrique was twenty years old and he was new at the bank.
This was only his third week working as a teller and it was definitely his first robbery.
He pressed a hidden button below the desk but it seemed to do nothing.
He had expected to hear alarms, but there were none.

An older man emerged from a back room and Vassi noted him at once.
‘You,’ he shouted, ‘you’re the manager.
Open the safe.’

‘I, I don’t have the k, k, keys,’ he stammered.

Vassi walked towards him, slowly waving his pistol back and forth in the man’s face and then jamming it firmly into the back of his neck.
‘The next thing to come out of your mouth will be either your blood and brains, or the words “here are the keys sir”.
Now, what’s it going to be?’ he snarled.

With trembling fingers the man opened a desk drawer.
He fished around for a second, then said, ‘Here are the keys sir,’ as he handed them over.

Vassi snatched them from the man, forcing him to the floor at gunpoint.
‘Stay there and keep quiet,’ he ordered.

Darren was still standing with his back to the wall, his gun trained on everyone.
No one said a word.
He watched Hector and Vassi as they quickly disappeared into the rear of the bank.
The silence continued and Darren saw the fear in the faces staring at his gun.
The female teller came round and a scream threatened to escape her as she stood unsteadily, but her young colleague shushed her.

Around five minutes later Vassi and Hector emerged from the vault, each carrying a large black hold all.
‘Stay here at the door, cover them and shoot anyone who moves,’ Vassi shouted loudly enough for all to hear.
As he passed by Darren he whispered, ‘Mr Butch we’ll pick you up when we’ve loaded the car.’

Sixtro had brought the BMW to the front of the bank.
‘Everything going OK?’ he asked.

‘No problem.
Quiet as the grave in there brother,’ grinned Hector before he and Vassi headed back into the bank and were out again a few minutes later with two more bags which they loaded into the car.

Then the rear light exploded and Vassi jumped violently.
‘Shit, cops,’ he cursed, as pistol shots echoed around them and a burst of machine gun fire announced the arrival of the Guardia Civil.

‘Someone’s set of
f
an alarm,’ yelled Hector as he and Vassi jumped in the car and Sixtro floored the accelerator, setting off at speed and quickly covering a few hundred yards.

‘Stop!
Mr. Butch is still in there,’ yelled Vassi.

‘Too late now,’ Sixtro shouted back.

‘Stop!’ Vassi repeated, and the command in his voice brooked no argument.
Sixtro hit the brake and the car slid to a halt.

Vassi was out in an instant, running towards the bank, Butch, and a free flying hail of bullets.

Darren poked his head out into the street at the sound of the first shots, but immediately retreated as the doorframe exploded in a spray of splinters.
‘Bollocks, that’ll be me fucked then,’ he shouted to no one but himself.
The noise of gunfire grew for several seconds, but then it began to lessen.
He risked another peek outside and couldn’t believe what he saw.
Neither could the armed police, apparently.
There was Vassi running towards them, dodging the bullets that bounced around him and, one by one, they stopped their firing, mesmerised by the bravery they were witnessing.

It took Sixtro a few seconds to comprehend the scene too, but then he rammed the BMW into reverse, screeching to a halt at the door as Vassi was pulling a stunned Darren from the bank.
The Guardia Civil regained their senses and the firing started again, just as the two men dived into the car, which shot away leaving burning rubber in its wake.

The back window shattered and gunfire raked the rear of the fleeing car.
Hector lurched sharply to one side as he caught a couple of shots.

‘You OK?’ yelled Sixtro as he drove with all the brilliance that Darren had been promised.

‘Nothing a shot of Jim Beam won’t fix,’ Hector assured him as he sat up again.
He was bleeding heavily from his shoulder and the tip of one ear was dangling from a thread of skin.

‘Can I have your sunglasses now?’

‘Fuck you.
They’ll still fit me, ear or not.
Now just drive you fucking pig farmer.’

Darren knew it would have taken the cops a few seconds to get back in their vehicles and start the chase, giving them a head start, but the speed and control with which Sixtro drove were amazing.
Still, they were not out of harm’s way yet.
‘We have to get this car off the road,’ he said, as he noted Hector’s blood dripping from the headlining.

‘I know, but where?
We don’t have friends here,’ Vassi told him.

‘I have family close by,’ grinned Sixtro.
‘My sister, and she lives just off this road.’

He turned a sharp left and headed down a dusty cart track, coming to a halt a few moments later outside an old farmhouse.
He jumped out calling, ‘Chucha, Chucha, are you home?’

Jesús María, known affectionately to her family as Chucha,
 
came running from the front door towards the BMW.
‘Holy mother of God, what happened my brother?’ she asked.

‘No time for that, Chucha.
We need help,’ Sixtro told her.

‘Yes, yes of course come in.
Hector, can you walk?’ she asked in concern as she noticed the injured man in the car.

‘Of course I can walk.
It’s only a nick - or two,’ he smiled at the woman.

Once inside the farmhouse Chucha quickly went to work.
Her sons had provided her with all the medical skills she needed.
Bringing up three rowdy boys in rural Spain required a special knowledge of doctoring, as the closest hospital was miles away.
She was used to stitching the cuts and treating the bruises they got fighting and playing.
She was also a dab hand at setting broken bones, but thankfully that skill would not be needed today.
However, as she cut off Hector’s shirt, she quietly gasped.
This was bad.
Around two inches of horizontal muscle was missing from his shoulder.

‘You really need a hospital Hector,’ she told him, ‘but I’m guessing you can not go to one - no?’

‘That’s right.
Can you just stitch it for me?’

‘I can, but it will leave a really ugly scar.’

Hector grinned.
‘You think another scar is going to bother me?
How about the ear, though?
Do you think it is still possible for me to wear my sunglasses?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Then I need to tell your brother to fuck off again.
Is that OK with you?’

‘Perfectly,’ she assured him.

Around half an hour later she had finished her ministrations and there had been no sounds of sirens screaming down the dirt track, so Sixtro’s amazing driving had done the trick.
‘Is Pepe at work today?’ he asked his sister.
‘We need to lose this car.’

‘Yes, you go and I’ll call him.
He’ll be expecting you.’
She smiled as she kissed her brother goodbye and the four men set out again in the bullet ridden BMW.

A five-minute drive down the dirty, bumpy road took them past a high, corrugated steel fence until they arrived at large steel gates guarded by two snarling, snapping German Shepherds.
A handmade sign with letters two feet high proclaimed:

Pepe el Monstruo

Autos Chatarra Quería

Comprado por Dinero en Metalico

Piezas de Automóviles

Basically a scrap metal dealer, Darren reasoned.
‘Who’s Pepe?’ he asked.

‘Chucha’s husband, my brother-in-law,’ Sixtro informed him.
‘He cuts up cars, sells parts, deals in scrap and is basically a very handy guy to know.
This is him now,’ he added, as a large, grease covered man with a full beard opened the gates and waved them through.
They parked where he indicated and took the bags of money with them as they left the car.

Pepe embraced Sixtro, kissing him on both cheeks.
Then he grasped Hector warmly by his good shoulder.
‘Chucha said you might look a little strange today, my brother,’ he observed.

Darren watched the greetings and smiled.
He was becoming used to the affection men could show to each other in this country, and he liked it.
Pepe had called Hector his brother and that might mean they were blood relations, but it could just as easily mean they were two good friends who respected each other.
Relationships here were important and it meant a lot to be treated as family.

Sixtro introduced Pepe to Vassi and Butch and then they got down to business.
‘Domingo,’ Pepe shouted to a slim young man across the yard.
‘This BMW, take it for SG,’ and only minutes later the once pristine car was crushed beyond recognition, ending up as a cube of metal that was swiftly loaded by forklift onto a waiting truck with “S.G. Foundry” painted on the side.

Darren suddenly laughed.
‘Hey, isn’t that the company who…’
He paused, looking across at Pepe, unsure of how much he could say in front of this man.

‘
Who kindly helped to fund our cause today,’ Hector confirmed as he also noticed the lettering.

Pepe’s brows rose in surprise.
‘Really?’ he questioned as he put two and two together.
‘How appropriate.
Well, at least you are giving them something for their money, no?
Even if it is just a block of scrap metal.’

The men looked at him for a moment, then all broke out laughing.
Darren probably laughed the loudest.
For the others, Pepe included, an adventure like the one today was obviously nothing new, but to Darren it had been quite an experience.
Of course, he’d seen his fair share of action in many ways, but nothing quite like this.
Also, he usually worked alone.
Teamwork had never really been his thing and, apart from Thomas, he couldn’t think of anyone he would truly call a friend.
The camaraderie he was witnessing here appealed to him.

Vassi pulled a wad of cash from one of the bags and gave it to Pepe.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘Be sure to buy Chucha something nice will you?’
Pepe assured him he would and then provided them with a car for their journey home.

Sixtro drove more sedately now and Hector fell asleep in the passenger seat, the pain medicine Chucha had provided making him drowsy.
Darren turned to Vassi in the back.
‘That was really incredible, what you did today,’ he said.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.
It was one Hell of a risk.
Why did you come back for me?’

‘Because you are my brother,’ Vassi informed him simply.

‘Thanks man.’
Darren was incredibly moved by the sentiment.
He didn’t think any of his compatriots back home would have done that for him.
Not even Thomas.

The Message

Back at the training camp the regular routine had resumed and over the following weeks Darren saw continued improvement in the men.
They were well into a session of small arms training one day when the sound of an approaching vehicle brought the lesson to an abrupt halt as Valentino arrived in a cloud of dust, jumped from his car and ran to Darren’s side.
He saluted him and announced, ‘Mr. Butch, a message has arrived for you from Ireland.
We think it is important.
Please return to the house with me.’

‘Er, okay,’ Darren agreed, somewhat surprised that he would receive a message here.
He’d lost track of how long he’d been with Rosa and her men – a month?
Two?
Certainly long enough for him to believe he was “out of sight, out of mind”.
OK, so Willy has assured him he wasn’t being punished, but the whole degrading oil drum ride and the unceremonious dumping in the middle of nowhere with no warning of what to expect, felt as if he’d been sidelined.
Now he had a message?
He left Vassi in charge, jumped in the car with Valentino and off they headed back to the farmhouse.

Rosa stood on the porch waiting for Darren and her boys with a pot of hot coffee.
‘Mr. Butch,’ she began hurriedly, ‘I have a radio message for you.
I copied it down exactly and I hope you can make sense of it.’

Darren took the note from her bony hand and read it quickly.
“13X99KLC. D.M.B.O.B. 786. B.A.P. Cat. T.M. 2091. 29.”
He looked up at the old lady.
‘I’ll be needing the use of a car,’ he explained, ‘I have to take a trip - and have to leave as soon as possible.’
He thought he noticed a flicker of sadness cross the wizened face and, surprised that he felt the same, assured her, ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’