Widows

Chapter 18

Terry Miller had been at the disused quarry for two hours setting up the vehicles. Jimmy Nunn, an ex-racing driver, was an old mate of Terry’s and was going through a bit of a hard time, having, ironically, been banned for dangerous driving. Married and on the dole, Jimmy desperately needed a job and Terry thought he might be their perfect fourth man — not that he’d dream of making that sort of decision without Harry Rawlins’s approval.

Terry had taken Jimmy to meet Harry in a pub three months previously, although Jimmy had had no idea what for. Harry liked to take his time to size up new boys before working with them, or telling them what he was up to. That day at the quarry Harry was there to watch Jimmy at work. If he liked what he saw then he’d tell him what the job was and put him on the team as a driver. Jimmy was a good-looking fella, about thirty-three, six feet, with a big frame. With no criminal record other than petty driving offenses, he’d never had his fingerprints taken. He had been on a couple of bank robberies as a driver before, so came with good references, but his reputation for not cracking under pressure had more to do with the risks he’d taken when he was a racing driver.

Jimmy was testing the engine of the bread truck that Len Gulliver had nicked for Joe Pirelli from the Sunshine Bread Company. It was a good, square-shaped vehicle with double doors at the back. Joe had attached a heavy metal bar under the rear bumper, strong enough to take the impact when the security wagon rammed into the back of it, and had fitted a cross harness to protect the driver from the impact. Jimmy put his foot down and did a circuit of the quarry. It didn’t sound too good, but it would by the time he had finished with it. Once back with Harry and Terry, Jimmy jumped straight out of the van, yanked the bonnet up and leaned into the engine to fine-tune it. Harry was impressed.

While all this was going on, Joe Pirelli was in the woods that ran along the side of the old quarry, test firing his sawed-off shotguns by taking a few pot shots at woodpigeons and the odd pheasant. Joe was a professional and fanatical about his ‘irons,’ regularly cleaning and greasing them down with oil. For the past three years, Joe and Terry had worked together closely and Terry respected his self-assurance and nerves of steel. Joe also had a quick temper and could be violent, but Terry and the others always knew how far they could push him. If you saw his dark eyes give a strange jerky flick, that was the warning... then Joe Pirelli was lethal. Although they shared a mutual respect, they weren’t close friends and rarely socialized together outside of work. One of the boss’s rules. And if you worked for Harry, you did as he said without question; that was the way it was and the way it had to be for everyone’s safety.

Joe walked back up the quarry. In one hand he carried his ‘irons’ in a long black wooden case lined with red felt; in the other he carried a dead pheasant. Terry watched as Joe went over to his Lancia and placed the gun case and bird in the boot. Joe was tall, six-three, maybe more, with dark Italian looks, and he was obsessed with physical fitness. He was lean, with a chiseled face, and those odd-colored eyes — hazel, maybe? He was a tough man, and Terry was glad they were on the same side.

Terry signaled to Joe and the two men checked their watches before checking out the dummy security van. Harry Rawlins liked everything to be ready before his arrival, and Joe and Terry carefully went over every detail: the money sacks were weighted; the vehicles’ positions exactly measured to reflect where they’d be for the raid itself. After the rehearsal, it would be their job to clean the cars and bread truck and take them back to the lock-up.

The bread truck now sounded as if its engine was running smoothly. Jimmy got out of the driving seat and gave the thumbs up to Joe and Terry over by the dummy van. They made him nervous — well, Joe scared him more than Terry. He didn’t know exactly what the job was yet, and he was aware he was still on trial, but he admired Harry Rawlins and wanted to be in on his team.

Harry’s silver Merc was so quiet it seemed to float over the gravel road. No one heard it arriving, but as soon as Terry and Joe saw it pull up and Harry get out they almost stood to attention, like troops about to be inspected by their commanding officer. With his fawn cashmere coat hanging over his shoulders, his immaculately tailored navy suit, his black briefcase and his dark glasses, Harry Rawlins looked more like a city banker than a man about to rehearse a security raid. He went over to Joe and Terry.

‘He’s got the bread van purring like a kitten. It’ll be no bother now,’ said Terry.

Harry looked over at the BMW getaway car and nodded at Jimmy.

This was Jimmy’s big chance. He ran to the BMW, jumped in, started her up and, with a screeching smoking wheel spin, accelerated round the quarry at an incredible speed, sweating as the car screamed up and down. Speeding past the three men, he pulled on the handbrake, did a one-eighty turn and accelerated away again. In his rearview mirror, he saw Terry grinning and giving him the thumbs up.

Harry went back to his car and took his coat off, methodically changing his clothes, folding each garment up and placing it on the back seat. Any other man would have looked fairly ridiculous standing there half undressed, but there was something neat and organized about the way he changed into his tracksuit.

‘We’ll try the explosives,’ Harry said, bending down to tie up his plimsolls.

Terry took a small sampler over to the dummy security wagon, stuck the explosives to the side of it and lit the short fuse. He stepped round the side of the van, out of the way — and BOOM. It was over and done within a matter of seconds, leaving a nice round hole the size of a fist in the side of the vehicle. Terry walked back, grinning.

‘When I use the proper amount,’ he said, ‘it’ll leave a hole big enough to get me granny through, and she’s a big old trout, Harry.’

Harry went over the instructions with the team, quietly but with precision and attention to detail. When he finished, each man put a rucksack on and Joe got the shotguns. Harry handed Jimmy the stopwatch to time the run through.

‘The whole raid has to take less than four minutes from start to finish,’ he said.

All three vans were in position. The bread truck was up front, the fake security wagon was in the middle and the van Terry had driven there was at the back. The convoy was set up as though the security wagon was now trapped in the Strand underpass. Jimmy was standing next to the bread truck so he could see Harry’s signal to start the stopwatch, Harry was in the driver’s seat of the rear van, with Joe and Terry in the back.

‘He don’t look like he’s got it in him,’ Joe said, pointing at Jimmy.

‘He has, Joe. I promise he has.’ Terry said.

‘When you’re nervous, the old trigger finger gets shaky and suddenly — bang! We’re all looking at life for murder.’

‘That’s why we’re here today.’ Harry interrupted. ‘He’s up there counting the seconds till I give the order. Is he winding himself up into a useless frenzy or is he as cool as ice? We’ll soon find out.’ Harry raised his hand and Jimmy raised the stopwatch in acknowledgment.

When Harry’s hand came down, Jimmy started the stopwatch and the men moved like lightning. Joe leapt out of the van and stood with his shotgun held toward the imaginary traffic behind. Terry slammed the explosives onto the side of the fake security wagon and Harry climbed onto its bonnet, pointing his shotgun at the imaginary security driver and passenger. ‘Get out of the wagon!’ he screamed, his deep voice echoing round the quarry. The intention was that the two guards in the cab would get out and be forced to lie on the ground in front of Joe.

BOOM! A large Harry-sized hole was blown in the side of the fake security wagon; Harry crawled in, followed by Terry. Harry quickly loaded Terry’s haversack with accurately weighted bags before shouting ‘Go!’ Terry and Joe then switched places, Terry pointing the shotgun at the non-existent traffic and the imaginary guards while Joe’s haversack was filled. Joe then filled Harry’s haversack and all three men raced toward the getaway car parked exactly fifty yards away.

It was a slick operation and, as Jimmy watched them run, he couldn’t wait to learn more about the job.

Dolly sipped tea from the lid of her thermos, listening to Linda and Shirley argue over the last chicken sandwich. Shirley felt that the two slices of pork pie Linda ate meant that the sandwich should really be hers; but Linda argued that you can’t legitimately compare a pie to a sandwich. While they bickered, Bella grabbed it and ate it herself.

‘Shut your gobs,’ she said.

Dolly, who’d eaten nothing, got to her feet. She handed a ‘shotgun’ stick to Shirley and kept the other for herself. ‘Let’s do just the run; see how long it takes.’ Bella jumped up and ran off to the far end of the beach with her stopwatch. When Linda stood up, she was clearly in some pain from where she’d dropped the chainsaw on her foot.

‘I don’t think I can do it, Dolly,’ she whimpered.

‘Is that what you’re gonna say if something happens on the day?’ Dolly asked, ‘Or are you gonna run for your life anyway?’

Linda shut up and the three of them stood, rucksacks on their backs, ready for the cue from Bella.

From fifty yards away, Bella thought they looked like a right old mishmash of mums doing the parents’ egg and spoon race at sports day. Dolly in her bright-pink tracksuit, Shirley in her catwalk-style jumpsuit and Linda looking like a tramp. She shook her head. ‘Ready!’ she shouted. Dolly gave her the thumbs up. ‘One, two, three. GO!’

No matter how many times they did the run, Dolly always lagged behind. She didn’t have the energy or the fitness level of the other three, and began puffing and gasping for breath after the first twenty yards. Every time they made it to the finishing line, she paused, clasped her side, heaved for breath and asked what time they had done. It was obvious she’d never be able to complete the run in the required time. But Dolly wouldn’t give up: time and time again she turned and walked back up the beach to the old Morris. After the fourth time, Linda felt that she had to say something.

‘This is ridiculous, Dolly. I can do it, Shirley can do it — so what’s the point in all three of us running up and down time and time again just because you can’t do it. You’re the only one holding us up. Take a rest and then try it again on your own.’

Dolly walked away, hands on hips, head down. She was pushing herself to breaking point, but she refused to give in. Reaching the rusty Morris, Dolly held up her hand, indicating to Bella that she was ready to go again.

Bella crossed her fingers. ‘Come on, Dolly. You can do it,’ she whispered. Dolly dropped her hand and started to run.

This time she was on target for the time limit, but it was awful to watch the veins standing out on her neck, her arms flailing at her side. Just a few yards before the finishing line, her body caved in. Her legs started to buckle under her as she forced herself on. She flung herself toward the finishing line then collapsed in a heap, her breath forced out in noisy, heaving, rasping sighs. On her hands and knees in the sand, she just managed to wheeze, ‘Get this off me, Bella!’

Bella quickly lifted the heavy rucksack from Dolly’s back. Linda smirked and shook her head smugly. Shirley looked daggers at her, and knelt beside Dolly.

‘It’s no good, Dolly,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t make the run.’

Gradually, Dolly’s breathing slowed and settled. She gave one final heavy sigh and got herself to her feet. She picked up the rucksack and handed it to Bella, who gave Dolly the stopwatch. Bella stripped off her bike leathers to reveal a pair of running shorts underneath. Heaving one rucksack on her back, she took Shirley’s rucksack in her hand and strolled off down the beach.

‘Just watch her go,’ Linda bragged. ‘She used to run for her school.’

Shirley could have hit her; sometimes Linda was really evil. Dolly said nothing as she watched how effortlessly Bella walked with the weight on her back.

Back at the Morris, Bella emptied Shirley’s rucksacks of sandbags onto the picnic blanket; she’d need these when Dolly was timing her. Picking up the chainsaw, she tested the engine, starting and restarting it. Satisfied Linda hadn’t damaged it, she got into the wrecked Morris Minor, rucksack on her back and chainsaw in her hand.

The second Bella jumped out of the car, Dolly started the stopwatch.

They watched in silence as Bella started the saw with one pull of the cord and cut a hole in the car door large enough for a shotgun to be pushed through. Bella then ran to the picnic blanket and lifted the sandbags, pacing the time it would take for her to fill Linda’s rucksack, then Shirley’s. She was like a machine. When Bella set off down the beach, Linda couldn’t control her excitement any longer. She began jumping up and down, waving her arms in the air.

‘Go, girl! GO! GO! GO!’ Linda screamed.

Dolly’s eyes flickered between Bella and the stopwatch. Bella ran toward them in long easy strides, as if the weight on her back had no effect at all.

Dolly didn’t have to give the actual time because it was obvious Bella was by far the quickest. While Shirley and Linda hugged Bella, Dolly walked back up the beach toward the Morris alone.

‘Let’s do the whole thing now,’ she called back them, and whistled to Wolf, who was rolling in a dead seagull.

They spent another hour running through the plan before calling it a day. While Dolly packed up the picnic hamper, Bella and Linda carried the chainsaw and rucksacks back up to the boot of her Merc. Shirley emptied the sand from the pillowcases and watched Dolly from the corner of her eye. Dolly’s lips were pursed tight and she seemed still to be seething at her own inability to keep up with the rest of them. Shirley had tried a big, consoling smile, but her split lip opened up again and anyway, Dolly had just ignored her. She was a tough old bird. Her own weakness in the face of Tony Fisher’s assault was playing on Shirley’s mind. I was pathetic, she thought angrily. But I won’t be anymore...

The final rehearsal run had been the slickest yet and well under time. Dolly’s decision to reorder the roles, with her now driving the blocking van up front, Bella back on the chainsaw and Linda driving the transit van behind, turned out to be absolutely the right thing to do and played to everyone’s strengths. They’d finished the day on a high, tired, filthy, achy, but invigorated. For the first time it seemed real, very real. As Shirley cleared the beach of their debris, she picked up one of the driftwood shotguns and smiled. Checking Dolly’s back was turned, she held the ‘gun’ in position one last time before throwing it into the dunes.

Dolly hadn’t cared about the decision she’d had to make about driving the lead van, but she did mind failing in front of her girls. They looked to her for guidance, for stability and for leadership and she had to maintain that role; there was no way they could think she was weak in any way.

Linda and Bella were almost at the bottom of the steps by the time Shirley and Dolly were packed up and ready to go. As Dolly looked at her three girls, she spotted the not-so-subtle sideways glance that Linda gave the others. While they no longer seemed to doubt that they could do this, by the way they looked at her, Dolly could see that it was her they doubted now.

She picked up the sledgehammer. ‘I never practiced my bit, did I?’ she said cheerfully. Standing a couple of feet from the Morris, legs apart, hands firmly gripping the handle, Dolly swung the hammer. The veins stood out on her neck and she let rip; not exactly a scream, but a weird guttural roar right from her belly. She let the hammer go and it flew through the air before smashing through the Morris’s windscreen, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Beads of glass flew backward, sprinkling over the back seats. For a second or two, the inside of the car looked like a snow-globe and it was almost beautiful to watch.

As the sledgehammer landed on the back seat, the three women gasped in shock.

‘Oh, my God!’ Linda spoke for all of them. ‘It’s like the first time you hear your mum say “fuck”!’

Dolly looked at them with an impish grin. ‘I know my strengths. And I know yours,’ she said. She turned serious. ‘We’ve got this, girls. We’ve bloody well got this.’ And then she said something that brought a lump to even Linda’s throat:

‘I won’t let you down.’

Now, Dolly saw no doubt in their eyes at all; only respect. They knew she could lead and she knew they’d follow.

By Harry’s third run, it was clear that he was holding them up. He simply wasn’t fast enough and, no matter how many times he tried, he wasn’t getting any faster.

No one said a single word as Harry thought through his options. His face was tight with anger and his jaw muscles twitched erratically. His anger was directed at himself, they could all see that, so they respectfully gave him the time and space he needed. Eventually, Harry handed his rucksack to Jimmy.

‘Lemme see you run, kid,’ he said.

As the sweat trickled down Harry’s bright-red face, Jimmy completed the run in a spectacularly fast time. In Harry’s younger days that run would have been a piece of cake, but he was smart enough to know where his team’s strengths lay — and his wasn’t running; not anymore.

‘Back to your start positions,’ Harry ordered. ‘I’m gonna time the whole thing.’

As he watched Terry, Joe and Jimmy walk back toward the follow van, Harry was hurting, inside and out. He’d always led from the front and to have to relinquish that position was heart-breaking.

Joe and Terry clambered into the back of the follow van while Jimmy lagged behind. He was tapping his watch.

‘What’s the problem?’ Harry asked.

‘Nothing.’ Jimmy didn’t want to look stupid or cause trouble. ‘It’s just my watch. Overwound it, I expect.’

Harry took his gold Rolex off and handed it to Jimmy. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Have this. I’ll be buying myself the latest model when this is all over.’ He climbed into the driver’s seat of the bread truck.

As Jimmy took up his new position in the driver’s seat of the follow van, he admired Harry’s gold Rolex with its diamond-encrusted face. It was the most beautiful watch he’d ever seen. He vowed never to take it off.