Читать книгу The Family Man: An edge-of-your-seat read that you won’t be able to put down - T.J. Lebbon - Страница 13

‘Mad dogs and Englishmen,’ Dom said.

‘Huh?’

‘Go out in the midday sun.’

‘What the hell are you on about?’ Andy was in the driver’s seat. It was Dom’s car, but Dom had not wanted to drive. He’d muddied up his own number plates and stuck colourful sun blinds in the back to distract attention.

Andy had just switched off the engine and left the keys in the ignition. They’d discussed that. It was to aid a quick getaway.

‘It’s a saying. A song, I think.’

‘Dom, you’re not flipping out on me, are you?’

‘Nah. I’m good.’ But Dom really couldn’t decide whether he was good or not. His body wouldn’t let him. He felt sick, his stomach rolled like he wanted a shit, he had a headache, sweat soaked his T-shirt and shorts, slick against the car’s upholstery. It was due to be the hottest day of the year so far, with a forecast that records would be broken. Even this early, sunlight scorched the air so that he could see everything with a crisp, awful clarity.

‘Because this is your last chance,’ Andy said. ‘Last time either of us can back out. You know that, right? I explained? Once we get out of this car suited and booted, it’s on. No going back.’

‘Yeah, Andy, I’m fine. Honestly. Just nervous.’

‘Nervous is good. It’ll keep us alert. But you look petrified.’

Dom closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Andy let him, and he was grateful for that. Somewhere in the distance he heard the trilling of a kid’s bicycle bell, and it took him back thirty-five years to a childhood summer – playing cards taped between his Chipper bike’s spokes; TV footage of empty reservoirs with cracked beds; the smell of calamine lotion as his mother tended his sunburn. He took in a deep breath and the smell of sweat and latex snapped him back to the present.

‘So, you ready?’ Andy asked.

Dom looked past his friend, across the small square at the Blue Door cafe. This early in the morning there were only a couple of people there – an old man reading a broadsheet newspaper over breakfast, and a young mum with a pushchair. The table where the two of them had sat just three days before was deserted, and he imagined the ghosts of themselves there, watching in silent disbelief at what was about to occur.

‘Dom! You ready?’

‘I can’t believe …’

‘Okay.’ Andy touched the car keys, but didn’t turn them. ‘This isn’t happening. Let’s go.’

Something panicked Dom. A sense of failure he didn’t want, the idea that this ridiculous, otherworldly moment of his life might suddenly be over. Confusion skewed his sense of self, so much so that he glanced in the mirror to make sure he was still there.

Don’t always be a loser. Those words sat with him, heavy, echoing. As did, It’s a very not-like-you day.

‘Wait,’ Dom said. He picked up the child’s Hulk mask in his lap and slipped it on. It took a couple of seconds to place the eyes properly. His breathing sounded close and intimate, and he’d never been so aware of its sound. Too fast, too light. He breathed deeply again. Then Andy slapped his leg as he opened the driver’s door.

Dom opened his own door and stepped from the car, and from one breath to the next he changed his future.

The road was quiet, the small square still. The air outside was heavy, and only slightly cooler than inside the vehicle. He could smell cooking bacon, coffee, and dust, and the sun singed the already reddened skin of his forearms.

After a quick, nervous ride the previous day with Andy – including a roadside stop to discuss their plans – he’d spent the rest of the day in the garden with Emma and Daisy. They’d cut the lawn, dead-headed some rose bushes, and eaten a salad on the decking. He’d wanted it to be a normal Sunday. And it would have been, if today hadn’t been at the back of his mind. ‘Silly,’ Emma had said as she watched him moisturising his arms that evening. He’d forgotten sun cream.

At least he’d had heat and sunburn as an excuse for not being able to sleep.

No one seemed to have noticed them. The post office had only been open for an hour, and only a few of the display items were outside. The postmistress had been occupied accepting a delivery from the security van. The shop door was already blocked open in an attempt to keep the inside cool, and Dom heard tuneless whistling coming from the shadowy interior, and something else. The sibilant rhythms of a radio, song unidentifiable.

‘Two minutes,’ Andy said from behind his Iron Man mask. He went first, taking several confident strides and passing through the door. As he did so he lifted the carrier bag in his right hand, pointing its contents ahead of him.

Dom followed, drawing the smaller bag from his shorts pocket. It contained a chunk of wood, but it could have been anything. He entered just behind Andy, in time to see the postmistress standing behind the shop counter, eyes wide, lips still pursed in a silent whistle. The tune had died on her lips.

The radio still sounded from somewhere behind the shop. It sounded like Radio One, the sort of music Daisy listened to but which Dom thought of as noise pollution. He couldn’t imagine that this woman would choose that.

‘This is all going to be very easy and painless,’ Andy said. He held the carrier bag across his chest in both hands, like a soldier would nurse a rifle. ‘You understand?’

The woman nodded, glancing nervously back and forth between Iron Man and the Hulk.

The enclosed, glazed post office area was to the left, “Closed” sign still propped across the metal money tray beneath the glass screen.

‘Fuse board?’ Dom asked. The woman pointed above the greeting card display. Dom glanced at the fuse board and noted the incoming phone line junction box next to it. Perfect. He nodded at Andy, then turned his back on him and the woman.

He felt sick. He held the bag away from his body so she would see it, then peered through the window between advertising cards and posters. He wondered whether he should close the door, couldn’t remember what they’d decided about that. Had they decided anything? Door open or closed? He started breathing heavier again, balls tingling, head pulsing.

Outside, everything looked fine. Across in the Blue Door’s garden the man turned a page of his newspaper, and the young mother had the child on her lap. Neither of them were looking his way.

A car passed by, a man in shirt and tie driving, jacket hanging in the back. He was talking into a mobile phone. Stupid, Dom thought. He’ll cause an accident. He tried to smile but it would not come.

‘We’re here for money, that’s all,’ Andy said behind him. ‘It’s not yours. You won’t be hurt, and you’ll even find a bit of fame from this. Being robbed by Iron Man and the Hulk. You can sell your story.’

‘What have you …?’ the woman asked. Her voice was high, shaking with fear. Dom closed his eyes briefly, flushed with shame.

‘I have a sawn-off shotgun,’ Andy said. ‘My friend has a grenade. We’re not using them. Just carrying them. That’s all. Now, no panic buttons. No shouts. Just open the safe and we’ll be on our way.’

‘Okay,’ the woman said.

‘How much are you holding?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Money.’

‘Oh … thirty-eight thousand.’

There was a pause, a silent moment with no movement or talking. Dom almost glanced back, but he kept watching the road and square, as they’d agreed. You have to keep watch, Andy had said. That’s the most important job. Anyone looks like they’ve seen us, anything out of the ordinary, and we’re gone.

‘Who’s up there?’ Andy asked.

‘My granddaughter. Teacher training day at school, so she’s here with me. Having breakfast in her room, listening to music. I tell her to turn it down but … she’s only young.’

‘We’ll be gone before she knows we’re here. Now hurry.’

Dom felt suddenly, irrationally hungry. He hadn’t been able to eat breakfast, had told Emma that he’d grab something on his way to the builder’s merchants. And in half an hour he’d actually be there, buying some supplies and equipment for the kitchen rewire he was doing in Monmouth. Davey was already at the job, stripping old wires and first fixing. They’d been working there for two days the previous week, and the couple they worked for were nice. They gave them a steady supply of biscuits and tea.

The smell of cooked bacon and coffee made his stomach rumble.

‘Hulk!’ Andy said, impatient, as if he’d already called his friend’s name.

‘All quiet,’ Dom said.

He heard the rattle of keys, the creak of an un-oiled door. Movement as Andy crossed to the post office area. Dom glanced at his friend’s back. Beyond, behind the glass screen, the woman was opening the safe. Andy had the carrier bag containing his lump of wood resting on the shop counter, angled through the doorway into the post office area.

One Direction started harmonising from elsewhere in the building. A young girl’s voice joined in, unaware that anyone other than her grandmother was listening. Dom smiled, but the smile fell into a frown.

‘Hurry!’ he said. It would be bad enough knowing what her grandmother had been through. Last thing he wanted was the girl coming down and seeing it. There was no knowing how she’d react. If she ran screaming into the street …

Then they’d have to flee. That was all. No one was getting hurt.

‘Pile it into the post bag,’ he heard Andy say. ‘Yeah, coins too.’

Across the square, Sue had emerged from the Blue Door cafe, carrying a tray of cups and food. She deposited it on the paper-reading man’s table, then chatted to him for a while. She even laughed at something he said. Dom felt offended. She was always so brusque with him and Andy. Maybe she really did hate cyclists.

He laughed, short and loud.

‘What?’ Andy snapped.

‘Nothing, nothing. It’s just Sue—’

‘Hulk, shut the fuck up!’ It was like a slap. His eyes stung like a berated child’s. Then he realised what he’d said, and why Andy’s reaction had been so harsh. ‘Out of there, now,’ Andy said to the postmistress.

Across the square, Sue went back into the cafe. The man stirred his coffee and picked up a sandwich, studying it before taking a bite. Dom wished he was sitting there now with Andy, talking bullshit and anticipating their ride back home. Not here. Robbing a fucking post office.

‘Okay, Hulk, we’re good.’

Dom pocketed the bagged chunk of wood and drew a pair of wire snippers from his other pocket. He had to stretch to reach the fuse board. One snip cut the phone line. It was probably pointless in this age of mobiles, especially with a teenaged girl in the house who was probably glued to hers. But for the sake of a second it was worth it. Then he opened the misted cover to the fuse board, flipped the switch that cut power to the building, and dug beneath the switch and snipped the wires within.

One Direction fell silent.

‘Nan!’ a girl called.

‘Okay,’ Dom said. The post office probably had a direct panic line to the local police station, but that was five miles away in the nearest small town. At least the postmistress now wouldn’t be able to activate the local alarm the second they left.

Andy shoved gently at his back and they exited into the blinding sunlight. Dom walked quickly around the front of the car. He had never felt so exposed, so scrutinised.

A Range Rover turned into the square and came towards them. Sunlight reflected from the windscreen, hiding whoever was inside. It slowed as it approached, then accelerated quickly away, swerving across the road and striking the kerb. It made a sudden left turn around the square and stopped outside the Blue Door.

‘Don’t worry, get in!’ Andy said. He was already opening the rear door, dropping the heavy bag onto the back seat. Dom opened the passenger door, glancing back over his shoulder.

The Range Rover’s door was open and a tall, grey-haired man stood beside it, shielding his eyes as he looked across the square at them. He was only thirty yards away, and Dom could hear the deep timbre of his voice as he shouted at Sue and the patrons of the Blue Door. The young mother was standing also, holding her toddler, half-turned as if to shield him or her from danger. The breakfasting man stood and dashed into the cafe so quickly that he knocked over a chair and spilled his coffee pot. It hit the ground with a loud metallic clang.

‘Hulk!’ Andy said.

Dom laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. ‘Don’t make me angry!’ he shouted across the square, almost hysterical.

‘Mate,’ Andy said, surprised. ‘Come on.’

Dom dropped into the car and slammed the door, panting, hands sweaty as they clasped for the seatbelt. ‘We did it?’

‘Yeah,’ Andy said. He sat motionless for a beat, then ripped off his Iron Man mask. That wasn’t part of the plan.

‘Andy?’

No response. No movement.

‘Andy, what’s—’

‘Yeah, we did it,’ Andy said. He started the engine, slipped into gear and pulled away.

A white transit van entered the square ahead of them, screeching around the corner and veering across the road. Two figures sat in the front.

Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck.

‘Oh, fuck,’ Andy said. His voice sounded flat.

What? Dom thought. Maybe he even spoke it. He wasn’t sure.

Dom braced himself against the dashboard as Andy turned to the left, hitting the kerb so that one front wheel mounted the square’s small lawned area. The van nudged the car’s rear wing on the driver’s side, a glancing blow.

Another vehicle had skidded around the corner, close behind the transit van. A silver BMW. It passed so close to them that wing mirrors kissed.

Andy pressed on the gas. The Focus bounced down onto the road again and accelerated towards the corner around which the van and BMW had appeared.

‘What the hell?’ Dom shouted. ‘Andy, what the fuck?’ He twisted and looked through the rear window.

The van had halted in front of the post office, slewed across the road. The passenger door opened and Bugs Bunny jumped out. He held a gun. Dom had no idea what kind, but it was big and ugly, and looked very real.

‘Andy …’ he said.

‘I know.’

The BMW had stopped behind the van. Its driver’s window was down, and Roadrunner stared after them.

‘Andy, what’s happening?’

Andy stared back at the car and van. Then he said, ‘We’re getting out of here.’

Daffy Duck jumped from the van’s driver’s side and stood watching them go. Bugs Bunny was already through the doorway and into the post office. The van’s rear door opened and Jerry the cat appeared, also staring after the car. Jerry gestured, shouting, and Roadrunner’s head turned.

Then they were around the corner and the square was out of sight, and Andy accelerated away from the small village, heading towards the climb into the hills that Dom was so nervous of descending on his bike.

Dom shook. He needed to piss. He tried to take his mask off but his fingers felt numb, he couldn’t get them beneath the damp, stinking latex. He was suffocating.

‘Deep breaths,’ Andy said.

‘Deep fucking breaths?’ he shouted, voice muffled in the green mask. He worked his thumbs beneath the edge at last and tugged it from his head, edges pulling his hair and raking against his skin. ‘What was that?’

‘Trouble,’ Andy said.

‘They had guns, they were there to—’

‘Trouble coming our way.’ Andy was glancing back and forth between road and rear-view mirror, and Dom twisted in his seat.

The silver BMW was tearing along the road towards them.

‘Oh, shit,’ Dom said.

‘You need to work with me, Dom. Got it?’

‘Work with you?’

‘You saw the guns. Whoever they are, they’re serious. You’ve lived here all your life, you know these roads better than me, so think how we can lose him.’

Andy knocked down a gear and pressed on the gas. The road was narrow and twisting.

‘Andy, maybe we should stop.’

‘Seriously?’ his friend said, risking a glance across at Dom. ‘You’re serious?’

Dom shook his head. He didn’t know. He couldn’t quite fathom what was happening, his brain could make no sense of things.

‘Dom! Nothing changes. We lose him then we’re away, we’re good, and we’ve got a bag full of money. We follow the plan. Understand?’

‘How can we?’

‘How can we not?’ Andy said. ‘It’s done, mate. We’ve done it. No going back.’ He grimaced as he slammed on the brakes. Tyres screamed as they took a bend too fast.

Dom held his breath. Nothing was coming the other way.

The road started to rise into the hills.

‘Closer,’ Andy muttered.

Dom looked back. The BMW was so close that he could no longer see its number plate and grille. They must have been doing sixty, and the silver car was just feet from their rear.

Roadrunner’s madcap smile was fixed on him. The driver held up a phone, camera pointed their way.

I took my mask off, Dom thought. But it was too late now.

‘Dom, we’ve got two or three miles to lose him or stop him. After that we’re over the hill, out of the woods and we hit the main road. Once that happens, we’re screwed. Law will be coming. Helicopter pursuit, the works. What do you think, the tight bend at the top?’

‘What do you mean?’ Dom asked. He didn’t recognise this Andy, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. They were in a car chase. His friend was keeping it together.

‘This is our future,’ Andy said.

‘Yeah,’ Dom said, and he thought of Emma and Daisy. His future.

‘So, that bend? We know it, he doesn’t. Maybe if I take it fast enough he’ll lose control?’

‘Better idea,’ Dom said. ‘Just after that there’s a turn right, hundred metres before the pink house, narrow lane, looks more like a field gateway. It heads up into the woods. I used to mountain bike up there before I started on the roads.’

‘You’re sure?’ Andy asked. He dropped down a gear again as the slope increased, then swept around the bend that opened onto the long, straight climb. He pressed on the gas and edged into the middle of the road.

Dom looked back. The BMW was so close that he expected an impact at any minute. He wasn’t sure what model it was, didn’t know enough about cars to know whether his Focus could outrun it, or at least stay ahead.

‘Dom, hundred metres before the house? More? Less?’

‘Bit more,’ he said.

‘Right. Bend’s coming up in a minute. When I say, goad the hell out of him.’

‘This is crazy,’ Dom said.

‘It’s happening,’ Andy said.

The engines roared. The BMW pressed in closer, surging forward. Andy drifted the Focus to the right, blocking the road.

‘Okay,’ Andy said.

Dom froze for a moment, feeling the unreality of things pressing in close. Then he gave Roadrunner the finger.

Andy swerved them around the bend, wheel juddering in his hand. Dom turned forward again and pressed back into his seat, holding onto the seatbelt.

‘There, see it?’

Andy didn’t reply. He was concentrating. He slammed on the brakes, and the BMW hit their rear end, shoving them forward. Tyres screamed. The BMW fell back a little, and Andy flipped the steering wheel to the right.

The Focus’s nose drifted perfectly into the narrow lane’s mouth, and Andy immediately dropped two gears and floored it. Unable to make the turn, the BMW slammed into the raised bank behind them, missing them by inches. As they powered away, Dom saw steam burst from the silver car’s front end, its wing crumpled, windscreen hazed.

They soon rounded a bend and the pursuing car was lost from sight.

Andy let out a held breath, gasping a few times. ‘Result,’ he whispered. ‘You okay?’

Dom could not speak. He turned away, watching the hedgerows passing by. With a sick feeling in his stomach he realised that he’d have to go straight to Monmouth now, to work, chatting with Davey and talking about how best to get these wires here, those there, lifting floorboards and drinking tea and eating biscuits.

‘My car’s bumped,’ he said.

‘We’ll sort that. Leave it to me. You okay, Dom?’

‘Yeah. No. Who were they?’

‘Looney Tunes.’ Andy laughed. Dom joined in, high and hysterical and sounding like someone he didn’t know.