Holding On To You (3 page)

The stout woman watches and shakes her head. 'Some people', she says to herself.

Madeleine Parker is well known as a massive pain in the ass to every staff member in the bank, but her custom has always been very important, and for that reason, whenever she comes in, which is frankly more often than any of them would like, she has to be dealt with cautiously, as though handling a venomous spider. Whoever deals with her has to bite their tongue, and bite it hard, and today that responsibility falls to Fergal Murphy, one of two senior managers, and a man moulded so well by the banking system, that biting his tongue has become muscle memory in the presence of some of his most affluent clients and investors. Some people would call that 'kissing ass', but Fergal calls it 'his job', and doing his job is something Fergal loves. Fergal has worked at the bank for several years, dealing in that time with every member of the Parker family, working his way up, from the very bottom to the very top, to now be in such a position of importance that he has his own monogrammed stationery, which includes a special gold plated pen. He is also delighted to be one of only two key holders to the banks vast deposit vaults, but it's not as exciting to him as having a notepad with his name on the corner - a detail he likes to mention whenever he meets new people. The monogrammed stationery is almost as important to him as his ginger hair and moustache, the latter of which, Maddy is disgusted to see is stained at the edges by coffee.

Fergal hopes his face, moustache and all, will instil confidence in a Madeleine Parker that appears to already be fuming with some kind of internal rage.

'You have coffee on your moustache', Maddy says.

Fergal moves quickly to wipe it off. It isn't the start he had hoped for, but attempts to recover.

'I'm sorry for the delay in getting to you Miss Parker', he says. 'As you can see, we have been quite busy this morning. How are you today?'

'I have a deposit that should have been made on Friday', Maddy says, ignoring his attempts at small talk. 'I'd like it dealt with immediately. You can do that, can't you?'

'Of course', Fergal says. 'Do you have the money with you now?'

Maddy rolls her eyes. The question is so stupid, it doesn't deserve a response. Instead she reaches inside her handbag and drops the heavy sack of cash on the table in front of him.

'Right', Fergal says. 'Of course.'

'I expect this won't take long', Maddy says.

Fergal is already in the process of separating the notes from the coins to weigh them. With a desk full of cash, and a client to charm, he's in his element.

'It's nice to see you here again', Fergal says, even though he doesn't mean it. 'It's been a while since you've come down to the bank in person. How are the family?'

Maddy has been listening to him with a snarl slowly developing on her face.

'Just count the money-'

Maddy leans over a little to read his name tag.

'Fergal', she says, and makes it sound like she's got a mouthful of something really distasteful. 'I haven't got time for idle chit-chit, I'm surprised you think you have.'

'No, of course', Fergal says, smiling.

The notes whirr through the machine and collect at the bottom. Fergal puts new ones in at the top and the process repeats itself. As a child, watching her father in his office do the exact same thing with the day's takings, always filled Maddy with glee and excitement. Those days are so long gone now, that when she looks at Fergal filling the machine, the child-like glee never once lifting from
his
face, from something so simple as paper filtering rapidly through a machine, ordering itself and collecting at the bottom, the memory, one of the warmest ones of her life, doesn’t even register with her. When she looks at the money counting machine, and the notes running through them, she thinks about only one thing, the time its taking to do its job. The time she believes would be better spent in her own office, doing something else entirely.

Maddy taps her fingers on the table impatiently. Fergal knows it's taking longer to count the money than Maddy would like.

'A good week', he says, trying to be jovial. It goes down like a lead balloon.

'Just get it in the account so I can get out of here', Maddy says.

Fergal smoothes his moustache and loads the very last bundle into the machine.

'Eighty seven thousand, four hundred and fifty six dollars, fifty six cents. That's quite a coincidence', Fergal says, when he's finally finished totting up the figures.

'What is?' Maddy asks, dryly.

'To have fifty six dollars and fifty six cents, it's quite unusual. Quite a coincidence I'd say', Fergal says, in his cheesy, light-hearted, well-mannered way, lips never dropping from a smile and his chin all the while nodding as though he's physically unable to stop it.

'How is that a coincidence?' Maddy asks. 'Do you even know what a coincidence is?'

Maddy searches for the stress ball in her pocket, locates it and gives it a long hard squeeze. Sometimes the idiocy of some people gets her stomach acid going.

'Well if two things happen at once that you don't expect, I suppose that's what I mean', Fergal says, sounding entirely unconvinced of his argument, and dropping off completely when he looks up to see Maddy snarl.

'The account', Maddy reminds him.

'Yes', Fergal says and shifts slightly to work on his computer. 'Now, we have to ask, do you have your account number and identification with you?'

Maddy takes out her purse, locates her driving license and the company bank account card, and hands them both over.

'I'm not sure why you can't just have an easier system. I mean you know who I am after all', Maddy says, the irritation in her voice so commonplace, it wouldn't sound like her if it wasn't there.

'It's just for security', Fergal says, his chin nodding again. 'If anything ever happened, touch wood it doesn't of course', - at which point Fergal breaks off to touch the desk before he continues - 'you'd be secure.'

Fergal looks at the photo on Maddy's driving license, back up at Maddy to compliment her on it, and quickly back to his computer when he realises it would fall on deaf ears if he did so.

He brings up the relevant computer system programme and attempts to log in. When his log in fails, he tries again. When it fails for a third time he says, 'that's strange', and picks up the phone.

While he's waiting for someone to answer, he covers the receiver and attempts to reassure Maddy.

'I can't log in', he says. 'We've had a bit of trouble with the computer system this morning. Don't worry though, I'll-'

Maddy definitely does not feel reassured. She's about to express that feeling when Fergal begins to talk again, holding up his hand impertinently to shush her. Maddy is so shocked by the rudeness of the gesture she can't quite compose herself quickly enough to tell him so.

'Derek', Fergal says. 'Fergal here. I'm having trouble logging into the system. Are you having any issues back there?'

Fergal nods and listens. He covers the receiver and addresses Maddy again.

'He can't get in either', Fergal says, as though he's talking about something inconsequential, like a jar of honey with a tight lid.

'What does that mean?' Maddy says, feeling her blood beginning to boil.

'Ok, thanks Derek', Fergal says, and puts the phone down. 'The technicians have been called.'

'What are you telling me?' Maddy says, about to explode.

'We can't process any more deposits until the system is back online.'

'The system?'

'The system', Fergal confirms, without really adding anything useful.

'You can't deposit the money today?'

'I can't do it for you now, I'm afraid. I have to say, I was worried I wouldn't be able to. The computers have been playing up all morning, that's why we're so busy at the desks.' Fergal laughs nervously and smoothes his tie.

'Well why the hell didn't you tell me before you sat me down?' Maddy screams at him, loud enough for the rest of the bank to fall silent for a moment to see where the noise has come from.

'I was hoping it would work', Fergal says in an irritatingly cheery way that would make even the thickest skinned of his customers wince. 'We can do it as soon as the system comes back online. You don't have to come back. I'll just give you a receipt for what you've brought in, and call you when the money goes into the account, how does that sound?'

'It sounds like you've wasted my time', Maddy says. 'If you'd told me that when I came in, I wouldn't be here looking at your pathetic, bogus, moustache-topped, well-practised, shit-eating grin.'

'Well there's no need to get personal', Fergal says, a little offended his face has been unfairly brought into the conversation.

He's on the way to apologising profusely, both for the computer system and his lack of professionalism, when something else takes his attention away instead. There's a sound, a sharp metallic noise that reminds him of a car backfiring, and then a much louder sound almost immediately later - a huge roar of noise that can only be identified as the sound of a mass of people panicking.

Maddy turns in her chair to see what's happening. Climbing the stairs, with a gun in his hand, a balaclava on his head, and a shirt undone almost to the bottom, wearing cowboy boots and smoking a perfectly rolled cigarette, that somehow stays stuck to his lips despite them being open in a large smile, is the one and only, self styled, gun toting, cigarette smoking, wild child, bad boy, River Woods. As he gets to the top of the stairs, he greets his audience with arms outstretched wide, and then does a bow.

Maddy watches him with her mouth open. He is flanked by three other men, but it's him she looks at. There is chaos around her, but she doesn't notice it. It takes a while to tune into what they are saying.

'Get down on the floor. Get down on the fucking floor!'

Of the four men, he's the only one that moves around the room as though he's got all the time in the world, almost dancing as he goes, as though he's come here to deposit his money rather than steal everyone else's. He's not rushing like the other men, and it's his lack of care, and laid back attitude, that Maddy notices, in the split second it takes for him to get to her, that has her worried. This is a man that hasn't got anything to lose. This is a man unlike any other.

'Time to get on the floor Princess', River says to her, lilting his accent to make himself sound even more like a cowboy than he already is.

Maddy looks around her. She hasn't quite grasped it yet, and seems to be the only one who hasn't. Everyone else is on the floor already, shocked faces pressed as far down into the puke green carpet as they can manage. Fergal has grabbed Maddy's bag of money and sits shivering under his wooden desk, hoping no-one has seen him. For Maddy, it's as if things are moving in slow motion.

'Get the fuck on the floor', Carlos says to her, seeing that she still hasn't moved. When she doesn't respond, he goes to her and pulls her violently out of her seat until she's kneeling on the ground, which is not quite lying down, but a step better than sitting. Carlos is completely taken aback by her unwillingness to comply.

'What the fuck is wrong with you?' Carlos spits at her. 'Do you want me to shoot you?'

'This floor is going to ruin my dress!' Maddy screams at him. 'It's filthy.'

Carlos laughs and looks at River. Obviously nothing like this has ever happened before.

'Not as much as a gunshot wound would', River says pragmatically, and winks at her.

Carlos holds a gun to her head, drops the safety catch and begins to squeeze the trigger when Maddy finally complies. She presses herself flat on the ground and puts her hands behind her back when commanded to do so. A moment later, she realises how much she's shaking.

'Thank you all for your compliance', River says, addressing the room like the lead in a Broadway play. 'We will take no more than five minutes of your time, but we are going to take all of your money. If anyone does anything stupid, they will die. No alarms, no police, no have-a-go heroes. Is that understood?'

Nobody responds.

'Is that understood Princess?' River says to Maddy, bending down to give her special attention.

She puts her hands on her head and it makes River laugh.

'Let's get the fuck on with this', Alex says, growing irritated with River's desire to be centre of attention. Peters watches the crowd, while Carlos and River begin emptying the cash drawers. 

'Fergal Murphy', Alex says, loud enough for him to hear.

Fergal hears his name, closes his eyes and leans his head against the inside wooden leg of the desk. For some reason he doesn't move straight away.

'Fergal Murphy', Alex says again, this time a lot louder. When the only movement Fergal makes is to tighten his grip on the bag of money Maddy has brought in to deposit, Alex takes out his gun, and holds it against the head of a fat man lying nearby, who has pressed his face so closely into the ground, it looks like he's trying to eat his way to safety.

'Last chance', Alex says. 'Come out, come out, wherever you are.'

'Please', the fat man says, his mouth full of spit and carpet hair. 'I don't want to die. I don't want to die.'