Jaggy Splinters (7 page)

Parlabane held his hands up and shrugged. Whatever.

Jyzer, who by superiority of one synapse was the brains of the outfit, had cottoned on to Parlabane’s thinking and gestured the other tellers to file out from behind the counter. Then he ordered Tommy to collect everybody’s wallets, proving that he was broad-minded and open to suggestions from any of the hostages.

‘Sheer fuckin’ genius,’ Parlabane muttered to the crusty, who wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Tommy backed away, eyes flitting back and forth between the growing pile of wallets and purses and the front doors, outside which a crowd had gathered.

‘Oh, I just knew something like this was going to happen,’ muttered one of the Morningsiders to her companion. ‘I just knew it.’

‘Me too Morag, me too.’

Parlabane had suffered enough.

‘Well it’s a pity neither of you fucking clairvoyants thought to tip anyone off, then, isn’t it?’ he observed.

‘Now, son, there’s no need for that.’

He looked away. This was the quintessence of British ‘respectability’. There were two brainless arseholes holding them prisoner with shotguns, but they could still get upset about the ‘language’ you used.

Jyzer’s initially quiet dialogue with the remaining teller was beginning to gain in volume. Parlabane hadn’t caught what Jyzer was asking for, but he wished to hell the stupid lassie would hurry up and give him it, especially as there were now two uniformed plods peering in the doors and hustling the onlookers back. He looked at his watch, figuring the Balaclava Brothers had a few more minutes before an armed response unit showed up to raise the stakes.

‘Look, I ken ye’re lyin’, awright? We’ve had information. We ken they’re in there. Insurance Bonds, fae Scottish Widows. They come through here the last Monday o’ every month. So fuckin’ get them or I’ll fuckin’ blow ye away.’

The girl had tears in her eyes and was struggling to keep her voice steady.

‘I swear to God, I’ve never heard of any… Insurance Bonds coming through here. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Insurance Bonds full stop.’

‘Look, don’t gie’s it. Last Monday o’ every month. Scottish Widows. It should say it on the parcel.’

‘But this isn’t a sorting office. The only parcels coming through here are the ones folk are sending. They go straight in the slots over there, or in the basket through-by. Please, I’m not lying. You can come through and look.’

‘I fuckin’ will an’ aw,’ he said, walking around to the counter’s access door. ‘An’ if ye’re lyin’ I’ll fuckin’ mark ye, hen. I’ll no be a minute, Tommy,’ he assured.

‘Insurance Bonds?’ one of the tellers asked of a colleague.

‘Naw, I’ve never heard of them either.’

‘Wouldnae come through here anyway, would they?’ queried another.

‘D’you think they’ve got the right place?’

‘Fuckin’ shut it yous,’ Tommy ordered again. ‘We’ve had information. We ken whit we’re daein’ so sit nice an’ it’ll aw be by wi’ soon, right?’

Parlabane sighed again. Insurance Bonds. Jesus Christ almighty. It just got better and better.

‘What’s an Insurance Bond, Tommy?’ he asked calmly.

‘I tell’t yous aw tae shut it. I ken whit Insurance Bonds are, right?’

Parlabane made a zipping gesture across his mouth. There was a suspicion growing inside his head. It had germinated early on in the proceedings, but the last few moments had poured on the Baby Bio and it was seriously starting to sprout.

They sat in silence, apart from the occasional yelp from the crusties’ skinny dog. Tommy’s eyes looked wide and jumpy through the holes in his ski-mask.

‘Fuck!’ came a furious, low growl from the back office.

‘Fuckin’ Jesus fuckin’ fuck!’

The girl stumbled nervously out to join the hostage party, followed by Jyzer, whose woolly mask could not conceal that he was little at peace with himself.

‘So, d’ye get them?’ Tommy asked.

Jyzer took a slow breath to calm his rage. It didn’t quite make it.

‘Naw I never fuckin’ got them ya stupit cunt. Fuckin’ Scottish Widows must’ve changed the delivery day or somehin’.’

‘Aye, awright, dinnae take it oot on me.’

‘Well stop askin’ fuckin’ stupit questions.’

‘But what are we gaunny dae?’

‘Shut up, I’m tryin’ tae think.’

Parlabane looked to the front of the shop. One of the uniforms was pointing into the shop and talking to someone out of sight down the mall. Three men in matching kevlar semmits filed into place in front of the sports shop opposite, taking up crouching positions and raising automatic rifles.

Parlabane swallowed. Not everyone was going to be home in time for tea, he feared.

‘Giros!’ Jyzer announced. He turned to the teller who had most recently joined the ranks of the illegally detained.

‘Giro money. Pensions nawrat. Hand it ower.’

‘I don’t think that should be your number one priority right now,’ Parlabane said, pointing at the front window.

‘Who asked… aw fuck.’ Jyzer took a step back, like that extra two feet would put him out of a bullet’s projectile range.

‘This is the police,’ announced a hailer-enhanced screech. Whatever it said next was lost as Jyzer finally showed a spark of dynamism.

‘Right,’ he stated. ‘Staun up, aw yous. An’ line up across the shoap, facin’ away fae the windae. That’s it.’

They got to their feet unsteadily, most of them turning their heads to cast an eye upon the assembly outside. Jyzer and Tommy stepped behind their human shield, out of the police marksmen’s sights.

‘Terrific,’ muttered one of the crusties. ‘Now we’re the filling in a gun sandwich.’

‘Noo, go an’ get us aw the cash in the shop,’ he commanded the teller, handing her the sports bag that already contained their wallet harvest.

‘We have all exits covered,’ resumed the loud hailer. ‘Please put down your weapons, release your hostages and come out with your hands on your heads.’

‘Come on,’ said Parlabane tiredly. ‘Do what the man asked. He said please, after all.’

‘You think we’re fuckin’ stupit, don’t ye?’ Jyzer observed, accurately. ‘Smart-arsed cunt,’ he added, hitting a second bullseye.

‘Well, maybe you’ll prove me wrong by explaining how you were ever planning to get out of here, with or without your, ahem, Insurance Bonds.’

‘Stop windin’ him up, mate,’ warned the crusty who had earlier proffered the highly constructive wallet suggestion.

‘I’m not winding him up. I’m just curious to know the secrets of how true professionals work.’

‘Want me tae slap the cunt, Jyzer?’ Tommy offered.

‘Just keep the heid and keep your hauns on the gun, Tommy. Dinnae let him distract ye. He’s up to somethin’, this cunt.’

A telephone started ringing on the other side of the counter as the teller returned with the sports bag, presumably now containing cash and very possibly a dye-charge, seeing as Jyzer had made Mistake Number Fuck-knows by leaving her alone to fill the thing.

‘Get that,’ Jyzer commanded. ‘No you,’ he added, as Tommy made to reach for the receiver.

‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘The police.’

He gestured to her to rejoin the human shield, taking hold of the bag as she passed, then picked up the phone. Tommy stayed in place, sweeping the gun back and forth along his line of vision like it was a searchlight. The crusties’ skinny dog ambled lazily over to him, yawned once and began half-heartedly shagging his leg.

‘Get tae fuck, ya wee shite,’ he hissed, kicking out at it to shake the thing off, his eye relaying between his prisoners and his foot. ‘Fuckin’ dirty wee bastard.’

‘TOMMY!’ Jyzer barked, placing a hand over the mouthpiece, ‘will ye fuckin’ keep it doon – I’m on the phone here.’

‘Aye, awright. Fuck’s sake,’ whined Tommy, hurt.

Jyzer shook his head and took his hand off the blue plastic.

‘Sorry, what were ye sayin’?’ he resumed. ‘Naw, naw. You listen. Fuckin’ just shut it an’ listen ya polis cunt.’

The Morningside contingent tutted in stereo either side of Parlabane.

‘Before we even have this conversation, I want to be lookin’ oot that front windae an’ seein’ nae polis, right. Nane. Get them away fae the front o’ the shop then phone us back.’ He slammed down the handset with an obvious satisfaction.

Parlabane suspected the sense of accomplishment would be short-lived, but was admittedly impressed at this first sign of Jyzer having any idea what he was doing. In fact, he had noted with some surprise that neither of the pair had shown much sign of panic at the arrival of the ARU, and started to wonder whether their grossly conspicuous entrance had been less of an obvious blunder than he had first assumed.

Jesus, these heid-the-baws couldn’t have a plan, could they?

He looked back over his shoulder, Jyzer and Tommy peering between the arrayed hostages. The marksmen got to their feet and moved out of sight left and right, as if exiting a stage. Parlabane figured it a safe bet they’d be returning for the fifth act.

The phone rang again.

‘Right. Very good. Well done. Noo here’s what we want. Naw, naw, shut it. We aw ken what you want: you want the hostages oot an’ us in the cells so’s ye can boot fuck oot us. Well, the bad news is you cannae have baith, right? So there’s gaunny have to be a wee compromise. You can have maist o’ the hostages in exchange for a helicopter. We want it on the roof o’ the St James Centre in hauf an ‘oor. We’ll be takin’ wan hostage wi’ us, an’ we’ll tell the pilot where we’re gaun wance we’re on board.’ He slammed the phone down again.

‘A helicopter?’ Parlabane asked. ‘What, has Fife no’ got an extradition treaty?’

‘Fuckin’ shut it.’

‘Another rapier-like come-back.’

‘Right,’ Jyzer declared, suddenly pointing his shotgun at the pregnant woman. ‘Step forward missus, ye’re comin’ wi’ us.’

‘No her, Jyzer,’ Tommy dissented. ‘She’s dead fat. She’ll be slow.’

‘She’s no fat, she’s fuckin’ pregnant, ya n’arse. The polis’ll no mess aboot if we’ve got a gun tae a pregnant burd’s heid.’

The pregnant woman began to whimper, tears running from terrified eyes. She put a hand out and grabbed Parlabane’s shoulder to steady herself.

‘Not a good idea, guys,’ he stated.

The phone began ringing again.

‘I thought I tell’t you tae shut it,’ Jyzer said, thrusting the gun into Parlabane’s face.

‘Look at her,’ he demanded, staring into Jyzer’s eyes. ‘She’s ready to burst. Do you want her goin’ into labour during your dramatic getaway?’

Jyzer looked at the woman, sweating, tearful, and imposingly up the stick.

‘Know somethin’?’ he declared. ‘You’re absolutely right. We’ll take you instead.’

Parlabane, who was firmly of the belief that no good deed ever goes unpunished, had been expecting this. He shrugged, put his parcel down and took a step forward, trying not to dwell on the potential indignity of surviving several professional attempts on his life only to be plugged by some shambolic half-wit down the post office.

Bugger it. Just as long as getting killed there didn’t mean you went to Post Office Hell.

Jyzer picked up the phone again while Tommy gestured Parlabane to walk ahead of him through to the area behind the counters. The skinny dog gave another yawn as they passed, then trotted over to Jyzer and began humping his shin, its pink tongue lolling out of the right-hand side of its mouth.

‘Naw, naw. We’ll let the last hostage go wance we’ve arrived at… AYIAH! Get tae fuck ya clatty wee cunt… naw, no you, officer. Dug was tryin’ tae shag me leg.’

Jyzer eyed the crusty who was holding the other end of the string. ‘Heh Swampy, that thing touches me again an’ I splatter its baws aw ower this flair, awright? Naw, no you officer. Aye that’s right, aw the hostages. Once we’re up an’ away, we cannae shoot them, right? So they’re aw yours – but no’ until we’re up an’ away. An’ we’re no comin’ up until the chopper’s there. If we come up the stairs an’ there’s fuck-all, it’s gaunny be a fuckin’ bloodbath, right? Cause ye’ll no have gie’d us any choices – we’ll have to shoot oor way oot. Noo, next time this phone rings it better be tae say wur transport’s arrived.’

He put the phone down again.

‘Are we gettin’ a helicopter, Jyzer?’ Tommy asked.

‘Don’t be a fuckin’ eejit, Tommy. They’re just stringin’ us alang, same as we’re stringin’ them alang. C’mon.’

They backed into the passage leading to behind the counters, Tommy keeping a gun on Parlabane, Jyzer still training his on the hostages.

‘Nane o’ yous move,’ he called out, stopping at the door that led into the storeroom at the rear of the counters. ‘We’ll be watchin’. Stay where yous are. You might no’ see us, but we’ll still see you. Dinnae try anythin’. Just cause ye cannae see us doesnae mean we’re no there.’

‘I’m sure they bought that,’ Parlabane said, nodding, as they retreated into the store-room. ‘I don’t think it would have crossed their minds at all that you might not be watching them. I mean, if you’d overstated your case it might have raised suspicions, but…’

‘Fuckin’ shut it,’ grunted Jyzer, nicking back and popping his head round the door to check his prisoners weren’t making a swift but orderly exit.

‘More Wildean badinage. Do you mind if I write some of these come-backs down?’

‘You’ll no’ sound so smart talkin’ through a burst nose, smart cunt, so I’d fuckin’ wrap it if I was you.’

‘And if you burst my nose you’ll be leaving a nice fresh trail of blood along your escape route; that’s if you fuckin’ clowns have got an escape route.’

‘We’ve got mair ay a plan than you think, smart cunt.’

‘Course you have. You’re fuckin’ professionals. Tell me again about these Insurance Bonds… ’

Jyzer back-handed Parlabane across the jaw, which was very much what he’d been hoping for. Unfortunately the blow came on the wrong side, so he had to execute a largely unconvincing 180-degree stumble before getting to his intended effect, which was to fall down heavily against the door so that it slammed loudly with his back propped hard against it.

Despite Parlabane’s abysmally obvious pirouette, it still took Jyzer a few moments to suss the potential problem, by which time the sound of breaking glass was filling the air as the police broke into the front shop and began ushering the hostages out.