Day 155 - Upside Down- Chapter 3 - (2374 words)

©Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com, 2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Wayne Webb and constantwriting.blogspot.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

UPSIDE DOWN, BACK TO FRONT

By Wayne Webb

CHAPTER 3

Just After.

James eases his foot off the accelerator.

The spot is coming up, he thinks.

He cranes his neck, slowing to a pace that irriates the horn friendly commuter behind him, but even now he’s unsure.

He can’t stop, not here.

He could of course, but that would draw attention to himself, a thing he does not want.

It might be natural to want to know, but there’s nothing here. Shouldn’t there be some sign?

Blackened, pitted ground perhaps? Fresh seal or a marker of some kind?

He speeds up and the driver behind him stays on his bumper, giving no grace, no quarter for the perecieved slight of delay.

James looks into the mirror and waves him around, but the driver is resolute.

He pulls over and registers the raised middle finger as the honking impatience overtakes and speeds away, only to slow and stop too close to the next knot of cars heading to the bridge today.

His blood pressure felt non existent. Like ice water streams, wishing his heart would burst and feel some pain instead of the watered down malaise.

He taps the steering wheel and turns the radio on.

It’s nothing, not music, not ads or news. It’s nothing he can hear now.

The drive home is silent, he hears nothing over his own lack of thoughts.

The Plan

“It could work.”

“It will work. If we are careful that is.”

“What if he upgrades?”

“There’s no investigation, no need to change anything. David is gone, the risk is gone.”

“He can’t be that stupid can he?”

“It’s not stupid, it’s a calculated risk.”

“But that risk could lead to someone, dying, being hurt real badly.”

“And until that happens he makes more. Not much more, but more. More is the point with him.”

“I know, I know, but I just don’t understand. I couldn’t, could you?”

“No, and that’s why this will work. Who would ever think to check it out?”

“His ego wouldn’t let it happen. He’d cover it himself for sure.”

“Yes he probably would. That means that some people will lose their jobs, but not many unless he goes out of business. If that happens we follow the contracts and we take our people with us. Experienced and ready to hit the ground running, they’d be mugs to not take everyone wherever the contracts go to. There’s just Annie left and Nixon, she’ll have no problem and he’ll … well honestly do you give a fuck what happens to him?”

“I don’t care I guess. I don’t wish anything bad on him of course. Who would?”

“Who would indeed Sammy? No one is getting anything bad done TO them, just in Nixon’s case he loses the things he just doesn’t fucking deserve in the first place.”

“You’re starting to sound like him now.”

“Hey he doesn’t own the word you know. Probably just as well, can you imagine the royalty we’d have to pay on that?”

Just Before

James rolls down the door, Sam is waiting.

17 cash boxes are stacked there and already they know they no longer match.

“What happened?”

“EFTPOS went down.”

“Fuck, that’s bad.”

“Mo money mo problems?”

They banter while shuffling the cannisters, quickly leaving the last three and getting ready to shut the van back up.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to fuck me?”

The voice booms and is very, very red in rage.

“No one’s fucking anyone, there are 3 too many containers. We don’t have the spares.”

“So?”

“They won’t match.” James stands his ground but Ivan ignores him and pulls out a crowbar and swings it up. James’s hands go up defensively and Sam steps forward.

Ivan laughs.

“As if you pussies could do anything even if I was going to.” A clang and the bar broke into the last of the three full containers and burst the seams. “Get me a box or something!”

Sam grabbed one of the packing boxes and put it near him.

Inside was cash and a bundle of cheques. Ivan is fingering the cash and looking through the cheques.

“Some of these are for cash.”

“Yes, but ALL of them can be traced.” Sam holds out a hand and takes the cheques, throws them back into the shattered box. Ivan watches regretfully and rubs his hand to his chin.

“I suppose that’s…” and clang again on the next container.

All three emptied they place them behind the 17 replacements they had at the ready, each stuff with paper in rough note sized shapes.

The doors clanged shut again.

“Ok you know the plan?”

“Yes, wait for the traffic to stop me by the …”

“As long as it’s a decent way away from the exit you’ll be fine, there’ll be no getting through the snarl up I promise.”

“How long have I got to get out of the cab.”

“Plenty of time, plenty of time.” Ivan smiles, but it’s not reassuring.

“Ok, Sam are you ready then?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh come on you faggots, we’re on a timetable here.” Ivan slaps them both on the shoulders and then disappears.

“Make sure you get those doors tight now you hear me?”

James is certain that Ivan is laughing somehow, Sam is already back up on the Hopper bench.

The Door closes.

The Switch

“Get out of my fucking truck.”

“But, we …”

“No, fuck you both if you cost me this fucking gig!” Nixon is apocalyptically angry. He’s wildly looking about the flush in his cheeks flaring like a pulsing artery.

“Get out of my fucking truck both of you. No one steals from me!”

“Stealing?” Sam queries, and freezes. James raises a hand but both are cut off.

“You lazy little cunts, you fucking delay this truck, this costs me fucking money! You can’t trust anyone to do their fucking jobs without them having their hands in your fucking pockets.” Nixon has taken the keys and the dispatch tablet, the address is locking into the GPS and he’s climbing into the cab.

“Bolt that fucking door, and leave the fuck alone. This is my company and my money you are fucking with. When I get back you bitches better be on your fucking knees in my office.”

A roar of combustion and the truck squeals out of the dispatch.

James and Sam look confused at each other, unable to process the change.

Annie pokes her head around the frame of the dispatch office.

“Not your finest hour sorry. You know that Pete’s a mate of his right? The contract is not about the timing, 5 minutes or 50 minutes wouldn’t bother Pete at all. It’s Nixon, he can’t stand to be shown up in front of his friends. He’s always like that, and this is just big because he called.”

“Uh, he called what now?” James asks, while Sam still stares out the empty truck bay.

“He called and said that there’s been an extra load of cashin the truck today.”

“We were told when we picked up, the EFT was down and they had extra cash on hand.”

“Yep, an extra Million today.”

Sam turns at this and looks at James.

“A Million in cash?” James smiles.

“Annie, I feel richer already.”

She smiles sweetly and shakes her lowered head. “It’s not like we’ll even see any of it. After that outburst he’ll probably try and screw you out of your pay today. Tell you your lucky to have your job still so you’ll take it and not argue. He’s fired someone before and then been all merciful at the end, they even took a paycut.” She smiled, bemused at her observers position in it all. “Don’t let him take you for too much, ok?”

“No, I think we’ll be fine.”

“Partners in crime?” Her smile is cheeky and sincere.

“What?”

“You two, you never seem to be apart. You’re not… are you… gay? I mean it’s all right if you are and all. Just don’t let Nixon know.”

“No we are not gay Annie.” Sam says this with a smile on his face and looking directly at Annie.

Annie doesn’t see, she’s looking at James when she says “Not then. Good.”

James smiles back.

Today was a weird day.

Then his phone buzzes.

“Hi.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at dispatch.”

“What?!?” Then it clicks who James is talking to, he covers the phone and says to Annie, “Sorry – got to take this, talk later?” She nods and heads back in to the dispatch office. James nods away to a quiet corner at Sam and they walk over.

“The boss, he took the Truck from us and went…”

“What the fuck? One simple fucking job and you cannot even fucking do that!”

“It’s not that simple, he got all bent out of shape about the 5 minutes we lost. 5 minutes we lost because you fucked about with those extra cans!”

“It’d better be fucking on the fucking viaduct in short order of this whole deal is going to shit and you bastards are going to get…” then “…He’s here. Fuck off. Meet me later, take no chances. Don’t phone me. Who’s in the Hopper? Is Sam in the Hopper?”

“No one, he just took off with…”

“Oh, good that’s going to be easier.”

“Ok but I…” but the phone is already dead.

First Thing After

James shuts the door, checks it twice and then moves to the center of the room, beckoning Sam to follow him there. Even in this room, with no chance of being heard they still whisper.

“You know that this means…”

Sam shakes his head, those words once said are hard to take back.

“Don’t read too , much into it.”

“It’s no accident.”

Sam says nothing, scuffs his feet knowing it cannot be avoided yet still not volunteering to lead them there.

“That was meant to be me.” James has turned red. Fear or anger, both maybe.

“You don’t know that. It …”

“Want to bet that the back was also locked down?”

“No, he wouldn’t…”

“What do you mean wouldn’t? He fucking did!”

Sam knows, James knows.

“Jesus.”

“Yeah. Do you think we’re going to see any of the money now?”

“The money? But we’re partners… he can’t…”

“Sam, you know he already tried to kill us once, he wasn’t ever going to split the money with us. EVER.” James is angry now, he saw this, he knew it and ignored it. He can’t think straight, can’t see the end of the tunnel, the curve of the maze. He can see death or running.

“But there’s more money to go around, he’ll get a bigger cut. He can take more of mine, I …”

“He’s not going to want a piece of your cut Sam, he wants it all. We can’t negotiate with him, then he’ll know we know. He probably already knows that we know! If we show that we know we won’t last another day. He’s in the clear here. He’s not really connected to us, he’s the relative distanced by marriage from the people who are suddenly found dead. They can figure out there’s a robbery and they still won’t find him, not easily anyway.”

“No, no this is how the plan works, if they don’t know it’s a robbery. If we turn up dead they’ll look further. No he can’t kill us.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’ll just wait. Or maybe he’ll just take the money and make our lives a living hell. We can’t take our cut now, he has it – he has it all. We’re fucked.”

“But it’s our plan, our idea?” Sam is still hoping for the best, but struggling to keep it sane.

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no one to turn to, no one to help here. No police, no lawyers, no reasoning with him, Jesus you’ve seen him with your sister – imagine what he’s going to do with us?”

Sam ponders this.

“There is something we can do. We can secure the money.”

“If he’s kept it where we said we would.”

“If.”

“Then we he finds it gone? He’ll come after it, and us. And your sister.”

“Then at least we have a bargaining chip right?”

“For how long until he gets it and then?”

“I don’t know, but we have to do something.”

James kicks his toes on the floor, the ocean below him and the demons behind him, teetering on the edge. He kicks harder, harder again and drawing back he slams his boot into the solid concrete until the pain clears his mind and all he can do is draw ragged air, rapidly over his bared teeth, breathing his fear into submission.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Sam walks to the door, opens it and steps out. James blinks at the light and the silent exit for a second or two. Sam’s head drops around the door frame.

“You coming or not?”

James steps foraward, his weight losely balanced on the better foot, the unpunished one. Limping as if from cramp he gingerly follows his fate out the door.

Sam is waiting by the car, arms folded and staring at him.

“You good now? You want to go smash your head into some bricks? I can wait? Maybe punch some trees? There’s some good hardwood out the back. I can always drop you off at the A & E on the way if you’re feeling particularly catholic about this?”

“Shut up, get in the car.” The wounds are healing between them. It takes a lot to dent them. More than the prospect of death and poverty.