Money For Nothing

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Money For Nothing

The stone slab hit his back like a block of ice. The cold damp of his surroundings chilled his bones and froze his skin. He felt cramped, though he could not see his surroundings, almost as if the walls were slowly moving towards him, crushing him in a vice like manoeuvre. Squeezing him like a fresh orange, his juice leaking all over the floor. The smell of his fear permeated the air, a wretched stench that gagged his nostrils and left an ill-flavoured taste on his tongue. Behind his gag he gagged, retching, as if to vomit. Though above and beyond all this he could feel something more in the room, a living, breathing entity that was just close enough to his skin to prickle the tiny hairs and cause goose pimples. The living mass of frustration drummed on his senses and began to think back to where he had been, and how he had come to fall so low. Humiliation and anger welled up within him, mingled with the very same fear and uncertainty of where he was and what was going to happen to him. The slam of the door echoed in the tiny room, and somewhere a groan was heard. Another followed and he knew he was not alone. But beyond the door an almost unperceivable tapping played into the room. He struggled and thrashed about in his bonds then let out a futile and muffled scream!

*          *          *

The three friends sat down around the improvised chipboard table. They had their gambling hats on and a case of ice-cold beers in front of each of them. The first of them, Charles, or as he was affectionately know, ‘Chazza’, was a small man of medium build, blue yes and brown hair. He was not sufficiently beautiful to be called handsome though no one would have called him ugly. This was mainly due to his ferocious temper, which tended to disarm his opponents through the shock of its sudden appearance. The second was a tall Yorkshire man, by the name of Greame, which most people pronounced as ‘Grim’, in a mocking northern accent. With sad green eyes and a mullet of gingery blonde hair tickling the back of his neck, he was the most melancholy man in the room, and had a tendency to revert back to thinking on the good old days when men were men, and, so he said, ‘women were too!’. Though this endearing quality allowed for others to speak to him as a close compatriot and await equally just and fair replies. The third, Jimmy, or ‘J’, was a slight outcast in the group of friends due to his unreliability. He too was small though he was more of a coward than the other two. He had short, cropped blonde hair and a short, cropped attitude, with none of the conviction to follow it up.

Finally the man they had been waiting for arrived, carrying a sheet of paper and a pocket calculator in one of his hands. It was his house but they had been ushered very briskly into the cellar without even a word as to why he had summoned them all here at this time of night. He was a tall man, taller than most and certainly taller then Grim, at six foot seven inches. His rugged complexion and heavy set jaw was covered by a thin layer of coarse hair, no more than a five O’clock shadow, though it gave him a sinister and menacing look when combined with his height, stature and build, which was, as it happened, quite thick. He was by no means a genius, though he had a knack for finding the most logical way of solving problems, and had come to be known by the name ‘Common’.

“What the blummin’ hell did you want us all here at this time in the morning?” began J. “My misses is going to bloody well have a…”

Common slammed the calculator down hard on the table, looking deep into J’s eyes. He stood like this until J began to back down and move back further into his chair, only then sparing a glace at the calculator to ensure that it had not suffered any damage in his motion.

“You will all soon enough understand why you have been asked here this morning, and understand why we needed to meet at this time,” Common paused for effect. “Times have moved on from our past lives. We have grown fat and lazy. We have gotten used to spending cash and to enjoying our lives, pleasuring ourselves with every delight and entertainment possible. No more. The time has now come for one last expedition into our former occupation, one last adventure, one last haul. But this one will be the greatest one ever.

“I have within my hands our salvation, and key to the paradise that awaits us beyond the peaceful shores of this country. I have in my grasp the means to attaining a sum of money that none of us had ever believed possible. But before I can or will divulge this information to you, I must know if you are interested.”

The three friends sat motionless, hardly believing what they were hearing.

“Have you been drinking again?” asked Chazza.

J sniggered but Common ignored the question choosing to stare instead at Grim. “I know that you are all in financial trouble. This is something that none of you can hide. Grim, you have just had a divorce from your wife, is that not right? As far as I am aware, she has stripped you of everything: house, car, pension and pride. Please tell me I am wrong.” Grim said nothing, thought the other two stared at him, half out of pity and half out of mockery. “You, J,” he continued, eyeing the small blond, “have had for some time a gambling problem, dipping in and out of the loan sharks bad books. You are currently in debt for over 100K, and this is increasing every day. The boys will not wait for long.” J suddenly became very silent indeed. “And you, Chazza, well you just like your women far too much, much more than Grim does his. I hear the pimps around the block know you as Charles I, true provider for their kingdom, and you’ll probably be heading for a similar end too.”

He stopped for a breath and looked at each one of the men in turn, all of them lowering their eyes as he stared. Once he had done this he asked:

“So do you think you are interested, or shall I call in some of my other friends?”

The silence lasted for about a minute before it was broken by Grim:

“I am interested Common, if what you’re offering is worth what you say it is.”

Common, fuelled by this response turned to Chazza and J in turn, who automatically nodded their assent.

“Great! Then let’s begin with the outline: Medi-Bank, the current market leader in mortgages and shares has recently had a total restructuring of personnel. This has caused a huge decrease in the cost of its shares and the Chairman of the shareholders has forced the bank to increase its solid capital by increasing its reserves. At the moment the bank has its central office located in the centre of London. However, the reserves must, due to a certain technicality, be commissioned at a branch just outside Wakefield in West Yorkshire.

“At present this Bank only holds, at most, two hundred thousand pounds in hard currency. This is strictly monitored at all times before being commissioned and passed on to the head office for redistribution. At any one time the only person to have access to this is the bank manager. Now, owing to the demand made by the Chairman, over 10 million has been delivered into the bank to be commissioned and released within the next week. Now is the time when we will strike!”

Chazza frowned and let his eyebrows move together in consternation. J bit his lip in disbelief. While Grim merely sat motionless, subtly watching the other two’s reactions, and avoiding Common’s stare. But it was Chazza who made the first comment.

“What about security?”

“Security is nothing! I have been watching this bank for sometime and I can say that I have been appalled by the lack of manpower their security team has. Although, recently I discovered an article…” With this he unrolled the sheet of paper, which, it seemed was no more than a scrap of newspaper stapled to a white A4 sheet. On this it read:

‘Security officers required on a part-time temporary basis. Must have at least 2 years experience in security or personal protection, with at least one of these in a financial area. Individuals must be reliable, strong-willed and trustworthy, as this is a demanding and important role within a huge multi-national corporation. Possibility of full-time permanent offer on completion of trial period. To apply please send a cover letter and CV to Wesley Jarvis on [e-mail].’

“The internet is just so damn handy these days!” chuckled Chazza.

“I have already arranged for interviews for all of us under pseudonyms… for tomorrow.” This sent a slight ripple around the table. “So bright and early, you guys are going to have to suit up and brush up on your persuasive techniques. We only need one of you to be chosen, after that, well the rest is pure and simple. This is how we will do it…”

*          *          *

… Two days later, Wesley was just preparing himself for bed. He had showered, undressed and put on his Burberry pyjamas. Having brushed his teeth and rubbed in his lotion he quickly gave the toilet one final flush, switched off the light and made his way through the doorway into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and stretched his arms before calmly lying back on his pillows and covering himself with the duvet. The last week had just been one stress after another: finding the staff, collecting the money, commissioning the bills. Problem after problem after problem. But now he wanted just to lie back and catch up on some desperately needed sleep. Momentarily, he picked up his book, but yawning again decided against this and placed it back on the bedside table. He rolled causally onto his left side and searched for the light switch. Having turned the light off he collapsed into sleep. His eyes fluttered and he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

All of a sudden, Wesley felt his mouth clamped shut and his body hoisted roughly out of the bed. His hands were trussed up and he was slung violently into a cart of some sort. Finally, he was flung into a large spacious van, cracking his head hard on the steel plating. His eyes bulged in vain fury as he gazed upon his captors, vague outlines of human appearance, masked by woollen balaclavas and shiny ski masks. The wool around the mouth of one of the kidnappers wriggled, and Wesley cocked his head to one side in confusion. His head rocketed backward and shafts of light shot through his mind. Sound finally filtered through and he could hear, though the blinding light prevented him from seeing, a man screaming at him, hurling all manner of uncalled-for abuse, in between intermittent demands for money… No it wasn’t just money, it was ‘The money’. Wesley’s heart sank and a vague understanding of what was happening began to seep in through the edges of his mind. Another solid blow brought tears streaming from his eyes and he began to talk. The rough material of the cloth, rammed in his mouth, rubbed viciously against the corners, the central piece soaking up his saliva and spreading it over his jaw as he worked to escape his fate.

… ‘Bloody worthless, stinking, cowardly… Aargh!’ Chazza, rained down the blows on the poor defenceless banker, who wriggled pathetically, attempting to avoid the harsh downpour. ‘What bloody good are you? What the hell should we do with some one like you? Will you tell us how to get the money?’

Grim interceded on behalf of the poor man, placing his body between the two, whilst Common sat on the side watching the whole event unfold, like some Greek ironical drama.

"Get out of the way Grim! Get out of the way or I’ll knock you on you arse as well! I’ll kill him! I’ll bloody well kill him!” ranted Chazza.

Grim, didn’t move a muscle, but just stared at his friend and kept his face as solemn as possible. He did this so as not to antagonise his already over-raged colleague, but succeeded in causing him to leap to all new levels of fury. He began to bellow like a bull and to stalk in front of Grim as if about to charge. The van began to rock from side to side, and the driver in the front called back.

“What the hell do you think you are doing back there? Quit this or I’ll lamp you, you bloody buffoon!”

Grim snapped like a tightly bound cord, “Keep your mouth shut, boy, and keep driving. If you’re lucky your skin won’t be used for a handbag when we get through this. Now keep diving and keep it steady.” He turned and faced Chazza, who had stopped pacing and was instead flicking his stare wildly between Grim and Wesley. “And you, lad, you just keep your temper in control. You’ll find I’m not such an easy target, as you would hope, eh! Quit your flaring and sit back. This is not gonna get us anywhere… What the hell are you staring at?”

Chazza had now completely stopped staring at Grim and had is eyes fixed intently on the poor soul, sat shivering behind him. In his eyes was no longer the same wild hatred that had been there only moments before, but a kind of growing fear. His hands now hung limply at his sides.

Grim turned and looked at the man who, though he was cornered, outnumbered and totally out his depth, had an almost triumphant glaze in his bulging and bloodshot eyes. His lips were moving in an incoherent stutter, the letter D escaping from them in a constant rhythm. Grim turned and looked back at Chazza, who had sat back down, then turned to the prisoner.

“D-D-D-D… David?” He stuttered.

“Oh Christ!” shouted Chazza. “He’s got you pegged!”

“David? Why? Grim?”

“You idiot!” groaned Grim. He moved to strike Wesley, when he found his hand was held by and iron grip. He look back to see that Common was now on his feet and, bending under the roof, had his arm extended and held Grim by the wrist. His eyes played a completely different tune to the one the rest had heard up until now. Grim also moved to sit down, whilst Common squatted down and just looked at their prey.

“What is so bad about this situation is that this man has recognised you, and that someone has let your other name slip. That is an unfortunate turn of events, but we can overcome it. Now, my friend here has supplied us with all the information we need, except one or two pieces, which he has simply just not been prompted for. But he will be.” He began to stroke the shivering wretch, running his hand through his hair. “We know that he has one of the keys that is needed to open the safe, we know where it is and how to get to it. This is valuable information. We also now know that he is not the only person needed to open the safe, but that the Regional Manager has another key, which activates the key he holds. This is all, very, very helpful.

“Now, our friend Wesley, in all his wisdom, because, let’s face it, you never become a bank manager without a lot of brains and a little wisdom, knows that we are kidnappers and bank robbers. Though, what he does not know is if we are murderers.” He moved closer to Wesley and breathed in his ear, “We are not, but if you do not answer the next few questions honestly and to the best of your ability, I will be! Now tell me, where do we go next?”

After a few minutes Common stood up and faced his two friends. “Lads, we are being sent to Coventry!”

*          *          *

… It was hitting one thirty AM, when the van pulled up outside a detached house in the suburbs of Coventry. Grim, Chazza and Common left the van and walked up to the house, within ten minutes they were running back with two dark shapes slung in the wheelbarrow. Tipping them in the van they chucked the wheelbarrow in, shut the doors as silently as possible and told J to drive off.

“Two!” He shouted back. “What the bloody hell did we need two for?”

“This one put up a bloody fight as it was, and then the partner woke up and had at us!” replied Chazza.

“Why the hell didn’t you just knock her out and leave her in the house?”

“Her! That’s the bloomin’ problem. We bloody well need her! She’s the Regional Manger! He came after us with a crowbar and we had no choice but to hog tie the fat bastard and take him with us!” retorted Grim.

“Fair enough! Get her to tell us how to get the money, then.”

The interrogating began. Grim and Chazza set about the two of them with all manner of questions, forcing her to answer those she refused to by torturing her husband in front of her. A tweak here and a pull there and within no time they had her, and, for the better part of their trip, him, squealing like little children. But it was not the kind of information that they had wanted to hear. In fact, it was precisely the information of the kind that set Chazza on another of his passionate rants.

“What kind of a cruel joke is this?! What the hell are we doing! This is a farce, a bloody farce! We need another key! Fine, fine! That’s great let’s go get it guys!” he moved about mockingly, interpreting Common’s actions, as he had been earlier. “Now what? No, not another key. Oh, no! A stupid flaming code! What are you playing at? Did you even check any of this out? And you,” he turned to Grim. “What on earth were you looking at the whole time you were there? Did you just confuse yourself with playback on porn vids, you and Maggie used to make?”

“Laddy,” was the warning growl from Grim.

“Keep you tongue still, my friend,” whispered Common. “Everything is not without hitches. We have the information we need and so lets act on it. If you want to opt out now, that’s just too bad. You are as involved in this as you will ever be. Your actions this evening will place you in ever-serious implications. You must now see this through to completion, or destruction. Which is your choice?”

“What do you mean? You little…”

Common stood up abruptly and pushed Chazza down onto the seat, “Do not confuse me with one of your little pub mates, who you can bully with aggression. Now answer me and then keep your bloody mouth shut up until we get where we are going. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Now what is your reply?”

“To completion!”

“Right!” He calmed down and let his chest muscles relax visibly. “J! We’ve got a President to catch! We’re off to Peterborough!”

*          *          *

…The van pulled up at close to three am. The three men jumped out of it ran up the path and shot through the door. Cleared the stairs in no time and found that he was not in the bedroom. Ran down the stairs and saw that he was not in the living room, nor the dining room, nor the kitchen. They stood in the middle of the house in stark confusion.

“Where the hell is he?” Grim muttered.

Suddenly, they noticed a flash of light from one of the back windows.

“Police!” hissed Chazza.

All three squatted down on the ground and tried to avoid the light that was flashing about in the garden.

“That’s not the police!” whispered Common. “Get a better look Chazza.”

Chazza moved closer to the window and saw a little boy playing in the back garden with a small puppy. Suddenly he stopped and switched off the torch, his shoulders slumping in a forlorn fashion. He retreated to a large family tent and zipped the entrance back up after the puppy had be scooped up and brought in before him. Chazza moved back to his colleagues and told them what had happened. Grim cursed and Common scoffed.

“Up and at ‘em boys!” he said.

A few minutes later they were loading the van up with another three people and one yapping puppy. J just simply shook his head in disbelief and muttered to himself, “Puppy!” then started the engine and started driving. Within the space of ten minutes, more muttering and groaning was heard and then Common’s voice rose up above the spiralling chaos:
“J, take us to Wakefield!”

*          *          *

… The trussed up fat, balding man stared like a bull on the charge at his captors. Not a scrap of the obsequious nature of the kidnapped showed on his noble face. He glared just as coldly at this ragaband bunch of unprofessional cowboys attempting to bring him to his knees as he would have looked at one of the homeless people who had throughout the years tried to con and force their way into his banking world. He knew that he was the Chairman of the Medi-Bank International and there were very few people in the country that could rival his power. He was a personal friend of Her Royal Majesty and was on very intimate terms with many of the world’s most influential people. Behind him he had an army of bankers, managers and all the contacts that came therewith. These silly little men did not scare him in the slightest. Not even the rugged jaw of the big man could frighten him into submission. He told them as much.

Chazza screamed in fury. Grim groaned in agony. Both of them moved to take their approach on the small elderly gentleman that was the last of their evening’s targets. They knew that they would have to beat this man into submission, force him to do was necessary. The actually needed this man. They could not just leave him in the van while they did what was needed. He had to come into the bank for some reason and that was what he was refusing to do. Fool.

They beat him, they tortured him, they cursed him and hurt him, they threatened his family and friends, and they even tortured the other people in the van in front of him. But still he refused to comply. Not once did he bat an eyelid, while they beat the Regional manager, hitting her across the face, or set about threatening the small boy. Even attacks on the puppy, led by the sheer frustration of their situation, did not affect him in the slightest. The other people screamed in their bindings, muffled by the rags. They begged for it all to stop, and the chairman looked disdainfully in their direction. His eyes spat on their pathetic nature, and each of them was dismissed as simple collateral.

Almost the entire journey to Wakefield did this take place, until, on the final junction of the M1, Common stood and moved over to the Chairman. His fearless resilience was something that Common respected, but he realised that now was not the time for such bravery. The time was nearing six in the morning and they had to act before it was too late. Not once taking his eyes from those of the Chairman he moved to where a small saw hung on the side of the van. He moved slowly but determinedly, took the saw by the handle and pulled it off its hook. Chazza and Grim stopped their beatings, as he moved past them with the saw in hand. They looked worriedly at each other then sat down.

“Now we only want to move through the corridor into the safe and you are the last person we need.” He moved closer and the Chairman’s eyes wavered slightly, before becoming firm again. “You are a very stubborn bastard, I have to give you that, but we have no time for your games.” The Chairman looked at the President, who had brought his knees up to his chest to protect himself and he began to wither under the power of the Chairman’s stare. “What your subordinate says is that we actually only really need a certain part of you.  We know how to get the money, after that. Hold up your hand.” The Chairman refused. “Lads, hold his hand.” Grim and Chazza moved to hold the forearm and the hand of the Chairman, exposing the flesh of the wrist. “I am very sorry, but our time is very limited.” He smashed the handle into the side of the Chairman’s skull, who passed out immediately, and set to work.

… At nine o’clock they parted company with J. He was ordered to take the van with its contents to the Liverpool docks and put it in a container to China. He went there and even nailed the container shut himself, paid the dockworkers and left to join the rest at the airport. They flew out to Brazil, where they separated the cash between them and agreed never to meet again. The job was done, they were millionaires, and could live out the rest of their lives in peace, with no money worries ever again. Chazza, moved into the centre of Rio de Janeiro, spending his cash as he wanted, on women and drugs. J Moved from Town to town, setting up himself as a Loan shark and hiring in bruisers for himself. Grim moved into a more relaxed house and invested in a small bar. Common moved onto a little stretch of land on the Atlantic Ocean where he watched the sun rise and set each day.

*          *          *

He sat on his deck chair and watched as the final embers of the dying sun slipped beneath the darkening waters, the foamy crests of the waves reflected the vibrant evening sky. He finished the last dregs of his drink and sighed a sigh of pure melancholy. He was satisfied at the remembrance of his past life but was so taken by the present that he was in a state of utter happiness. Leaving his glass on the table he stood up and paddled a little in the water, the tiny ripples around his feet sent shivers up and down his spine. Moving back towards his shack he treaded lightly on the sand, as if his footsteps could somehow ruin the beauty and shatter his now perfect living. He looked at the wooden shack and he smiled to himself. The lapping of the waves against the shore echoed faintly and in front of him there was the clatter of a shutter or perhaps a door.

Suddenly, his hands were caught behind him and he was forced to the ground while his legs and arms were tied. Two men hurled him into the back of a van and he landed on three other bodies, which wriggled beneath him. A man with a black balaclava, brandishing pruning shears, spoke in a Liverpudlian accent:

“So will you tell us how to get the money?”

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