FicWad

“The bank closes and everyone is out by six, yes?” Frank turned to Gerard for his confirmation.
“Yes, but then the cleaning staff…”
“I know,” Frank cut in abruptly. “They’re out by nine.”
Gerard nodded; Frank knew the routines better than he did. It was no real surprise; he knew that Frank had been watching both him and the bank, and almost certainly the manager too.
“How long have you been planning this?” The question was out before he realised he had even spoken.
Frank turned his gaze toward Gerard, somewhat taken aback by the suddenness of the question.
“Long enough,” he replied without giving it much thought. “Now pay attention, we’re going through this once and you’re gonna get it right.”
“I told you...”
“Don’t tell me, just do it!” Frank snapped in reply.
“So,” Gerard asked quietly with a light shrug, “you want me to stay late and let you in?”
“No!” Frank frowned. “Do you want everyone to know something’s wrong? Do you want us to kill your brother?”
“Look, just stop it!” Gerard snapped. “Stop saying that! I know you’ll do it if I don’t help, I believe you, damn it! I’m helping aren’t I? I’m helping!”
Frank found it hard to control the smirk that so wanted to play across his lips, but this session wasn’t about keeping him in check – it didn’t need to be, Gerard was well and truly under their control.
“You leave, at six, just like you always do and you come back here. Nothing, I repeat, nothing must look out of place. Got it?”
Gerard nodded unhappily.
“Each morning you receive details of the daily codes and duty rosters.”
Gerard nodded again.
“Yeah, at eight-thirty by encrypted e-mail.”
“Good, I’m going to call at nine and you’re going to give me that information.”
“I’ll print it off for you.”
“”Don’t be a fool!” Frank scowled, shaking his head. “They’ll have that e-mail tagged, if you print it or try to forward it, they’ll know. Write it down on a pad of paper, then give me the entire pad. I don’t want you leaving any impressions of what you’ve been writing for the police to find.”
“Then what?” asked Gerard hopeful that his instructions would end there.
“We’ll pick you up from here at nine.”
“What do you need me for?” Gerard cried astonished. “You said you had everything else, you just wanted the codes and rosters.”
“What? Leave you loose to call the police while we’re inside the vault?” Frank laughed at the idea.
“How can I do that while you have Mikey?”
“You’re coming with us.” Frank instructed with a harsh stare. “Besides, we may need you, should you accidentally write down the wrong instructions, you’ll be there to put things right, won’t you?”
Gerard nodded. There was little else he could do except agree with them.
“What will you do?”
Frank cocked his head to one side, unsure what Gerard was referring to.
“I mean, the security guys,” Gerard frowned; he really didn’t want to ask the question. “I mean, you’re not going to kill them are you?”
Frank directed an unreadable yet cold gaze toward Gerard.
“You do your job and let us do ours.”
Gerard’s lips parted in panic and he shook his head slowly, eyes wide with disbelief.
“You can’t! Please, can’t you just…?”
Without a word, Frank drew the gun from his pocket once more and slowly but deliberately he levelled it – nestling the end of the barrel in the curve of bone where Gerard’s left eye met the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll say this just one more time – stick to what you’re told and we’ll do the rest, our way.”

Unwilling to stare down the barrel, Gerard closed his eyes, his breathing becoming stilted and short as his nerves got the better of him.
Frank smiled, but he refused to let himself become complacent. Yes, this whole thing seemed to be going too well to be true. But perhaps all that meant was that he had planned with his usual flair. He had never involved an outsider before and, even though he refused to show it, Frank was nervous. He could plan all he liked, control all he could, but it was still very possible for things to fall apart and if they did, the results could be catastrophic. He had to be sure, absolutely sure he had thought of everything. He smiled cruelly as the perfect solution came to him.

“One more thing,” he began slyly as he returned the gun to his pocket, grinning arrogantly as Gerard looked up. “I’ve arranged for a bomb to be built and placed in the room with your brother. It has a remote trigger. If you screw up or do anything to endanger us, or our plans, I’ll press the button. Do you understand, Way?”
Gerard dropped his head into his hand, stunned by the news.
“I said do you understand?” Frank repeated menacingly.
“Yes!” Gerard’s yelled in reply, his fist clenched in anger and frustration.

He had reached the end of his rope and simply couldn’t believe the levels of cruelty they would stoop to in order to get what they wanted. By the time he eventually looked up, Ray was smirking at him, clearly thinking it a fitting punishment for the bite he had suffered earlier.

“We’re done here,” Frank announced pushing back the chair and rising to his feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow at nine. Don’t screw this up, Way. It’s in your interests to make sure it goes well.”

*

Bob examined the small device that lay in front of him on the table. His army contact had proved very useful and reliable over the years and had managed to supply him with a great deal of weaponry and explosives, but this – this was special. Now working in the field of emergent technology, his contact was able to lay his hands on so much more; it was like a dream come true. The only drawback was the limited timeframes that the equipment could be missing for. All weapons and equipment were subject to strict inventory, naturally, but Bob paid this man well and he had figured out a way to cover up any losses. But when there was only one of a particular device or weapon, there wasn’t much that could be done to disguise the theft. No, this had to be done on a loan basis only and within very strict time limits. Bob knew that if found to be missing, the blame would be laid squarely on his contact’s shoulders and no amount of money paid in the past would prevent him from implicating Bob to cut a deal for a lighter sentence. Both men knew that they needed to be at each other’s backs. A fragile loyalty existed between them, but provided each did their jobs well, nothing would go wrong.

Bob smiled to himself as he briefly reminisced about his own years in the army. The training had been hard, but he had been more than ready for the challenge. Physically very fit, even before he joined, Bob, or Private Robert Bryar as he was then known, had thrown himself into his chosen profession with vigour and a strong determination to succeed. Private Bryar excelled in his training, eventually specialising in explosives, bomb disposal and weaponry, swiftly rising to the rank of Staff Sergeant in charge of a squad of twelve men. It was at this point that Bob began to realise that there were more rewards to be reaped from his position than a decent salary and long term promotion prospects. Bob was still young and impatient. Added to that, he was clever and could see ways of obtaining some of the things he wanted without the need to wait for honest opportunities.
As in all things, the transgressions started small: rations, petty cash. But it wasn’t long before Bob was setting his sights on bigger game. Forming a partnership with another officer, the pair began appropriating weaponry for sale on the black market, covering their tracks with inventive accounting techniques.
When the crunch came and their dealings were finally discovered, Bob kept his partner’s role in the thefts secret, taking the entire blame on himself. Far from being a noble gesture, Bob was merely ensuring a willing contact within the army on his release from prison. With a dishonourable discharge from the army and a four year sentence, Bob would have a long wait, but he was young, he was patient, he would bide his time.

The wait was worth it. His contact had remained true to his word and had supplied him with numerous items of weaponry and technology over recent years, even introducing him to other reliable sources of all manner of gadgetry that proved helpful to Ray’s area of expertise. But this was the big one, this was the one that would make them wealthier than even they had dreamed and the device before him, no bigger than a cell phone, would play the single most important role of the night. Pocketing it, Bob headed to the door and let himself out; Frank would be back soon, there was no need to babysit – locked in the basement and cuffed hand and foot, their unwilling guest was going nowhere.

*

“Do you want something to eat?” Frank asked, gently shaking Mikey’s shoulder.

The sudden touch and the voice he didn’t recognise pulled, almost dragged, Mikey from his exhaustion-fuelled sleep. Gasping in surprise, his eyes flew open to see Frank standing over him. Trying to pull away, having not heard the words so having no sense of the reason for Frank’s looming presence, Mikey panicked as he realised his hands and feet were still cuffed. All he knew was that Frank was touching him, again. He was confused and frightened; beaten earlier for no apparent reason, Mikey had no idea what the man had in store for him, but this time he wouldn’t just lie there and take it.

“Get away from me!” he screamed.
“Hey!” Frank stood back holding his hands up defensively. “I only asked you if you wanted something to eat!”

Mikey stared up, trying to gather his thoughts and pulling in breaths in short frequent gasps; he found himself unable to reply.

“You’re hyperventilating,” Frank knew he was stating the obvious, but was hoping Mikey would give him some clue about what to do about it.
“I… I know.”
Frank rolled his eyes.
“And?” He stared down, irritated at first but growing more and more concerned as time went on. “What do I do about it?”
“In… inhaler.”
“Where?”

Frank was starting to feel foolish. Clearly Mikey knew exactly what to do and his eyes turned towards him with a pained and pleading expression while he gasped for breath made Frank’s mind up for him. Pulling a small key from his pocket and kneeling at Mikey’s side, unlocked the handcuffs around his wrists. Immediately, Mikey’s hand plunged into his pocket for his inhaler and he took two deep puffs from the blue pump. Slowly the gasping breaths subsided and his shoulders drooped as the tension fell away. Pushing the inhaler back into his pocket, Mikey propped himself up with his right hand and turned to stare at Frank.

“Are you okay?” Frank finally asked as he saw to his great relief that Mikey’s panic attack had abated.
Mikey took a final deep breath and nodded.
“Why did he lay into me before?” Mikey asked with surprising candour. “The blond guy.”
Frank frowned.
“I’m sorry about that,” he shrugged. “I needed to convince your brother to fall into line.”
“You’re saying that you having me here doesn’t make him do that already?”
Frank glanced briefly away.
“No,” he admitted. “Look…” Frank shook his head. “No… I don’t even know why I’m answering your questions!”
“You’re going to kill us aren’t you?” Mikey asked quietly.
“No… I…” Frank stammered before finding his voice once more. “Just put your hands behind your back!”

Not even waiting for Mikey to do as he asked, Frank snatched at his arms and closed the handcuffs around Mikey’s wrists once more. Frank pushed himself off the mattress and rose to his feet all the time seemingly unable to take his eyes off the man lying helpless on the mattress.

“Why do I get the feeling that, deep down, you’re not actually a bad man?”
Frank’s brow furrowed. Mikey was like no one he’d ever met before. He was direct, but there was an unexpected innocence to his tone and manner that seemed totally out of place with his questions.
“Get some sleep,” Frank ordered as he turned to head back upstairs, unable to shake off the feeling of disquiet Mikey had left him with.