When The Heat Dies Down

As the rogue ping pong ball sailed distractingly through his line of vision yet again, he swore under his breath and slammed his book shut. He was sure he could have recited the first paragraph of chapter nine- and it was quite a lengthy one- from memory after having to re-read ten times. Jerry, or ‘Jez’ as he preferred to be called, had gotten no better at ping pong despite having spent the last three afternoons smashing that poor white ball the length of the recreation room.

This wasn’t what he’d expected prison to be like either. Then again, he hadn’t expected to be caught. Hadn’t expected their plan, seemingly perfect in every way, to be flawed in one major area. And certainly hadn’t expected to be grassed up. By whom, he had never found out, but he had his theories. O’Flaherty, precise and calculating, was suspect number one. O’Flaherty the mastermind; assembling the team, proposing routes and dates and times, researching the bank down to the tiniest detail and planning absolutely everything down to the second. It had been more than impressive, an offer that could not be refused- the chance to make a cool quarter-mil in less than three minutes.

So how, in all his infinitely detailed plans, had he overlooked one key thing?

“So,” chirped the driver- Jones, his mind helpfully supplied- “Did you put it on a loop or something? Freeze the signal, stick a bit of gaffer tape over the lens?”
“What are you babbling about?” retorted Watt from beside him. Watt didn’t care much for Jones.
“The camera in the car park. Bet that was your department, right, Tech-Man?” He wished Jones wouldn’t call him that, it sounded so…mundane.
“Camera?” O’Flaherty’s tone was dark and urgent. Jones’ brow furrowed a little.
“The camera in the car park, up on the ledge. Little green light on it.” He didn’t like the uncertainty creeping into Jones’ words- and even worse was the razor-sharp ‘Fuck’ that was O’Flaherty’s response.

As Watt’s eyes widened and a sound of an Irish fist hitting the dashboard echoed from the front seat, Jones stepped on the gas a little, pushing a couple over the speed limit.
Barrett groaned and slumped down in his seat. Perfect.

A set-up. Maybe O’Flaherty had made a deal with someone, maybe even with the police. ‘Overlooked’ the CCTV camera and landed the other three in the clink, while he got off with a few months, community service- even worse, maybe even just a slapped wrist. Barrett certainly hadn’t seen him around on the block.

“Oi, Barrett. New arrival’s on the way in- might end up with a celly after all.”

He used one impatient hand to wave Jez on, too busy hitting a whirlpool of doubt in his sea of memories. O’Flaherty was a little cold, austere, all about business. But he wasn’t a sellout. Barrett was inclined to believe the Irishman had more scruples than that, a few more morals towards his comrades.

Besides, he hadn’t seen Watt around anywhere either. And Watt definitely did not come off as professional as O’Flaherty.

“Hit the gas, we need to get to the other side of the river,” Watt barked from the back seat. O’Flaherty gave a snort and Barrett straightened his already perfectly seated glasses. Jones did nothing.
“Nah, bad move,” he replied after a second. “Fuzz is going to be crawling around soon, last thing we want to happen is to be picked up by a cop for speeding with a million in clean notes in the back.”
Jones had a point, and a good one. Watt didn’t seem pleased to be corrected by the younger man. “Who says we’re not going to get nabbed anyway?” he retorted hotly. “If that camera was live, we’re all for it, we all ripped the masks off soon as we got through the doors.”
“I wasn’t wearing a mask,” chipped in Jones. Watt gave a growl while O’Flaherty adopted a wry smile.
“No, you were too busy with your stupid music!” Watt was getting angry. Barrett slid further along the seat, the door cutting into his leg but safely further away from the man-mountain ready to explode.
“It’s not stupid, its how I keep focused!”
“By jigging around waving your arms about like a lunatic? What the fuck does that have to do with focus?!”
“Look, you stick to your pre-job fry-up and I’ll keep the music, alright?”
“What’s that s’posed to mean, you little-”

Watt could be rash and reckless, quick to anger and not always quick-thinking. Barrett had entertained the idea that Watt would have been picked up first for blowing some large part of his cut of the money on some extravagance or other; despite being a first-rate muscle man and useful bloke to know in a fight, Watt hadn’t been gifted with much in the way of common sense. He was likely to think nothing of going into a shop and buying the most expensive thing there, paying the huge price tag with an equally huge wad of fresh fifty pound notes.

“Barrett, back to your cell. New inmate’s been assigned to you, play nicely with the kid.”

Maybe he was being a bit harsh, he mused as he retrieved his book. Watt may not be well furnished in the smart department, but he was likely to have enough to stop such amateurish mistakes.

One job gone wrong, thirty eight steps up to the cell he now called home, and two suspects who could be tried and dismissed in two and a half minutes. Two suspects out of three.

So that just left-
“Alright!”

Jones.