Double Take (13 page)

As he pushed the trolley towards the kitchen at the back of the branch, he forced his brain to mentally tick off his justification.
The money is insured. Candice won't live without the operation. Nobody will get hurt.
His stomach lurched at the thought of anyone getting hurt. He felt the blood drain from his face again and knew he was going to throw up. Jack dashed to the men's toilet and slammed the door open so hard it banged against the wall. Leaning over the porcelain bowl, he gasped for breath. A cold sweat washed over him, making it even worse.

“Are you okay, Jack?”

It was the bank manager. “Yeah, I'm good, thanks, Ian. For a moment there I thought I was going to be sick. Maybe the kebab I had at lunch wasn't such a good idea.” He hated how good he was getting at lying.

“Can I bring you a glass of water?” There was genuine concern in his voice.

Jack fanned himself, begging the heatwave to simmer down. “I'll be fine. I just need a minute.”

“Okay, mate. I'll leave you to it.”

Mate. Some kind of mate I am. I'm about to do something that may change your life forever.

Once he felt almost normal again, he exited the cubicle and splashed cold water on his face. His mind was a scrambled mess of confusion, and as he stared into his own eyes in the mirror, a horrifying thought slammed into his mind.
What if this all goes to shit and I end up in jail? What happens to Candice then?
How did he get this far without even considering that possibility?

He had to get out of there. Jack shoved the trolley, now loaded with last month's plants, towards the front of the branch. From the corner of his eye he sighted the ramp to the vault. The money was right there. He imagined he could smell it, touch it. The money would solve everything. Without it, Candice could die.

He had no choice.

Whether he liked it or not, in four days' time he was going to change the lives of many, many people.

I
t was a perfect afternoon. Twenty-four degrees, intense cobalt blue sky with just a scattering of light fluffy clouds on the horizon. A slight breeze was blowing the leaves across the grass in front of them as they walked along the street. Gemma couldn't stop smiling. Murray had done nothing but express his reluctance about her plan, and yet here he was, holding her hand as they walked towards the boatshed. Ever since she'd shown him that shitty photo he'd taken, she'd been trying to convince him of the necessity to take more photos. He just didn't get it—but he was here.

The street was a cul-de-sac with the boatshed at the very end. Huge Moreton Bay fig trees, easily over a hundred years old, lined both sides. A dozen or so houses occupied blocks at the beginning of the street, but the rest was empty. It was strange that no-one had built on the blocks in the second half of the street. Maybe that flood that ruined the boatshed was the reason?

They walked down one side, around the cul-de-sac and then back up the other side. Her plan was to choose a tree to hide in to take more photos. Murray was in a flap, sweating, constantly looking around and breathing heavily. It was really beginning to annoy her.

“What are you so worried about? We've only seen a couple of people on this street before.” They walked Milo along here many times and usually went unnoticed.

“Exactly. One minute the place is deserted and the next minute there are six bank robbers and us going to and from the boatshed on a regular basis. It just takes one person, walking their dog or something, to wonder what's going on.”

“You're getting really paranoid.”

“And you're getting reckless.”

“No, I'm not. We know exactly when those guys are coming back. And why would anyone be suspicious? We're just a nice couple out for an afternoon stroll. So just relax and enjoy the walk with me.” She weaved her arm through his bent elbow and directed him to the next tree.

Finally she found the perfect tree, approximately fifty metres away from the boatshed. Its trunk was about four metres in diameter and the lower branches were as thick as Murray's torso. It was far enough away for Gemma to feel safe and yet close enough to get some decent shots. Especially with Tiffany's fancy Nikon camera. The tattoo artist had apparently bought it to take photos of her work, but Gemma suspected she only got it as a tax write-off—she'd rarely seen her use it. It had been right at the bottom of Tiffany's messed-up cupboard. Gemma planned to take her photos and then have it back before Tiffany even noticed it missing.

Murray cupped his hands to help her up the tree. She placed the ball of her foot into his palms and just before she hoisted herself up she clutched him by the cheeks and pulled him forward for a kiss.

“Thank you. This is going to be so much fun.”

He huffed. “Come on. Hurry up.”

“All right. Calm down.” Gemma pushed off from the ground and reached for the first branch and swung her leg over it. Once she was secured there, Murray passed up the camera and she hooked it around her neck. The climb up the tree turned out to be fairly easy. Satisfied she was high enough, she found a position where she could see the boatshed without an obstruction from branches. She glanced down at Murray. Concern was etched on his face.

“Okay. I'm good now. Off you go.”

“You sure?”

“You don't want to cut it too fine. You can help me down once they've gone.”

“Okay.” He picked up the boom box and stepped back. But then he stopped and looked up at her again. His reluctance seemed to have him cemented to the spot.

“Love you, babe,” she said. “See you soon.” She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes until the gang—that's what she'd started to call them—got here. He'd better get moving.

She watched him until he disappeared around the side of the shed. Now there was nothing to do but wait.

Her heart jumped to her throat at the sound of a motorbike. The heavy thump was getting louder and seconds later the bike appeared in the street.
Jesus, they're early.
Murray had only just reached the shed. She imagined him scrambling beneath it now. He'd be in quite a panic.

The camera!
She quickly pulled off the lens cap and turned it on. The camera made a series of noises and the lens popped out and back in again. By the time it was ready the rider had already parked his motorbike at the front steps of the shed and turned off the engine. She steadied herself, peered through the lens and zoomed in. The guy tugged off his helmet and his scraggy hair tumbled out. He turned side-on to remove his jacket and as she noted his pale skin and rugged three-day growth she took a couple of quick photos.

Gemma had bought the largest roll of film available, but with only thirty-six exposures and six people to photograph she was well aware of the importance of restraint. She'd need to contain her excitement and limit her shots to three of each robber on the way in and three on the way out.

Another vehicle was coming, a green ute this time. She waited. It occurred to her that she was holding her breath and she let it out in a big gush. Her arms were shaking and she couldn't decide if it was excitement or because she'd been holding them in the same position since the motorbike arrived.

Peering through the lens, she watched the guy step out of the ute and look around, checking he was safe, she assumed. She was surprised at how handsome he was. Lovely olive skin, thick wavy hair and his tidy stubble emphasised his chiselled jawline.
Click. Click. Click
. He shook hands with the motorbike rider, then turned towards the shed.

As she watched the ute guy open the boatshed door, she figured he was Jack, the man in charge of the whole thing. She smiled; it was so cool to be putting the pieces of the puzzle together. She still had no idea who motorbike guy was but hoped she'd be able to work it out as the others arrived.

It was only then she noticed the pizzas strapped to the back of the motorbike. “Oh hello, Jimmy,” she said aloud.
Two down, four to go
. Well, three actually—the woman would be obvious.

As the next car rolled into the street, she knew without even seeing the driver that it would be her. She instantly recognised the hood ornament. It was a Mercedes Benz. Classy. One day, she promised herself, she'd buy one. Brand new, of course. Maybe red.

She zoomed in on the car door as the woman got out. Rachel looked every bit as wealthy as she had sounded. From her knee-length silky-looking frock to her black patent leather heels and her glossy smooth hair, everything about her exuded money. Why the hell was someone like her planning to rob a bank? She obviously didn't need the money.
Click. Click. Click.

Two more cars rolled into the street then and Gemma adjusted herself on the branch so she was prepared for some quick photo action. It was all over in a matter of seconds. She was pleased with her control, three photos of each. But she couldn't work out who either of those guys were yet. Based on their greeting, friendly handshakes and banter, they knew each other quite well.

The final guy looked every bit as scary as Murray had said. She thought he'd been exaggerating. The tattoos were prominent, even from this distance. He had to be Pete. So that meant the other two were Donny and Stubbs. Maybe one of her shots would show the missing fingers; then she'd know which one was Stubbs.

With all six of them inside, all she could do was sit and wait. It was only now, with the door closed and the excitement over, that she realised she needed to pee. She hoped like hell the gang didn't take too long today. If their last meeting was anything to go by, she had at least an hour to wait, but she hoped not, because she was pretty certain she couldn't hold out that long.

Forty minutes later, there was still no sign of the would-be robbers. Gemma was in absolute agony and she couldn't wait any longer. She unzipped her trousers, tugged them off and pulled her underpants aside. Watching herself pee out in the open like this was the weirdest experience. Not entirely unpleasant, even a touch erotic.

Afterwards Gemma removed her underpants and used them to wipe herself. The sensation sent a shiver through her whole body. With a quick glance at the shed, she confirmed that nothing was happening. Then, hardly believing what she was about to do, Gemma spread her legs and touched herself. Glancing alternately between the shed and her hand, she rubbed herself with increasing intensity. And suddenly, with a jolt that made her clench her jaw to keep from screaming out in pleasure, she released the most explosive orgasm she'd ever experienced.

S
uperintendent Montgomery Steel hated Mondays. Even after twenty-five years of shift work, when it wasn't always the first working day of the week, he could almost guarantee that Monday would be a shitty day. Maybe it was the damn weekend incident reports that he was expected to read through and action. Reports were the bane of his existence.

So far he'd been pretty lucky, with his career progressing in a steady rise over the last twenty-five years. His resume boasted a variety of postings from Mackay to the outback dustbowl of Roma, some 500 kilometres west of Brisbane. He'd hated being shipped out to Roma, but his four-year stint there had probably saved him from all the crap that went down with the Fitzgerald Inquiry fiasco.

Over the years he'd had some intense career moves: police diving, fraud squad, arson squad, missing persons and then he'd landed this cosy position at Coorparoo Station on Brisbane's Southside. So far, this little suburban posting had been fairly uneventful. Exactly how he liked it. And with only forty-six months until optional retirement, that's exactly how he wanted to keep it. Although his initial plans of retiring at fifty now seemed way too young.

The speck of dust on his reading glasses could no longer be ignored. He removed them from his nose and fished a handkerchief from his pocket. A metallic clink made him look to the floor. His lucky fishing lure was lying beside his highly polished boot. Though it wasn't much of a lure anymore; he'd cut off the hooks a long time ago—and he'd never actually used it to catch fish. With the ring loop he'd attached, most people mistook it for a key ring.

He hadn't had time to go fishing for many months now, but it was never far from his mind. Steel bent over to gather the lure and the blue and green metallic inner lining reflected in the harsh lights. Out of habit, one that had been with him for several decades now, he rubbed his thumb along the rubberised fish before he tucked it back into his pocket.

As he cleaned his glasses, there was a sharp knock on the door-frame. Without waiting for an invitation, Constable Darren Eden entered his office. The rookie was six months into his first posting and Steel was praying for a time when Eden lost the twitch over his lip. The poor lad would make a hopeless poker player.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Eden.”

“Sir, we have a rather interesting situation in interview room two.”

Steel waited for him to continue, but he didn't. “Well, don't keep me in suspense, man. What've you got?”

“A woman claiming she's overheard a bunch of guys planning to rob a bank. Tomorrow.”

Steel raised an eyebrow. Over the years he'd heard more than his share of lies. “Do you believe her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is Thomas on it?”

“Yes, sir. We both were. He sent me to get you.”

Perhaps this Monday wasn't going to be so tedious after all. Steel stood, adjusted his trousers and grabbed a pen. One thing he'd learnt many years ago was that his concentration improved if he doodled while he listened. Most of his notepads were full of indecipherable nonsense. People always thought he wrote mountains of details. Lucky for him he didn't need to, as he possessed almost perfect memory recall for conversations. His ex-wife would attest to that.

Steel indicated for Eden to lead the way and as he followed the rookie, he scrutinised the crisp line running down the back of his trousers. Eden was a stickler for details, in everything from his uniform to his meticulously completed reports. The young man would go a long way in the force.