Fireproof (14 page)

***

Friday came around at a breakneck speed.

"Are you ready, Cathy?" Margaret asked.

"I'm really not. I just keep thinking that this is a ridiculous plan. Maybe I should just pop into the tool shop for a hatchet."

"Cathy, don't worry. Men are stupid. You'll charm the pants off them."

"That's not really the result I'm aiming for."

"It's a figure of speech, dear. Now undo another button on that blouse."

Cathy felt ridiculous. She wore a short denim skirt and a white fitted blouse that revealed too much cleavage. Her black bra was visible through the thin white material. She tottered on red, high and open-toed shoes. The rain fell in sheets so the ensemble was topped off by a bright red umbrella. The rain chilled her bare legs as it attacked the parts of her that the umbrella couldn't protect.

"The van's at the traffic lights, girls," Mary said.

***

The nunchaku weaved a figure eight in front of Mike. When he was satisfied with the speed and built-up centrifugal force he changed direction. The twin lengths of hardwood held together by a chain snaked all around Mike's body. The weapon travelled between his legs, under each armpit and around his neck. He studied himself in the mirror; impressed by his own speed. The familiar rattle of the chain and the weight of the weapon in his hand brought flashbacks of his previous life. The old passion for martial arts burned bright in his complicated memory.

After a few more loops and strikes at an invisible opponent, he caught one end under his right armpit and halted the mini-whirlwind. A fine film of sweat and warmth in his muscles declared his exertions an adequate warm up. His new body was small but faster than a featherweight champion. He was comfortable in this skin.

To test his limits he'd found a kung fu class in Andersonstown Leisure Centre and enrolled. He'd arrived early for his first class to warm up and have a bit of fun with the nunchaku in the empty training room. Made famous by old kung fu movies, its unpredictability made it an impractical weapon but a great tool for testing reaction time and a heck of a lot of fun to play with. He tucked them into his waistband and got started on some stretches. He grabbed the back of his ankle and rested a hand on the front of his knee, bent forward and stretched a hamstring.

Mike straightened up to find Cerberus in the mirror, filling the space behind him. He gritted his teeth. Cerberus growled in harmony as Mike turned to face him.

"Are you not worried about being seen?"

The dog looked in three directions at once.

"Nobody here, Mike."

"What do you want?"

"Got a message for you."

"Where's the imp? I don't suppose you ate the little bastard?"

Cerberus grunted. "Don't be disgusting. Nothing could survive eating such a vile creature. He's taking a break until his lower half grows back. I got sent in his place."

"Okay, but you can't sit on my shoulder."

"Whatever. You need to stop pissing about. You have work to do."

"I'm going to see Tony soon. Can a man not take the odd day off?"

"You could have, if Tony were doing a better job. You should go and see him tonight."

"I want to relax. I'll see him later. What's he done, anyway?"

"I can't be arsed going into it. You'll find out soon enough."

Mike pulled the nunchaku from his waistband. He twirled it in a slow circle. Six doggy eyes watched its lazy spin.

"What are you going to do with that, Mike?" the middle head asked. "You want to try and attack us again?"

"Oh no. I'm not
that
slow. I've something else in mind."

"What are you smirking at?" said the head on the left.

"Don't even think about it," said the head on the right.

"Fetch."

"You bastard."

Mike tossed the weapon over the dog's heads. It sailed through an open window into the car park. Cerberus couldn't resist. It chased the nunchaku through the window, taking the frame and a fair amount of brickwork with it.
Good job they're planning to refurbish this place soon
,
Mike thought.

***

One of the Securicor guards remained in the van as the other entered the little service door next to the cash machine at Andersonstown Leisure Centre. Cathy took a deep breath.

"Okay, it's time," she said.

"Good luck, Cathy," Mary said.

"Yes, go get ‘em," Margaret said. The phrase sounded awkward on her educated tongue.

The ladies waited in the idling Mini, out of the rain. Cathy moved towards the van. She held her head high and did her best to sashay in her ridiculous shoes.

A black and tan wrecking ball burst through one of the leisure centre windows. It landed on the roof of the Securicor van. The van's suspension shook. The roof crimped. Cathy stumbled backwards. By some miracle, she kept her balance. She kicked off the red death-traps. Barefooted she could move much faster.

"What the fuck is that?"

She walked backwards, afraid to take her eyes off what could only be described as a monster. When the back of her legs made contact with Margaret's Mini's grill, she felt her way to the passenger door. She flopped into the seat.

"What the fuck is that?" she asked the ladies.

Neither volunteered a response.

"It looks like a big three-headed dog," Cathy said.

"It couldn't have three heads," Margaret said. "The rain's causing poor visibility."

"It's huge!" Cathy said. "Don't tell me that's the rain!"

"Maybe it escaped from the zoo." Mary said, squinting through the windscreen.

"What zoo have you been to?"

"Look, let's just stay in the car until whatever it is goes. Then you can ask the driver what kind of animal it is. He's getting a pretty good view of it now."

The driver of the Securicor van had jumped out. He stood shaking, frozen in place as he stared at the monster on the roof of his vehicle. The monster hadn't noticed him. The van rocked as three heads fought over something. Cathy couldn't make out what from the car. The driver's paralysis broke when the beast rolled off the roof of the van as it struggled with itself. The driver jumped back into the driving seat and tore off.

The three-headed thing stopped fighting and stood on four powerful legs. The second guard walked out of the maintenance entrance. The commotion must have drawn him out. He still carried a cashbox. He almost walked right into the black and tan nightmare. He'd shot halfway across the car park before the heavy cashbox hit the ground.

The monster's heads looked at each other before it faded away.

"Where did it go?" Cathy asked.

"I don't know," Mary said.

Margaret shrugged and shook her head.

"I think it was a giant, three-headed dog," Cathy said.

"Well, I don't see anything now," Margaret said, "except for that abandoned cashbox sitting in the middle of a car park in West Belfast. We might want to get a move on if we want it."

"You can see that but you couldn't see a dog with three heads standing on a van about half its size?" Cathy asked.

"Actually, I can believe in a metal box. I can't believe in a three-headed dog. So I'm not going to."

"Can you believe this, Mary?"

"Well, I think she has a good point. I'm too old to start believing in monsters. I can't see it now. It mustn't exist."

Cathy looked at the two old dears. They stared back at her. If either of them was afraid or ashamed they hid it well. Margaret tilted her head as if to dare Cathy to push the issue. Cathy shook her head.

"I suppose I should go get the box then."

"Please do, Cathy. It looks a bit heavy," Mary said.

"And you might want to hurry up. That little man over there with the tattoos and the spiky hair seems to be looking for something."

An aging skater punk ambled towards the money. Cathy hopped out of the mini and jogged across the car park. She got to the cashbox before the skater. He'd stopped to pick up a pair of nunchucks, or nunchaku as her Japanese weaponry enthusiast, ex-boyfriend insisted on calling them. He showed no interest in the money. Simply tucked the weapon into the waistband of below-the-knee-length, baggy shorts. He sniffed the air and looked at Cathy.

"Nice perfume. I'm not so keen on the clothes."

Cathy raised a hand to her kamikaze neckline. She felt embarrassed even though she didn't know the little man from Adam. But didn't his cheeky smile and eyes seemed a little familiar? Almost like a family resemblance to a face she couldn't place.

"Do I know you?" she asked.

"We met a few weeks ago." He finally noticed the huge metal box at Cathy's feet. "What are you up to?"

"Don't worry about it." Cathy was trying hard to remember where she had met this man. She was sure that somebody as tattooed and handsome, in a dangerous kind of way, would be hard to forget.

"With a skirt like that in this weather? I'd be nuts not to worry. You must be up to something. You're much too classy for that outfit."

"What's your name?"

"Mike. Do you need a hand lifting that big box? I take it the ladies hanging out of the mini over there are waiting for it."

Cathy turned to see Mary and Margaret waving their arms wildly. She held her hands up in a reassuring gesture.
Just a minute, ladies. It's all under control.

"Okay. I'd appreciate your help, um, Mike. Grab an end."

Between them, they bundled the box over to the Mini. Mary and Margaret flapped about the car, worried that the Securicor van would return for the lost box. They only relaxed when the box was locked away in the boot.

"So, who's your friend?" Margaret asked. She looked at Cathy as if she was a teenager caught smoking in her school uniform. Mike stepped between them and offered his hand to Margaret.

"I'm Mike Rocks. Pleased to meet you."

Mike Rocks? That's a coincidence
, Cathy thought. Margaret and Mary had heard through the grapevine that the infamous Mike Rocks of the True Church of Satanism had bit the dust in a spectacular fashion. Neither of them mentioned it. Cathy assumed they hadn't made a connection.

"There'll be a bit more cash through that wee cash machine door, I'd say. You ladies want to go fill your purses? I'll keep watch."

"No, I think that might be too risky," Mary said.

"But what if there's not enough in the box?" Margaret asked.

"There'll be quite a lot in that," Mike said. "It hasn't been unlocked, so it should all be there. You'll only really get about five-hundred quid out of the back of the machine this close to stocking up time."

"Oh, right," Margaret said, "Well then there's no point. Let's go. In the car ladies. Thanks for your…"

"Wait," Mary said, "Mike, did you say the box is locked?"

"Well, yes. It's a security box. They tend to be secured."

"So how are we meant to get the money out?"

"Oh," Margaret said.

Cathy looked at Mike. "Can I assume you know how to unlock it?"

"All I need is a drill. How did you know?"

"You seem to know a lot about Securicor. You either work for them or have done a job on them. Either way, it stands to reason you can unlock one of these boxes. I'd be very grateful if you'd come with us and help us out."

"Grateful enough to have dinner with me?"

Cathy shook her head but not in answer to Mike's question. She was stalling in the hopes her brain would catch up with the situation.

"Sure, Mike. Let's have dinner."

Cathy looked beautiful. Her long, dark brown hair sloped to her shoulders, straight as a die and coppery in the soft light. Mike watched her as she took a small sip of her white wine. Those lips. He never wanted to be a glass so much in his life. When she looked up to see him looking at her she didn't get embarrassed. She smiled, put down her glass and studied his face with her big brown eyes. He wasn't one bit uncomfortable.

They dined in a very small Italian restaurant on the corner of Broadway and the Falls Road. They had just finished their appetisers and were waiting for their pasta dishes. The mood in the restaurant was mellow. Only two other tables were occupied, one by a couple of young professionals and the other by three female Spanish tourists. The waiter took the opportunity between each table's courses to nip outside, light a cigarette and skulk on the corner with it. Cathy topped Mike's glass up. He would have preferred a Guinness but the restaurant only sold bottled lager. He wouldn't insult his taste buds with that piss.

"So why do you think you went to Hell?" Cathy asked.

Mike took his time answering. He hoped she would still look at him the same way after he told her.

"I got to know the wrong sort of people too well. I wasn't actually a fully fledged member of the IRA, or even a vigilante, and I never wanted to be, but I moved in those circles from time to time. Sometimes I did little jobs for them. Messages, they'd call them. As in, run us a wee message, Mike."