First Job
A short story based on an actual robbery that took place in Scotland - I've changed the setting to 1970s Sheffield to save the poor beggars further embarrassment.
Ages 16+
“Half o’ Stones please, Janice,” Dave muttered, looking down at the collection of silver and copper coins he had laid out on the counter.
“Must be Wednesday; you lads skint again are you? Janice replied as she adjusted the sprinkler on the beer tap and began pulling the beer.
Dave arranged the coins on the bar and counted them again; thirty-six-and-a-half pence.
“How much is it, Janice?”
“Thirty-two pence, same as last week. S’goin up on Monday though. Here you are, flower; half of bitter and a spare glass.”
“Bloody hell… thanks.”
He handed over the thirty-two pence and pocketed the remainder then took the glasses over to the dartboard where his mate, Phil, was trying to get around the doubles.
“I’m bloody sick o’ this scrattin’ for money lark,” he poured half of the half into the spare glass, “There must be summat we can do besides signing on.”
“Like what then, rob a bank?” Phil laughed as he threw another dart into the wood surround.
Dave took a sip of his beer, leaned back in his chair and looked around “The Castle.” The last shafts of late October sunlight highlighted the yellowed walls and picked out the dancing particles of dust and thin wisps of cigarette smoke; it wasn’t late enough yet for the fog, though Janice and the trio of ancient domino players in the corner were doing their best.
“Bloody depressin’.”
A dart ricocheted off the wire of the dartboard and thudded into Dave’s armrest.
“Soddin’ ‘ell, Phil, pack it in will yer. It’s bad enough havin’ no cash without you trying to have me eye out!”
Phil smirked and picked up his glass, drained it in one swallow then frowned as he looked at it.
“Oh sod it, I forgot that was all there is… was!”
He slumped down into the chair opposite Dave and started picking at his fingernails.
Dave took another sip of his beer, sniffed and, out of curiosity as to what ridiculous ideas he would come up with, asked; “So ok, we rob a bank, how, where and when?”
Phil looked around the pub, decided the dominoes couldn’t hear and Janice wouldn’t be interested enough in him to bother listening. He leant forward with his elbows on the table and whispered, “
He sat back, nodded and gave Dave a pronounced wink.
“Since United lost? They’ve only won once since last season and it’s nearly bloody November!” Dave exclaimed but then his brow furrowed and he moved his head about in little jerks as he thought through Phil’s plan then he picked up his glass and drained it. “D’you know, you’re soddin’ barmy… but for once you might just have summat,” He finally conceded, “Come on, we’ll go back to me Mam’s and you can tell me everything.”
Phil beamed with pride at being taken seriously for once but this soon dimmed when he remembered there was no more to tell; he’d thought his plan was complete; there was no more to it.
“You two finished your half already?” Janice observed with a wry grin; “that lot have had theirs since opening – masters of the slow arm they are. You two should try doing a job you know, get yourselves some cash!”
Dave and Phil’s mouths dropped as they looked from Janice to each other and back again, the same thought going through both their minds; “She must have ears like a bat, that woman!”
“You know… work. You remember that dun’t yer?” she nodded and smiled at them as if they were simple.
“Oh. Oh yeh, I’ll get tomorrer neet’s Star with me dole, see who wants a nineteen year old wiz kid an’ be rollin’ in it be next week!” Dave replied with some relief as he pushed Phil out of the pub.
“So where do we get the shooter from then?” Dave asked as soon as he closed his bedroom door. “An’ we’ll need a driver for the getaway car - a good un’; we dun’t want the cops catching us after all the hard work's done eh?”
Phil smiled broadly; the walk home had given him the chance to think and he had an answer to the gun problem at least.
“Me Uncle Harold’s got a gun. Used to go rabbitin’ up ont’ tops ‘til he had his accident.”
“Accident?”
“Aye, got chased by the keeper one neet and tried to jump some barbed wire, only he slipped and straddled it. Din’t stop him but thirty-seven stitches in ‘is…” He pointed down at his groin and grinned and winced at the same time.
There was a respectful silence in memory of Uncle Harold’s groin until Phil suddenly gave a celebratory punch in the air.
“Gorrit’! Mickey James!”
“An, who the bloody hell is Mickey James?”
“The driver! Used to drive stock cars down at Owlerton; me dad used to mechanic for him. I’m sure we’ve got his number back home. I’ll gi’ him a bell tomorrer.”
Dave looked at his mate in a new light; he was really coming up with the goods. This thing could work!
“Aye, brill… An’ we’ll check the bank again and time everything out after we sign on in the morning.”
“Two pints please, Janice and one for yersen’.” Dave ordered while Phil hung their sodden coats up on the rack and went to the games room to claim the snooker table before the “professionals” came in.
Janice smiled and winked a long-lashed eye at him as she reached down for the glasses, “I’ll have half o’ Guinness thanks love. Got a job ‘ave you then?”
Dave smiled back and gazed down at the overflowing of pale pink from Janice’s black low buttoned blouse wobbling happily away as she pulled his Stones.
“Job, got a job ‘ave you?”
“Oh, er no... dole money. But I reckon summat might come up next week wi’ a bit o’ luck.”
“Mmm, believe when I see it. Here we are; one-seventy-six and if you ever got yersen’ fixed up they might come out to play eh!” She glanced down at her bust and chuckled.
Dave smiled sheepishly, handed over two pound notes and shuffled his feet and looked around as he waited for the change. The gas fire hissed its heat out at the empty lounge; the dominoes had gone for tea and the night crowd hadn’t arrived yet.
Janice gave him another wink as she returned with his twenty four pence and he quickly carried the beer through to Phil.
“So, how’d it go with yer uncle then?”
“Got it.”
“Yer what?”
Phil slammed the cue ball into the reds sending them bouncing around the table, “Got it… I’ve got the shooter. It's back home and Mickey’ll drive for a decent cut. Ses he could do with a bit o’ cash.”
“Great stuff! You’re really coming up wi’ t’goods pal. We’ll meet up wi’ him tomorrow and go over the plan eh? Dave grinned as he took a cue and leant over the table to make his shot. Both red and cue ball disappeared down a corner pocket so he sat down again.
Phil managed to slice the cue ball and hit the black, “Nah, he’s at his caravan tomorrow; be back Monday morning.” He took a mouthful of beer and wiped the froth off his lips, “But he says he knows t’bank and I’m sure there’ll be no problem with whatever car we get, he can drive owt. Says to meet us at Greno woods Wednesday afternoon ‘bout half-two.”
“Mmm, suppose it’ll have to be ok. What kind o’ gun is it?” Dave put the first red down and lined the cue ball up with the black.
“Double barrel shotgun.”
The cue went under the cue ball making it rise into the air, clip the top of the black and ricochet through the door into the lounge.
“We can saw it off short, Uncle Harold dun’t want it any more. And he’s given us his bag of ammunition and cleaning gear. It’ll be right dun’t worry.”
Janice appeared in the doorway holding the cue ball in her thumb and forefinger, “This belong to one o’ you poor buggers?”
Dave quickly lifted his pint and stayed firmly in his place while Phil retrieved the ball and thanked her with a grin.
When he was satisfied she was back behind the bar, Dave spoke again, “No more ‘til Monday now, ok?
Phil nodded, replaced the cue ball and fluked a red.
“Right,” Dave clapped his hands as he followed Phil into his bedroom, “Let’s check we’ve got everything.” He could feel the nervous excitement churning his stomach and he needed to be doing something.
“I’ve got the gun under me bed, we’ve to saw that down yet,” Phil responded with a yawn;
“An’ what about the bags, somethin’ for our heads, note tellin’ them to hand over the money so they don’t recognise our voices. It’s not all about bang and vroom you know; we’ve got to make sure we have everything ready.”
Phil looked pityingly at him, went to his wardrobe and took out a large holdall.
“Here, have a look at what I’ve got.”
Dave unzipped the bag and tipped its contents out onto the bed; two black balaclavas, two pair of dark brown sunglasses, a large red shopping bag, a rolled up scroll of paper held with an elastic band and a hacksaw.
“Balaclavas? Sunglasses? And what the hell’s the hacksaw for?”
Phil sighed, picked up one of the balaclavas. “Here try this on with the sunglasses and check in the mirror. S’much better than a pair of tights or Mickey Mouse mask – much more frightnin’.”
Dave stood in front of the mirror and looked at his reflection. He had to admit, the things did the job well, a bit itchy and warm and the visibility wasn’t too brilliant in the gloom of Phil’s bedroom, but… they worked.
“Well?”
“Ok, not bad. Only one bag though.”
“No, the shopper and the holdall.”
“That holdall’s bloody massive; it’s a robbery not a kidnapping!”
Phil smiled and sighed again, “Do you know how much space thousands of pound notes takes up?”
“No, do you?”
“No, but I bet it’s a lot so we need to be prepared eh?”
Dave closed his eyes, shook his head and asked, “And the hacksaw?”
“For the shotgun; it’s all I could find. Oh, and we’ve only got two cartridges that fit so no shootin’ practice alright?”
The kettle whistled down in the kitchen and Phil’s mum called out, “D’you lads want a cup of tea bringing up, I‘m just making one.”
“Yes, Mam.” Dave looked at Phil and shook his head. “Er we’ll come down for it, Mam.”
Dave glared.
“I’m thirsty - I haven’t had me breakfast yet. Come on,” Phil reasoned and made for the door.
Dave’s stomach churns weren’t helped by having to watch his co-conspirator plough his way through two bowls of Sugar Puffs and five slices of toast along with his bucket of tea. Phil’s mum watched over him, smiling and supplying, before announcing she was off to the Co-op.
“Right,” Dave said as soon as she had gone, “We’ll go over the plan once more then I’ll take the bag of things and I’ll do the gun at home while you go out and get a car.”
Phil nodded.
“We hand the car over to Mickey up at his place in Grenoside then us two catch separate busses into town so that we’re not seen together. We’ll meet up outside the bank at just after three-fifteen and go in, head for the middle window, show them the gun and hand over the note. When we’ve got the money we back away to the door so we can see what everyone is doing then we get into the car and Mickey drives us to Greno again where we split the money and dump the car. Ok?”
Phil nodded again.
“And remember; no speaki…”
He was interrupted by the telephone ringing in the hallway and Phil went to answer it.
“Yeh… yeh… no… yes… ok see yah.”
“Nothing important then?” Dave asked as he returned to the kitchen table.
“Nah, it were Mickey, the caravan’s had a puncture so he said can I pick him up at his place and we’ll go from there.”
Dave grimaced, “Ok, remember to take your… balaclava and specs. I’ll still go on the bus with everything else and I’ll meet you there. Right, let’s get moving.”
The traffic on
“Bloody useless hacksaw; cut more off me than the soddin’ gun… Damn!”
Outside the bank a beaten up old painter's van bearing the message, ‘No job too small’ across its rusted back doors, screeched to a halt half on the pavement.
“Just where we wanted to park.”
The driver’s door flew open and out jumped Phil with his balaclava in his hand and brown sunglasses pushed high on his head.
He looked up and down the street then asked, “Ready?”
“Don’t tell me that’s the best you could nick. Why is it on the pavement and why did you drive?” Dave spluttered.
“We were late.” Phil was too pumped up to care about the questions. He pulled his balaclava over his head, adjusted his sunglasses and hissed, “Come on… let’s go!”
Dave donned his disguise and unzipped the holdall ready for action. With his right hand on the shotgun he shouted; “Right!” and launched himself into the revolving doors.
Phil immediately followed and leapt into the same section but his right foot hit the back of his partner’s leg sending both of them stumbling to the floor. Dave's bandaged left hand was forced through the gap around the door and into the bank as the doors suddenly stopped turning.
“Gerroff me you pillock,” Dave groaned as he tried to get his hand back.
“Ss sorry mate, I tripped,” Phil muttered apologetically as he rolled off him and sat upright looking at his left big toe which poked out of the hole in his white sports sock. “Where’s me shoe gone?”
“Sod your soddin’ shoe, me hand's stuck!”
Phil stood up and raised his sunglasses a little to enable him to see into the bank beyond more clearly. “It’s ok; I don’t think they’ve noticed us.” A gust of cold air on his big toe made him look down and he spotted his shoe wedged underneath the rear door. He bent down and pulled at it but only managed to wedge it more firmly. He put his shoulder against the door and pushed hard as he tugged.
The door moved enough to free the shoe and to trap Dave’s hand still further and the staff did notice the scream of pain.
Phil pulled off his and Dave’s balaclavas and sunglasses and pushed them into the holdall, zipping it up as the first of the staff peered in at them.
It was three-twenty-eight when the smirking assistant manager and the security guard managed to get them out of the doors and out of the bank.
“Well, what do we do now?” Phil asked dejectedly, “I hate being skint and that security guard got right up my nose. Dead sarky he was!”
Dave’s instant reply both surprised and delighted him.
“Get the disguises out, we’re going back in before they close; but soddin’ well be careful this time!”
In the hushed halls of tellerdom several of the staff were still shaking their heads and laughing about the doors when the robbers re-entered, they stopped when Dave pulled the shotgun from the holdall. The smirk also dropped from the assistant manager’s face and the security guard sidled his way behind a huge cheese plant, glad to be able to hide the effect the sight of the shotgun had had on the front of his trousers.
Phil approached a senior looking cashier at the middle counter and handed her their rolled up demands.
She slipped the elastic band off it and uncurled the paper.
Dave walked in a circle watching for any sign of resistance, the gun’s barrels, still with part of the hacksaw blade jammed in one side, resting on his left forearm while the fingers of his right hand flicked at the trigger.
The cashier looked at the demand, raised her glasses and her eyebrows and looked at Phil. “£500000? We haven’t got £500000 dear.”
Dave grimaced; he knew he should have checked the note.
“Nah… it ses £50000. I must have put too many noughts in it.”
“Well we haven’t got that either,” her lips began to twitch as she tried to suppress the growing urge to laugh. She glanced to one side and wished she hadn’t as she caught sight of Jean Watson’s tight lips and reddening cheeks as she too fought the giggles.
Phil’s next line burst the dam; “Have yer got £5,000?”
The cashier managed only to shake her head as all around her the bank staff laughed loudly.
“500… 50? Well what the bloody ‘ell ‘ave yer got?” he pleaded, the pitch of his voice rising with his bemused desperation.
Dave had almost started to laugh as well but instead lifted the shotgun to the ceiling and pulled the trigger.
The laughter stopped; there was a small stifled scream from one of the cashiers and Phil span round in shock.
As the smoke cleared, Dave, pleased with the effect of his action, shouted; “Give him all you’ve bloody got and be quick about i…”
His orders were truncated as a large piece of plaster hit his shoulder. More followed and he dropped the gun as he covered his head and ran for the doors.
“Come on, Phil!”
“Bloody ‘ell, Dave, they’ll all know me name now!”
“Sod yer name; shift yer arse now!”
Alarms started to sound as the revolving doors spat them out onto the pavement and they scrambled to the van. Dave jumped into the passenger seat while Phil made for the back and dived in amongst the dustsheets and paint tins, sending several out into the roadway as he turned to grab and close the doors.
Mickey revved the engine.
Dave screamed, “Go!”
Mickey looked at him and revved the engine some more.
“What’s the soddin’ matter? Go!”
“You’ll have to give me a hand mate.”
Dave turned and stared at him and realised he meant it literally; his left arm was missing.
“Dangerous sport stock cars - usually drive an automatic these days,” he explained, “stick it into first will yer?”
The gearbox screeched and crunched as Dave yanked the stick into place.
Mickey raised his left foot and the van shot backwards, crushing one of the paint tins and sending a spray of magnolia across the front of the bank.
“First for God’s sake!” Mickey shouted.
“I can’t soddin’ well drive; where is it?”
Phil prised himself between the seats and pushed the stick forward into position and the van flew forwards causing a black cab to brake sharply as Mickey swerved into the road. The gearbox was soon screaming and Phil yanked the stick back as he saw Mickey’s foot go down on the clutch.
Dave had to admit to himself that they made a great team and he began to relax a bit as they turned from
“Cops!”
Mickey glanced in his mirror and nodded then pulled on the steering wheel making the tyres squeal as it suddenly swung right into a side road. They squealed three times more as he pushed the wheel into left turns that pointed the van back in the direction of the bank.
“What the bloody 'ell are you…?” Dave managed then went silent as he realised the Police car had been lost by Mickey’s manoeuvre. “Brilliant!” he then conceded.
They made their way back to Grenoside at a slightly more leisurely pace and parked the van in the dilapidated double garage behind Mickey’s house.
“Ah, never mind lads, maybe next time eh? Can I keep the van though; there’s a nice drop of paint back there and the wife wants the hall decorating. I can probably sell the van to some poor sod if I do it up a bit.”
The Castle was in its usual early evening torpor as they trudged in. Phil made straight for the dartboard and launched a dart at double-top, hit the wall above and put the other two back on the shelf before slumping into a seat. Dave sidled up to the bar, shoulders hunched, head bowed. He glanced at Janice's low-buttoned blouse and muttered to himself, "Maybe next time eh fellas?"
Janice smiled, “Half and two glasses is it lads?”
