Authors: Warren Slingsby
11.56am
Joseph, Jim and Kyle pulled into a country lay-bay near Leicester. It was an unmemorable and untidy dead-end road. There was no passing traffic. No one to witness the transfer of the large package. An ‘associate’ of Matthew Weiss awaited in Matthew’s Mercedes 4x4. Jim and Kyle took a moment to stretch their legs. They had a long trip ahead of them. There was a brief exchange between the associate and Joseph as to whether the operation had gone smoothly and Joseph confirmed that it had indeed gone well.
“Excellent work.” said the associate as he handed over a bag to Joseph. He placed it in the back of the Audi and opened it and examined the contents.
“Two point five. A nice mornings’ work.” The associate confirmed. Joseph nodded graciously. “Well done boys!” the associate called to Jim and Kyle. Kyle really didn’t like the ‘boys’ bit. Nothing more was said, the different parties got back in their respective vehicles. The cars turned around and went their separate ways.
“Patronising arse.” Kyle said as they pulled away.
“Who cares Kyle? He just gave us a bag with two point five mill’.” Joseph said. That was the end of the part they had all planned together.
Now it was time for Joseph’s separate plan to kick in. Famished after their 5 am start (plus massive amounts of adrenaline), Joseph went to drive through McDonalds at some nondescript services just off the M6. They all put in big orders. Big Macs. Super-sized meals. Doughnuts. Joseph took the liberty of ordering large coffees for the three of them on top of the large cokes they all ordered. They sat in the car park and ate and chatted about how easy it had all been. Joseph pointed out they were not home and dry as yet and would need to get to Edinburgh to lay low for a while. Jim opened his back door, swung his legs out and lit and inhaled deeply on a cigarette.
They were on the road a few minutes later. Before they reached Manchester, Jim and Kyle were begging for some motorway services to take a leak.
Joseph barely sipped his drinks so did not need the loo but played along with them saying he was desperate too. As they hit the next services,
they practically sprinted to the toilets. Joseph went into a cubicle. Two seconds later, he opened the door and sneaked back out. That was the last they would ever see of him. He slipped back out of the services, fired up the Audi and took off toward Edinburgh. He had no intention of going to the meet-up point, but didn’t see any worries being in the same city. Edinburgh was large and he knew it well. Another reason why he’d suggested to meet up there and once they figured he was not going to meet them, it was probably the last place they’d expect him to be. Charlie knew roughly where Joseph lived but h
e had emptied his flat out and his things were in storage indefinitely. The Manchester part of Joseph’s life was now closed.
The Audi was now on its way to the auctions. In its place, Joseph had parked a 6 year old pearlescent white Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera on the top floor of the Edinburgh Radisson’s multi-story car park. Bought from a prestige and performance car garage in Manchester. Cash. He was staying a short distance away across The Royal Mile at The Carlton. Coming round from a particularly peaceful snooze and feeling really quite smug with himself, he decided he deserved a drink. He knew a new little bar with many secret little alcoves not too far away. He’d be able to install himself in a far flung corner and drink a nice bottle of wine (or two perhaps). He knew he shouldn’t drink too much. It had been a problem for him in the past, but he deserved it tonight. He’d royally screwed over five dumb asses to become a very rich young man.
He started with a glass of Tempranillo on recommendation from the bartender and found the deepest, darkest corner. He reflected on a brilliant day. All his plans had worked out exactly as he intended. He was now the proud owner of a Lambo and was starting to dream about what else he would spend his cash on. He would hang out in Edinburgh for a day or two and then would take a holiday somewhere far afield - somewhere hot and exotic.
He’d also like to find himself a new girlfriend. It was a lonely life on your way to the top. It was well over a year since he’d been in a relationship and that could barely have been classed as a relationship in most people’s terms. Generally, the relationship thing didn’t work with his way of life. Too many questions were asked. Girlfriends tended to want to know what you did for a living, where you went to work, details about holidays and so on. None of that applied to Joseph’s chosen career path. His last few girlfriends were led to believe he was a freelance stockbroker. Of course, that is not what he was but he knew it was cover enough.
He had had a small but stylish city centre pad where he had an office. He was even set up with the share dealing software so his computer really looked the part. Graphs and tickers all over his desktop. On the nights when girlfriends stayed over, he would make as if he was going to work at his home office on a morning as they went off to their respective jobs. In reality, he did a little dabbling on the stock markets as it was something he understood.
Joseph was schooled at Eton and studied at Oxford. He had a degree in Economics but chose not to spend his time working for a bank or brokerage.
He was actually quite good with his own stock investments and made money but making a return of between 5% and 9% was not something that really interested him. He wanted to make bags of cash and he knew this was best done by robbing very rich people.
Up until this point, he had worked with two groups of thieves. He kept the two groups well away from each other. To his knowledge, neither knew of his connection with the other group. This was the best way, especially as he now had an end game for his association with both. He had now disposed of one group. It was time to get several million banked and move away and live without worry or stress for the rest of his life. He had grown tired of Britain and wanted to live in warmer, more exotic climes. Once he had finished his little double crossing plan, he would have upwards of £6M banked across several European banks and would get down to the business of spending it in whatever footloose and carefree way he desired. The only thing you couldn’t plan for was a massive sudden heart failure.
The day before
Janet was sick to death of the conference she’d be sent on. Hour after gloomy hour of tedious financial lectures and workshops. Highlights included
Predicting Distance to Default
,
Global SIFIs, derivatives and financial stability
and not forgetting the thrill ride that was
OECD Sovereign Borrowing Outlook Q2-3
. How could they have sent her on this? It would have cost them a fortune too (four day conference in a five star hotel) and she’d learned no more than she could pick up reading a few select blogs, white papers and the FT. The people at the conference were not Janet’s sort of people either. Well, it was probably more that Janet wasn’t really that into banking and finance any more. She was very good at it and was considered senior management potential within the company she worked for. She’d recently been head hunted from JP Morgan where she’d had a six month stint in Singapore and several shorter stints in Europe - Frankfurt mainly. She was a bit of an oxymoron in the world of hedge funds - women didn’t really get into this. It was a little like the bar at Muirfield or the board room at Shell. Men saw to it that women didn’t get a look in most of the time. Testosterone generally ruled over oestrogen. But her bosses had found it hard to ignore her when she performed so well for them. Up until the financial crash in 2008, she had been one of their best performing hedge fund managers. Making great profits on the hundreds of millions she was given the responsibility to invest.
After the crash, it had been a different matter. The risks that Janet had once been allowed to take had been clamped down upon. Imagination was not encouraged any more. It was safety and reduced risk all the way now. And it was boring. Just like the conference. She’d been sought out by a more traditional bank now and was still a ‘high flyer’. She’d requested a move into the consumer division of the bank. What was the point to manage hedge funds if the constraints were so rigid now that you had no freedom or creativity to go your own way. The bonuses were gone, along with the risk. At the time, she had felt incredibly guilty about receiving the bonuses, but there was no getting away from the fact that vintage Chanel jewellery was a thing of sheer beauty.
She spent whatever she had and always had done. Right up to and sometime well past her limit. A penchant for Casadei shoes, Mulberry dresses and Gucci handbags was the source of the problem. She just liked the finer things in life. When she went shopping with friends, they would find bargains in the SALEs but she never seemed to be able to get anything in her size, but something expensive from NEW SEASON would always jump out at her. She had calculated she was taking home an extra £1.1k a month since her move and two subsequent promotions and still had nothing spare. All her friends in banking had stacks of savings but she had precious little. It was her guilty secret.
Consumer banking was a new challenge. There was a certain amount of creativity needed. The fact of the matter was, however, she liked risk. She liked seeing the value of the millions of pounds she invested jumping as a consequence of business deals and product launches around the world. Seeing funds she’d just pulled out from drop like stones. She knew she was a thrill seeker. Like a surfer, always making sure you’re on the right wave at the right time to catch the best ride. Consumer banking was not giving her the thrill. She knew she would not be sticking in this job for long. But equally, she didn’t know what she wanted to do as an alternative. Probably nothing in banking at all. She was young, there was no huge hurry to figure this out.
She sipped at her second large Hendricks and tonic in the hotel reception wondering if Elaine or Katie, acquaintances from the conference, would show their faces for a few drinks. They were good fun and she could pass the time easily with either of them. All three were from London and had a lot in common; all single(ish) high flyers in their early 30s with similar tastes in clothing, music and films. Being with them took her mind off the fact she was single again too. She’d broken up with her boyfriend just a few days before coming to the conference. He just wasn’t her type, but she’d gone out with him because he was difficult to shake off. Ultimately, it wasn’t going anywhere good. ‘Rip the plaster off quickly’ she told herself.
Her excellent tipping (a habit from her time in Singapore) meant the waiter was right on her whenever her drinks were running low. It also meant the waiters were very helpful. Whether she was asking where were good places to eat out or just wanted good measures in her drinks, they were very obliging. Right on cue, her drink was almost finished and her favourite waiter (Zach his badge said) was there for her. He pointed questioningly at her almost empty glass. She smiled and nodded. It must be the dryness of the days’ lectures that was making her so thirsty as she took her first bitter sweet sip. She flicked on to Facebook on her phone to see what was happening back home. Wednesday night, they’d be having a few mid week drinks after work no doubt. That was the thing she loved so much about living in London, pretty much any night she wanted to go out, she would have friends out. As she suspected, lots of friends were out. It was obviously a nice evening down in London from all the beer garden Instagrams popping up all over the place. She sent a few messages, finished most of her drink and made up her mind to take a stroll in the warm (for Edinburgh) evening.
If her friends from the conference weren’t going to show, she was certainly not going to be staying in. She wanted some chat (attention). Actually this was more than attention. This was a man. She wanted a man. Someone to flirt with. And she knew how to get that, but she’d leave here and try somewhere new; once she’d done her little trick. She went to the loo and stood in front of the mirror. She took out some key make up tools from her hand bag - blusher, mascara and eye shadow. She’d learned quite a while back that her best look was very ‘Eighties’. So she piled on the blusher high up on her cheek bones in diagonal strokes, stuck a touch more mascara on (just up top, never on the bottom lids) and quite a lot more eye shadow. Then finished it off with glossy pink lipstick. She looked like a girl from a ZZ Top or Meatloaf video, but even though it was an old fashioned way to wear make up. It would do what she wanted, it would get her some attention. She walked back out of the toilets with a different walk to the one she went in with, the way Clark Kent walked differently when he came out of the telephone box in his cape.
Janet found herself feeling a little tipsy when the fresh air hit as she walked over the North Bridge toward the Royal Mile. She liked the feeling and decided a couple more drinks would be in order. She hung a left, then a right and found herself sitting at a bar. It was early still and the bar was quiet. As she looked over the cocktail menu, a glass of champagne arrived. Nice champagne at that (thank you blusher and cheek bones). Someone with taste she thought (or plenty of money), though she couldn’t see who’d sent it. She sipped at it and chatted on Facebook with Karen back home; stalling for time really. Toward the end of the champagne, she stood up and decided to go thank the ‘gent in the far corner’. Never know, he might be a catch. She was feeling confident after a few drinks and was wearing her latest Donna Karen dress which she picked up yesterday on George Street after skipping a workshop on yawn-filled Foreign Tax Compliance and Avoidance. Ironic that she skipped a workshop on saving money to go and buy a £750 dress.
The waiter who had brought her drink over directed her toward the far back right corner with a subtle flick of his eyes. The lighting was down way low back here (good) and music (trip hop mixed with lounge jazz) was deep and seductive. She couldn’t see anyone and walked a little further. Still no one. Eventually, she saw an Italian looking man in his mid thirties. There was no one else back here, so it had to be him.
“Do I have you to thank?” she said holding up the half drunk champagne tentatively. He nodded with a smile that said ‘yes’ and ‘pleasure’. “So who are you hiding from back here?”
“Oh, I just robbed a few million pounds from some rather unpleasant types.” he told her with a wink “How about you? Also, drinking alone, in a bar in Edinburgh, when you’re clearly not from these parts.” She tilted her head in slight mock confusion.
“What makes ye say that?” she asked in her best Scotch accent.
“Haha, well your terrible Scottish accent for a start.”
“Got me. Haha. . . I’m not hiding from anyone, just a little bored and looking to escape from the financial conference I was forced to go on this week.”
“Would you like to grab a bite to eat?” He asked thinking this is a long shot. Drink was one thing but a meal...
“Gosh you don’t waste time… do you have equally good taste with food?” she asked holding up the champagne once more, “This was lovely, so you’ve set the bar at a fair height.” She sat her self down on the other side of the booth and tried to look relaxed and at home approaching men in bars.
“Well if you
really
want great food and you
really
want to escape your conference, I know a great restaurant in Glasgow.” He twinkled his eyes at her.
“Well, you’re pushing your luck aren’t you?”
He was pushing his luck he knew but he was brimming over with confidence right now.
“And what’s so much better about this restaurant than all the restaurants in Edinburgh may I ask? I take it there’s a good reason to take me half way across Scotland.”
Janet knew deep down that this was it for the night. She had little self control and was bored with not just this conference, but her career and even her life in general. Someone that wanted to whisk her off her feet; to the other side of the country in order to buy her a lovely meal would be difficult to say no to.
. . .
Carl, Dan and Charlie were six hours late as they reached the meeting point. The lockup. The Mercedes had broken down on the M6. Not what they were hoping for from German engineering. None of them had any breakdown cover. They had managed to get a local garage to come out and tow them back to the garage. In the end, one of their mechanics had managed to fix the worn fuel line by replacing it with a spare piece of tube that was lying about. They had maintained their ‘forced radio silence’ as Joseph had put it. ‘Doesn’t matter how long it takes us to get to the lock up, just get there.’ Once there, they could debrief and chat as much as was needed.
As it was daytime, they wished to draw attention from no-one. This was the second time they’d passed the meeting point, but Carl was not in the habit of getting caught out nowadays. This was just his way of being cautious. There were very few people around apart from the odd person working in the docks, but he wanted to be 100% sure that it wasn’t being watched by anyone.
Charlie had a final discreet look about, unlocked the padlock and pulled the door to the side slightly and peeped in. He could see no one. He guided Carl driving the Merc in. The place was quiet and peaceful. He pulled the door back behind and looked around. He was expecting to see other members of the gang in jubilant mood. They had successfully taken the Rothko after all.
Joseph, Kyle and Jim had gone their separate ways, as planned, but had not showed up. Charlie thought if they had taken an extra six hours to reach the lockup after breaking down, they should definitely be the last to arrive, not the first. Charlie smelled a rat. Carl did too. It was Joseph who planned the whole thing out including them leaving the scene of the robbery in two different groups of three. Carl told them to stay put for the time being. He trusted them to show up, he said. But it was a lie and right now, he could not for the life in him understand why he would allow himself to get into a situation where he may be wanted for a robbery where he didn’t even have the loot. What a fool. What a fucking fool.
He pulled rank and sent Dan to get some food, cigarettes and beers. They may be here for a while and he didn’t want to be dry or hungry whilst they waited. It was entirely plausible that Joseph was having to hide out from the police somewhere between London and here. He was going to give him 24 hours.
A little time later as they finished off a cool (but not cold enough) beer each and nibbled on a selection of cheap crisps and nuts, Dan said he’d had his doubts about Joseph.
“Well you should have said something about those doubts at the time my friend.” Charlie told him without a flicker of hesitation and quite a lot of anger “You going mute has probably lost us our share of that cash.”
“Hang on a fucking minute now Charlie, I...”
But he was cut off by Carl “Now it’s not your fault Charlie or yours Dan or mine, it’s whoever has double crossed us. They’re the ones who’re at fault here.” He was bright red in the face and obviously angry as hell but just about holding it together. “And anyway, it may all be fine, they may have just had a problem getting up here. Who knows what could have happened? Could have got stopped by the police or crashed or broken down like us.”
“That Audi was too high mileage, I wouldn’t be surprised if it blew up on the motorway” Charlie interjected.
“Or maybe Joseph killed those two idiots and ran off with everyone’s cash?” Dan offered.
“Whatever it is, we’ll either find out or I will get to the bottom of it, rest assured.” Carl said ominously. “For now, let’s sit tight.”
They tried not to but kept going over different scenarios both internally and out loud of what could have happened. None of them were close to the correct version of what happened. It was a fractious time. Carl tried to keep them as positive as he was able. Tried to keep believing himself that they were on their way, but his gut was saying something very different. Usually his gut was right.
. . .
Joseph and Janet walked through the Radisson to the multi-story car park. A man was behind them and joined them in the lift. Joseph pressed the button for the top floor and allowed the man to choose his own floor. He didn’t touch another button, so they both assumed that he was bound for the same floor. No one said a word during the time in the lift, but Joseph and Janet shared a glance behind the man. It was a smouldering look and Janet found her eyebrow raising slowly. Seductively. At least, she hoped it was seductive and not comical.