One Night by Oliver Clarke Read Free Book Online Page B

Some other guy was following the rep on a motorbike. Joel didn’t know him but Danny said he was good.
    As soon as the rep got to the shop the biker would call the Swede who would drive there and drop Reynolds and Joel off. This was where it got a bit trickier. A fourth man would get to the door of the shop just before they got out of the car. His job was to get them in. He would pose as a customer, buzzing the entry system to get the door open. He’d actually visit the shop in the run up to the hit, trying on different watches and pretending he couldn’t make up his mind. As soon as the door was open Joel and Reynolds would barrel out of the car, faces hidden behind fancy dress masks. They’d push their way in behind the fourth member of the team who from then on would play the part of an innocent bystander. Once they were in, the boxer would take care of the security guard and get the bag off the rep. Joel would take care of the safes in the back and get as much out of them as he could before they had to run. That was his area, his talent as Danny called it. There wasn’t a lock he couldn’t pick, a safe he couldn’t crack. He’d learned the skills growing up, when getting into places he was told he shouldn’t be in was an addictive game. As a teenager he’d started using his talent to get things he wanted but didn’t have the money for. Back then that had been most things. As an adult he’d refined his abilities further and made them into something he could sell to others. Business was good too. With Danny’s help he’d made a name for himself in the London criminal underworld as someone who not only did good work but could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. When Danny had contacted him about this job he’d said yes straight away. It ticked all his boxes. A strong plan, a good crew to carry it out and a risk/reward ratio that made him smile. He’d make £10,000 for an hour’s work with someone else taking care of all the planning and the fencing of the watches afterwards. All Joel had to do was turn up on the day and work his magic. They’d only have five minutes from the moment they walked in the door but with Joel’s skills that should be enough.  
    Joel had felt fine about it when he got up on the morning of the raid. He’d woken a few times in the night like he usually did on the eve of a hit but when his alarm clock went off he put the worries out of his head, there was no point stressing about the details that close to a job. If he didn’t have absolute confidence in the plan he would have backed out already.
    When he was waiting in the car he was just as calm. Johansson was chewing gum and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to some tune in his head. Reynolds had his eyes shut and his head against the passenger side window. Joel was in the back reading a paperback, glancing up every so often and seeing the boxer’s thick neck in front of him. He’d worked with him once before and that job had gone fine. Reynolds was a good man to have along for when a little force was needed. His sheer size meant he was often able to get what he wanted by intimidation rather than actually having to get violent. His ability to put the frighteners on people was in as much demand as Joel’s safe cracking ability. The problem with him was that he also had the uncontrollable temper that had earned him the Red Rag nickname. Joel had seen that rage in Reynolds when he’d been fighting but never outside the ring. He hoped he never did. 
    The job went like clockwork until the end. The call came from the biker and Johansson put his foot down, driving quickly and efficiently to Old Bond Street. He had a knack for getting places fast but without drawing attention to himself. Partly, Joel thought, it was because he drove so smoothly. Some drivers handled their cars like they were fighting them. With Johansson you felt he was seducing it. They passed a motorcyclist on the way. Joel didn’t know if it was