The Getaway - By Tom Barber Page 0,46

off-shore bank account, or stay in the country and spend it all. I don’t care.’

‘What’s my cut?’

‘Fifty thousand.’

Archer looked at him. ‘That’s it? Two jobs, and that’s my cut?’

‘I need you for one job. Take it or leave it. I recommend you take it.’ Archer looked at him. Then at Ortiz, whose face hadn’t softened an inch, glaring down at him. ‘We need you pal.’

Archer paused a suitably long time, seemingly making up his mind.

‘OK. I’m in.’

Farrell nodded.

‘Good.’

He rose.

‘You got a phone?’ he asked.

Archer nodded and gave him the number.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Farrell said. Archer got the message. The meeting was over. Without a word, he rose and moved to the door.

‘One more thing. I meant what I said,’ Farrell said from behind him. ‘You say a word to anyone about this, I’ll kill you myself. You’ll join that asshole Brown and that fed from D.C who got his head blown off.’

Archer kept staring at the door.

He didn’t turn.

It would show the expression on his face.

‘You got it.’

Then he turned and twisting the handle, walked out of the room.

‘It’s a double job,’ Archer told Gerrard, as they sat in the back of a white van nine hours later. Each man was munching on a foil-wrapped burrito Gerrard had picked up on the way. They were parked in Union Square, and the time was just past 7:30 pm, still Wednesday 31, the last day of August. The heat was clammy and Mexican food probably wasn’t the best choice considering the temperature, but Gerrard had set up a fan in the back of the van and it was keeping them both cool.

‘A double job?’ Gerrard asked.

He bit down into his food, and some guacamole squirted out of the side of the foil and hit him on the shoulder of his black suit jacket.

‘Oh shit.’

Archer passed him a napkin and he wiped the green splodge off his shoulder. It left a stain, however, and Gerrard shook his head and cursed.

‘Goddammit, this is my best suit. Anyway, keep going.’

‘It’s two jobs. The stash-rooms at MSG and the tennis truck in Flushing. The plan is to hit the Garden just before the fight starts. The whole place will be packed and distracted, the takings at the concessions from the night before will be loaded up in the rooms. They’re planning to clean the place out, in-and-out in a couple of minutes. I think they’ve paid someone off to give them access to the lower levels, then they’re going to go in armed in the stash-room and tie and gag everyone inside.’

‘Jesus Christ, they’re getting cocky,’ Gerrard said. ‘And stupid. There’ll be a shitload of cops down there.’

Archer shook his head.

‘Cocky maybe, but not stupid. They’re going for an all-time record. Three jobs in one week, then they’re going to leave the city forever. Farrell knows your team is trying to take them down. He called you a real asshole.’

‘Trust me, the feeling’s mutual.’

‘He said it’s just matter of time before you manage to pin something on him so he’s bailing out. After the two jobs, they’re going straight to Atlantic City on Sunday, then Florida, and then to the Dominican by private jet. They’re headed for Mexico eventually. Trying to steal enough money in one week to live on for the rest of their lives.’

Gerrard nodded, taking another bite from his food.

‘What about the Flushing job?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. Farrell wouldn’t tell me much about it, save that there’s some kind of armoured truck they’re going after. They’ll try to hit it before it gets to its destination, either on the I-495 or even in Flushing Corona Park itself. Their transport is hidden at Flushing Airport, so they won’t have to go far.’

‘Transport? A car?’

‘A helicopter. They’re planning to fly over any roadblocks at the city and State borders and ride all the way down to AC.’

Gerrard looked at him for a moment, then shook his head.

‘Son of a bitch. A damn fighter shouldn’t be that smart.’

Archer nodded, taking a bite from his burrito.

‘Farrell and his team have a couple of secret rooms at the back of his gym, behind a secret doorway,’ he said. ‘When I was down there, I saw Regan and Tate stitching some fabric on sewing machines. Tate showed us what he was working on. It was a black, long-sleeved vest, reinforced with Aramid and steel-plated body armour.’

‘Like the North Hollywood shootout.’

‘Exactly. They’ve done their homework. I think that’s got something to do with Sunday. I’m guessing that armoured