Exit wound

The contact opened his door and got out. The Stasi in the sheepskin arched an eyebrow as he studied the cigarette in his hand, but he accepted a light. Then he spotted the cheap disposable, and his hand grabbed the contact’s wrist.

He muttered something and the contact laughed. ‘Ja, ja, naturlich.’ He handed over the entire pack, and then the lighter, before gesturing to Red Ken for the carton on the front seat. They got it – as well as the one still in his day-sack.

Sheepskin stuck his head into the cab. ‘Brixmis? Brixmis, ja?’

Red Ken shrugged and gave him some waffle. He sounded very authoritative, which got Sheepskin sort of nodding. The other one walked all the way round the van, peering in through the windows.

A local. Brixmis. The pieces were coming together in Sheepskin’s head. He shouted down at the contact.

Red Ken shook his head and answered for him in English: ‘We have no money – no money.’

Sheepskin drew down his pistol. His mate Leatherman was a split second behind. He pointed the barrel at the contact and screamed into his face.

Spag shat himself as Red Ken screamed right back: ‘No fucking money, we got no money.’

Leatherman came round and joined Sheepskin. They were getting angrier and more agitated. A very bad combination. They both pointed their weapons into the van.

Red Ken was calm. ‘Just stay in the wagon. If we get out now, they’ll shoot.’

Spag sparked up. ‘I’ve got money. I’ve got money.’ He held the bag up high.

Sheepskin pushed the contact aside and lunged into the cab. He leant over the driver’s seat and grabbed the holdall. Leatherman kept one eye on us and the other on the bag. Both were very happy with what they saw inside it.

They turned and shouted at the contact. Fingers were pointed at their vehicle and then at us.

Red Ken opened his door. ‘Nick, Tenny – out. Leave everything in the wagon. Don’t piss them off. I’ll tell you when.’

7

As we walked up to their vehicle I saw what the problem was. The antlers of a huge stag stuck out from under the front bumper.

Sheepskin stood on the road with the cash while his mate took the wheel.

The four of us slipped and slid in the mud at the back as the driver hung out of the window shouting orders. The exhaust fumes caught at the back of my throat and made my eyes stream.

Red Ken was in the middle. ‘Nick – the driver. We’ll take the money. On my word…’

One final push and the front wheels rolled over the carcass and reconnected with the tarmac. The engine revved as we stamped shit off our boots.

As Sheepskin headed past us for the passenger door, Red Ken yelled, ‘Go!’ He and Tenny lunged at him. I moved to the left of the car as the contact made a run for it. Leatherman poked his head out to see what was happening. The middle three fingers of my left hand fought their way into his mouth and twisted sideways, like I’d hooked a fish. I gripped his head with my right and pulled hard, as if I was trying to land him through the window. I couldn’t see his weapon.

He screamed at me. My fingers were soaked in his saliva. His hands came up to try to grab mine and he ended up wedged in the gap. Seconds later, Tenny arrived and gave him a couple of boots to the neck. Leatherman shrieked. I kept hold of him as Tenny opened the door and grabbed a weapon from the passenger seat.

I let go. Leatherman’s head hit the top of the window frame. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, trying to cough his Adam’s apple back into place. Tenny kicked him down into the mud.

Red Ken had Sheepskin on the ground with a weapon in his neck. He shouted to the contact to retrieve the cash.

The blue light beat into the darkness.

He turned to us two. ‘Get them in the boot. If they fuck about, drop them. Tenny, cut the blues and follow.’

We did what we were told, pushing, kicking, shouting, pointing their pistols at them. Seconds later we were back in the Gaz, Tenny in the Wartburg behind us.

Red Ken was breathing hard. I knew he was angry. He tried to control himself, but it wasn’t happening. He turned and jabbed a finger at Spag. ‘All you had to do was sit tight and shut the fuck up.’

Spag took a breath but decided not to answer.

Good move.

The muddy bag was back on his lap.

We drove in silence for another quarter of an hour before turning down a farm track. A collection of barns stood off to the right, rough old things knocked up out of concrete blocks and corrugated iron. One or two bits of rusted machinery had been abandoned to the elements.

The contact followed the track round to the back, stopped and killed the lights. Tenny pulled up beside us.

Red Ken went over to him as the rest of us clambered out. ‘Hold these fuckers here. We do the deal and we leave. They’ll find their own way out of the boot.’

Tenny shook his head. ‘Better let them breathe. The exhaust is cracked and the fumes are getting everywhere. It’ll kill them.’

‘OK, give ’em air until we’re finished. Then we’ll close them in again.’