The Killer (10 page)

‘Put them on the floor with the other weapons,’ Darren ordered.
The two men reluctantly placed the knife and razor with the rest and returned to the line.

‘OK men, this is a close combat course, so show me what you can do.
On my command, throw your opponent to the floor and hold him down but do not break any bones.’
He looked at the eager men then gave the order.
‘Now.’

After several minutes, and lots of grunting and groaning, the men had finished, with each of the pairs having a loser and a winner.
Darren looked at them and shook his head, tutting.
It had been shambolic, but it was a start.
He ordered losers to one side, and winners to the other.
He now had two lines of men.
Showing his disapproval at the length of time taken to simply knock a man down, he offered a display.

‘You,’ he shouted, pointing to the biggest man present in the winners’ line.
‘Step out and face me.’
The man did as ordered and he stood towering above Darren.
‘I weigh around seventy kilos, you must be what?
At least a hundred?’ he asked him.
The big fellow smiled and nodded his head.
‘Knock me down and hold me on my back,’ he told him.
‘Go on man, now.’

The big guy lunged forward.
Darren moved fast; so fast that most of the men didn’t actually see what had happened.
He grabbed an arm and, using his opponent’s weight, easily swung him around and off balance.
He forced him to the floor, pinned his arms quickly behind him, knelt across his neck and cut off his breathing.
‘This,’ Darren said calmly, ‘is how to put someone down
quietly.
To kill, just press a little harder until the neck breaks.’
Then he lifted the stunned man to his feet, patted him on the back and told him to return to the line.

‘You will be allowed no weapons whatsoever,
until
you have learned the basic rules of unarmed combat.
They are to be taken away from you and locked up.
Is that clearly understood?’
The men sheepishly nodded their agreement.
‘You need first to practice and learn how to fight like
real
soldiers, instead of toy ones.’
Insulting them further, Darren added, ‘Because if you lot were facing a class of schoolgirls they’d hospitalise the fucking lot of you.’

Silently, the men stood glaring at him.
He wasn’t popular; that much was obvious, but he had their full attention as he shouted, ‘When I think you are ready, and not until, I will allow you to practice your combat techniques with small weapons, knives, bottles, bricks, and the like.
Pistols and rifles will follow, but only when I know you’re ready for them.
Any questions?’
Nothing.
Not a single word.
Disgraced, the men stood in silence.
‘Good, now form again in twos.
Watch, listen and learn.
I’ll be passing by everyone.’

For several hours he drilled them, assessing each man’s capabilities and strengths.
Captain Antonio Rodriguez de la Vasco proved particularly adept and Darren made use of the respect he clearly had with the rest of the men.
Maybe it was that eye patch.

As the first day drew to a close Darren thanked the captain for his assistance, offering him his hand.
It was warmly accepted.
‘Just one thing,’ Darren said.
‘Antonio Rodriguez de la Vasco is a hell of a mouthful for me, do you have a shorter name I can use?’

‘Yes of course Mr. Butch.
You can call me Vassi,’ he winked.
At least Darren assumed he had winked.
It was hard to tell with a one eyed man.

The following days continued in the same vein.
Advances were made and backwards steps were taken, but gradually the rabble of bandits began to resemble real fighting men.
They’d had the balls and the guts from the start, but it had been without focus or control.
He was reminded of himself as he had been just a few short years ago, and he thanked Collins daily for the lessons he had learned and could now pass on.
Self-reliance, purpose, concentration, he saw these qualities developing in all the men and he was happy with the progress they were making.
The stitches that Rosa had given his face had gone after about a week, but the ugly scar left behind served as a reminder to all of his battle and victory that first day.
His orders were accepted without question and the daily training sessions settled into a comfortable routine.

A Break in the Routine

Darren entered the kitchen to the smell of coffee that was starting to become so familiar.
He doubted it would ever replace tea in his affections but he was developing a taste for the strong, invigorating brew that Rosa always had waiting for him.
From old hag, this woman sure had turned into a wonderful hostess and he looked forward to their brief, early morning chats alone before he headed out for the day’s training.
They had improved his Spanish no end and he was nearly fluent now.
He even liked the way she said his nickname.
Somehow her pronunciation of “Meester Bootch” took the edge of the dark associations the title held for him.

This morning he entered the room to find that Rosa was not alone and the familiar figure of Vassi stood to greet him.
‘Mr. Butch, these are Sixtro and Hector,’ he was informed, as two strangers walked forward.
‘They are trusted one hundred percent.
I vouch for both of them.’

‘That’s good then,’ said Darren, shaking hands and wondering exactly what they were trusted for.

Rosa strolled over to the table and opened a large envelope.
‘Mr. Butch,’ she announced, ‘we have been ordered to do a job and, as Juan is no longer with us, we would like you to assist.’
She took several documents and street plans from the envelope and placed them on the table.
‘Our orders are to acquire additional funding for the cause,’ she explained, ‘and here is where the money is to come from.’

Darren followed the bony finger as it indicated a building marked on a plan of the small village of Zalla and his eyes widened in disbelief.
It was a bank.
He sincerely doubted that the intention was to go in and ask politely for a loan, so that left only one conclusion.
‘A bank job?’ he spluttered.

‘Yes, I think that’s what you could call it,’ Rosa confirmed.

‘I’m no bank robber.’

‘No, I am aware of that Mr. Butch.
But before you came here to us you were not an instructor either, were you?’

‘Well, I’m only saying....’

Rosa cut him short.
‘You have been chosen for this work Mr. Butch.
Do you have a problem with it?
It used to be Juan’s job, but you removed him remember?’

‘Yes, well, no, I mean,’ he began.
‘Yes, I’ll do it all right.
It’s just that I’m letting you know that I’ve never done this before, that’s all.’

‘Do not worry,’ Rosa explained.
‘Vassi, Sixtro and Hector are well versed in this type of work.
The captain asked for you to join and make their four man team complete once more.’

Darren looked across at Vassi.
‘Thanks mate - I think,’ he grinned.

The men went over the plan together and, with every remark they made, Darren became more and more aware of the fact that this job had been planned for some time.

‘Why this bank?’ asked Darren.

‘Because tomorrow this small, seemingly insignificant, bank will hold the entire monthly payroll for the S.G. Iron Foundry - and that’s a very large payroll indeed,’ smiled Vassi.

By the middle of the day each man had gone over his roll several times.
Sixtro was the driver.
It seemed that he had a natural talent for driving quickly, and an unnatural ability to get out of trouble fast.
Vassi and Hector were to perform the actual robbery.
And Darren?
Well, he was what they quaintly referred to as “crowd control”.

‘Try to avoid any shooting as the bank will have few clients at the hour we hit, so this should go down very quietly,’ Vassi advised Darren.
‘However, if anyone should put up a fight, hit them with a...
Well, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what to do.
After all, that’s why I asked for you.’

As the meeting drew to a close Rosa told Darren, ‘You can have a good night’s sleep tonight Mr. Butch, as you do not have to meet until mid-day tomorrow.’
But, in bed that night, Darren had anything but a good sleep.
He tossed and turned the entire time.
The constant worry of letting down his new crew plagued him.
He didn’t really want to rob anyone, but the plan had been made and he was included.
The following morning he was up at six thirty.
He ate breakfast at seven and, in an effort to calm his nerves, drank several cups of strong dark coffee.

Mid-day arrived and Darren walked out into the brilliant sunshine to find Sixtro and Hector waiting for him, happily polishing a late model BMW five series.
‘Nice car,’ Darren whistled.

‘Thank you Mr. Butch.
I “borrowed” it from a lady in Santander earlier this morning,’ Sixtro grinned.

Vassi arrived.
‘Everyone ready?’ he asked.
The others nodded.

‘Here.’
Vassi passed each of the men a dark jumper, a black beret and a white facemask.

Hector quickly donned his kit in order to demonstrate it for Darren.
The facemask reminded him of the white hoods the Ku Klux Clan wore but, instead of the pointy bit at the top, these were finished off with the black beret.
‘Jesus, they look fucking eerie,’ Darren shuddered.
‘Do I have to?’ he asked, looking down at his disguise.

‘Of course,’ Vassi laughed.
‘This is the E.T.A. uniform.
We don’t want anyone to have any doubts whatsoever who, exactly, robbed this bank.’

‘Yes, but I was thinking of wearing a stocking mask ins...’

Vassi cut him off.
‘Mr. Butch, if you want to wear ladies underwear that is entirely your business - but not on this job.
Wear it in your room.
No one here will think any the less of you.’

‘I didn’t mean to...’
Darren stopped short, realising that he was being made fun of.
‘OK, OK, you win.’

‘Besides,’ continued Vassi, ‘the very sight of men in white masks and black berets seems to silence any vigilantes very effectively.
So much so we rarely have to pull our guns.’

The four men donned their jumpers and climbed into the Beemer, leaving their masks and berets on their knees.
Though still nervous Darren didn’t have much time to fret, as the drive across to Zalla was a short one.
Around forty-five minutes later they were cruising down the main street and heading in the direction of the bank.
As they passed, Vassi looked across at the building but the other three kept their eyes fixed dead ahead.

‘Good, it’s quiet,’ he smiled as they went by.

Sixtro drove on for around a mile and then made a u-turn, driving back to park the car a hundred yards or so from the bank on the opposite side of the road.
Vassi, Hector and Darren each picked up a tool-bag and set off strolling lazily towards the bank.
Though they appeared relaxed each of them was following the instruction to ‘keep a sharp look out for anything out of the ordinary.’
Darren took “out of the ordinary” to mean hundreds of cops with very large guns.
They saw no one.
The street was deserted.

As they entered the bank they breathed a sigh of relief.
There were only two tellers and five clients standing in line.
The men slowly walked to the back of the bank and headed to a long bench covered with old pens, withdrawal slips, deposit slips and scraps of paper.
They looked at each other in turn, then nodded and donned the masks and berets.

When they turned, a female teller stared for a second and then fainted.
The other teller froze, his face ashen as he stared into the white masked faces of the three bank robbers.

‘Dios mio, E.T.A
.
,’ a woman screamed at the top of her voice.

‘Silence, this is a robbery,’ shouted Darren.
‘Everyone keep quiet and everybody lives.’

Though he’d never admit it, he was sweating almost as much as the people he was holding up.
This was a new and unnerving experience for him.

The silence in the bank was deafening, as everyone kept their mouths shut and their eyes open, each one staring slack jawed at the menacing black machine gun the hooded E.T.A. robber was pointing at them.