My Payday

I knew Katja was watching us, what else do you do when you're held hostage and can't move around; you sit and watch, and enjoy the show. I forced the blunt, hooked end of the crowbar into the underside of the first box; no.47. I began to wedge it in tight, and then began to put leverage onto it pushing and pulling it, up an down to either destroy what was holding it in place or force it out of place. It began to become loose, and after one hard push down onto the handle of the crowbar, the tray came forward and bent. I moved the crowbar out, and then put it inside the open gap of the tray and with the hook pull it out of it's place. It came loose and I slid it's damaged shell out, inside was the jewelry, all in see-through plastic packaging, with stenciled numbers on them.

There were about two dozen of the small to medium sized bags, I wasted no time tipping the tray over and into the first duffel bag I had open, and ready. I glanced behind me at Katja, and laying on her thighs on the marble floor, she watched with her cuffed wrists resting on her knee. I moved back to the boxes, and re positioned the balaclava over my face, so I could breath. I moved onto box 67 now, and did the same routine again with the crowbar. No problem there, as I slid out the tray; inside were small to large plastic bags of jewelry again, this time they looked to be diamonds, rubies, and cut stones.

I tipped the tray over, and emptied what looked to be about two dozen of the bags into the same bag, I emptied the first tray into. The duffel bag filled up fast, and with just two boxes left I threw aside the tray, and knelt down to zip up the bag. Last two boxes to go, the ones with the gold bullion inside. Crowbar wedged in on box 96, up and down and out it came. I slid the tray out, and inside in similar bags as the jewelry before, were small slabs of gold that shone from the lights of the room. I shook the tray around a bit, to see how many bags of the gold slabs there were, I counted about a dozen of the bags.

Each bag was well worth with the slab of gold inside, between £3,000 to £4,000 each and there were twelve in this tray.

"Why do you do this?" A voice asked me. I glanced over my shoulder, and it was Katja.

That was quite a question, could I answer it truthfully or should I lie. Why bother lying, it won't make any difference.

"There are us, an' there's them; those who are born in tae' wealth an' those who hav' tae' take it if they want tae' to be some wun'." I said in my accent, stopping my routine, and just held the tray from box 96.

"I was nae' born with a spoon up mae' arse, I was born with a boot up mae' arse from my da', so I take wut' I have tae' take." I said simply, and I tipped the tray and emptied it into the second duffel bag, and it slowly filled with the gold bullion.

The last box to go, the one with gold and some jewelry inside; box no. 102. I wedged the crowbar end into the bottom side of the tray, and began the same routine. But something was wrong, it wouldn't come loose after the few tugs, and pulls like with the last three boxes.

"Hurry up, we're in!" Michael said towards me, telling me that he and Danny had forced entry into the vault and were going inside to get the cash, and for me to hurry the fuck up with the boxes.

I just wouldn't fucking budge, the tray was wedged in or maybe I damaged whatever the tray required to slide on to be opened. I began to yank the bar of the crowbar up and down, hoping the sheer force would force it open.

"You can still go, leave the tray - you not have to die for jewelry." Katja said again, in her gentle tone.

"Wae' here for dae' jewelry, cash an' gold. We've come too far tae' stop now, we need this." I said yanking on the bastard of a crowbar, trying to force it open.

"You can still live, Police are not ones to fear. Those who own boxes, they will come after you all." She said again.

"Fuck dae' Polis' and fuck dae' bosses!" I said, Polis meaning Police, I wondered if she understood me.

I finally heard a crack, and the sound of twisting metal and felt the tray come loose. I slid it out, and tipped it over, not caring to look into the final tray, but to be finished with my task. I saw bags, about a dozen or more of gold bullion slabs, jewelry and diamonds fall into the duffel bag.

I knelt down, putting the holdall inside the duffel bag and zipped it shut, before throwing aside the final tray.

I stood shouldering both duffel bags now, both across my chest and shoulders, and either side of my hips, dangling there freely. Then we heard it, the sirens, the fucking Police sirens.

"Polis'!" I shouted out loud enough for Danny and Michael to hear me inside the vault.

I could hear running from the vault, and Michael appeared at the corner of the vault door with two duffel bags hanging from either shoulder, across his chest like my own two bags. Inside his however were piles of British Sterling Pound (£) bank notes, all high denominations; £100 notes and thousands of them. I assumed Danny had his own two bags, filled up with the cash inside as well as Michael's two bags were now bulky, and heavy looking.

"Fuck it, they're supposed to be tucked up and busy with the shift change! Grab a hostage now! We'll grab the other two left, and we'll have to shoot our way out of here!" Michael told me loudly.

I went for Katja, with Michael or Danny I feared she would take a stray bullet from either the Police or even Michael or Danny's guns. I leaned close to her, and whispered.

"I've got yae', I won't hut' yer. Just dae' wut' I tell yer' and I'll get yer' oot' of here." I said gently to her as I took hold of her hands in front of her.

"Please, Police will shoot you and I will get hit." She wept as she got onto her feet slowly on her heels.

"Dae' won't shoot us, if wae' have yae' three with us." I said clearly to her, as her beautiful, petite yet voluptuous body stood next to me; I was taller in comparison to her as I was about 5'10 in height.

"I die here, I will." She cried, as Michael and Danny frog-marched the two male staff members to the stairs, with their guns against their backs.

"Yae' have tae' come wae' me, I won't point the gun at yae' back I'll keep it low, I promise yae'." I said slowly pulling her towards the stairs, getting behind her with my shotgun.

She did as I told her, but cried as we mounted the stairs with Michael and Danny ahead of me with their own hostages. She moved slowly, with her large arse tightly encased in the office skirt which I knew to be a tight pencil skirt now. I don't know why I did it, but I took my right hand from the grip of the shotgun quickly and pressed my entire palm against the right side of her arse, through the skirt and pretended to push her on, wanting her to hurry up. I squeezed her ass quickly and spoke.

"Move yer' arse, if we get up there too late, then dae' Polis' will kill us, and you three in dae' process." I said to encourage her to hurry up, when really I was just getting a grope from her; hell I was going to die maybe, best leave this world with a hard-on and some satisfaction.

She grunted as my hand squeezed her arse, but when I spoke my words her pace sped up as she ran up the stairs ahead of us. We finally pushed through the doors of the staircase into the main lobby, the four guards we first disarmed were; still on the floor injured and tied up.

They were screaming, shouting at us as we heard the sirens outside, even through the glass panes of the front doors we saw the sirens and what we knew to be armed Police vehicles. The Metropolitan Police had what is known as the Flying Squad; armed plain-clothes Police officers who are first on scene at armed robberies - where firearms are used.

But they weren't alone, we could see them with their bullet-proof vests on over civilian clothing, behind their unmarked cars that were parked on the street, facing the main doors of the bank. The Flying Squad officers were flanked on either side by CO19 officers, fully armed, SWAT trained Police officers. These guys were kitted out with everything; tactical helmets, bullet-proof vests, BDU military clothing beneath and they were armed with Glock pistols, and Heckler & Koch MP5 sub-machine guns; all Police issue. This could become a siege, if the Police had enough time to position snipers on the nearby store roofs.

We moved across the marble floor of the lobby, ignoring the swearing and shouting from the bound guards.

"Move it, hit them hard; full whack of the shooters! Keep your hostage close, James! Don't leave your face, head or arms exposed in case there are snipers. Use her as your cover!" Michael told me ahead of me and Danny, knowing I was the newbie especially to shootouts with the Police. We all made it to the glass pane doors, we had to move fast so Michael led ahead and pushed through the large, glass pane doors into the street. The wind hit us in the faces, it was almost Autumn; we may have had balaclava's on but our eyes and mouth were exposed to the cold wind. The first thing we heard was a loudspeaker, probably one of the armed Police officers; a Sergeant speaking through it.

"Armed Police! Put down your weapons, and release the hostages!" The voice boomed, probably a high rank who had authority to use the loudspeaker. We moved too fast, to look like we were surrendering; but to move fast and not shoot was to allow Police to think we weren't going to kill the hostages we had.

Michael raised his AK47, with one hand just on the grip, and the stock pressed to his bicep for control, his other hand holding the hostage.

"Fuck off!" He roared, and pulling on the trigger sent shots flying at the Police cars, and almost every officer hiding behind one dropped for cover. Danny followed suit, this was their routine if they ever had to have a backup plan should Police show up, then it was a hard and fast exit from the venue and pin Police down with heavy firepower; and get away. Danny unloaded with one hand only as well, with his Mac-10. These two were not stupid, even Danny's Mac-10 was upgraded with a heavier stock for control against his bicep, to allow use with just one hand as well as an extended magazine; holding more rounds than a normal clip would.

Michael and Danny were professionals, and as Danny fired about two dozen well placed shots in a 'pray and spray' motion; almost every round hit the Police cars.

"James hit the tires, and windscreens!" Danny told me, quickly over his shoulder like a passing word. My own shotgun was outfitted with a heavier stock, so I could use it with one hand; on Michael and Danny's expressed orders during planning of the job.

I brought it up close to Katja's side, almost pressing into her waist in order to hide and protect my arms from Police gunfire. It didn't make Katja a target, British Police particularly in London are told not to put lives of innocents or hostages in danger; if they didn't have a shot then they didn't take it. Controlling the shotgun, I leveled it at the first two cars in the street, and fired off one shot. We weren't carrying regular ammunition for our guns either, I didn't know what kind of ammo Michael and Danny were carrying; but I was carrying shells designed to penetrate armor and metal car frames. I brought the gun up and fired at the front tires of the two nearby cars. The shot hit home, pellets landed all over the cars bodywork, and the tires bursting them; there were pock-marks all over the car frames.

I literally saw two armed officers behind their cars dive for further cover, these officers were trained to know regular ammunition from special kinds, and they knew what we were packing would go through their armor like tissue paper. With the Police pinned down, looking for cover and no shots from above; I assumed snipers were not positioned yet. We moved along the street, and we all turned our hostages into the direction of the Police cars, and turned quickly around the corner of the street to the one our van was waiting on.

We moved quickly to the van, I was even out of breath almost but we moved with our hostages facing the direction of the Police, so our backs were not exposed. We finally got to the van doors, and Michael threw his hostage aside like he was trash, and he fell to the floor bound. Michael got inside covering us, with his rifle aimed at the street corner. Danny was next to the door as Michael covered us, and threw his hostage aside; he hit the floor hard.

"Get in and dump her!" Michael shouted at me, as I moved towards the van next; I didn't want to hurt her or even get rid of her.

Out of nowhere shots came, and the Police were clearly sick of waiting for us to surrender, and began to fire at the van. Some rounds hit the bodywork of the van, as two Flying Squad officers were now crouched and prone at the street corner, firing at us with their Glock pistols.

"They're shooting at us, we need a hostage noo'!" I said shoving Katja into the van, using it as reason not to throw her to the floor or get her hurt.

"What are you doing? Fucking throw her out!" Michael barked at me, firing his rifle at the Police shooting back at us.

"We need her noo', the Polis won't shoot us if dae' see a hostage wae' us!" I barked right back at him, shoving Katja to the back of the van, and she laid on the floor cowering.

Michael was seething, but firing away at the Police again, as I got in next; luckily since a shot almost hit me, and struck the car ahead of us on it's rear right side. Once I was in, Michael fired off a few more rounds before slamming the door shut.

"Drive Terry, now!" Michael shouted, slapping the back of the driver's seat where Terry sat.

Terry stepped on the gas, and the car accelerated forwards, almost hitting the back of the car ahead, but narrowly missing and we were off driving down the street away from the bank. The Police shooting at us stopped, and sirens began to die away in the distance; we were took quick for the Police to mount back up in their cars to pursue us. Eventually we pulled onto a main road, and we began to take the side streets to avoid main roads, and we were quickly away from Central London. Our plan was to drive to a local garage, drop off the van and douse the whole thing in bleach to destroy any prints we could have left; yet since we got the vehicle we always wore gloves when using it.

"What do we do with her?" Michael asked, in a raised voice.

I saw why he was asking that now, Terry wasn't wearing a mask! She could see his face clearly in the mirror on the ceiling of the driver's seat. "She's seen Terry's face, she's got to fucking go!" Danny added his own voice in the moment, holding his Mac-10, as he put his duffel bags to the side of the inside of the van.

Katja understood everything beind said, and cowered further into the back corner of the van, and her hands were covering her face; she was trembling. Michael and Danny were staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

"Fuck it mate, if you can't do it then I will." Danny said taking from one of the duffel bags we had, one of the guard's 9mm Beretta handguns. He gripped it, and aimed it at Katja, he could have only be about nine inches from her as she cowered, crying.

"Wait, we're driving tae' dae' garage. If we shoot her noo', in dae' van then some buudy' will hear it an' report it, plus they'll be blood splatter all over dae' fucking van. I'll dae' it when we get tae dae' garage, just let me dae' it." I said putting my hands out to encourage Danny to listen to me, and not to shoot Katja.

Danny slowly lowered the handgun, and spoke.

"You better, she's seen Terry's face and knows our accents. Either you put her down, or we will." He said putting the handgun back into the duffel bag it came from.

She cowered in the corner of the van, I couldn't go over and comfort her without drawing suspicion to me actually freeing her and letting her live. I had to pretend my mind and focus was all on this job, on the payday. We drove in silence, as we entered parts of West London, where the garage was. We finally pulled in the garage, as Terry hit the mobile remote for opening it, the garage was underneath a large, notorious council estate or as it commonly known world wide; low-rent accommodation, effectively a ghetto. This would mean a burning, wreck of a van set aflame would look like any normal afternoon on the Local Council Estate.

Inside the garage, Terry brought the van to a stop; and closed the garage doors behind the van. Danny and Michael opened the side doors of the van, both sides and stepped out holding their guns. They both then leaned in and began to lift out the heavy-laden duffel bags, with our loot out onto the floor of the garage. Terry was taking anything, and everything from inside the vehicle that belonged to us. We had to be careful, the Police could use anything to link us to the robbery. I looked at Katja, and called her over with my hand.

"Come ere'." I said gently.

Katja was reluctant, and didn't move immediately following my words.

"I said come ere'." I repeated to her.

She slowly slid across the floor of the van to me, like a frightened child would, her stockings or tights gently grazing along the carpeted floor. Her heels scraped along the material of the carpet, as she moved to me near the van door. Her hands were still bound as Terry, Danny and Michael began to sort through the duffel bags, they appeared to have just simply forgotten about Katja; as if she no longer existed or merited interest. I watched them, putting the duffel bags onto the nearby tables; with Danny and Michael now removing their masks. I was the last one still to be wearing my mask.

She could see Danny, Terry and Michael as clear as day; making the reason for her death even longer, and more warranting. Terry with his short blonde hair, Danny with his short black hair and Michael with his dark, coal skin and brown hair. This made me nervous, removing my mask would make her death inevitable, if she saw my face. But it was inevitable, if I didn't remove my mask then the others would know it was because I didn't want to kill Katja.

I slid my hand up my bearded throat, and took hold of the front of my balaclava. I slowly gripped it tightly in my hand, and pulled it upwards exposing the bottom half of my face, and then over my nose before reaching my forehead. As if our of a fucking woman's romantic film, I saw Katja's eyes go wide and continue to stare at me as I took off the mask; she knew the implications of my decision here. I wasn't much to look at; I stood at only 5'10 in height, and I had black hair and a thick matching beard with hazel eyes.

"Please, not kill me; I beg you." She said in a whisper now, leaned over towards me; supporting herself with her hands flat out on the floor of the van. An innocent, pleading pose.

"Do the fucking job, and shoot her." Michael told me, over his shoulder.

Michael was testing me, to see if I was all business and a professional. If I didn't kill Katja, then they knew me myself to be a liability and would kill me themselves. I felt the beads of sweat on my forehead, and my fingers itch as I leaned down to take from my own duffel bags, one of the guard's handguns.

"I beg sir, not kill me." She pleaded as I brought the handgun up and aimed it in her direction.

I held the gun up, aimed at her chest and she began to breath hard, gasp and cry even more as she knew what was coming.

"I'm so sorry, Hen." I said in my Scottish accent, and Hen affectionately means a woman or girl, and is a Scottish manner of speaking to women.

All of a sudden, there was the noise of sirens; loud and blaring, I didn't know where it was coming from but it was heavenly. I couldn't shoot Katja.

"Fuck! How did they follow us?" Michael shouted out, turning to face me, Katja and the van.