Roberts said:
‘You’re not giving much away?’
Brant smiled, said:
‘It’s a party and you and me, we’re going.’
‘When?’
‘After we dump the swag.’
Roberts thought that Brant truly was mad — not just wild, out and out barking. He shook his head but Brant went:
‘Listen to me, you’re not going to hang round the station. They need you, they’ve got your number. What you need is some R and R. When was the last time you got laid?’
‘What kind of party is it?’
‘The kind where you get laid.’
Then he was off, leaving the car in the no-parking zone. Roberts struggled to catch up, asked:
‘You’re not just leaving the car? They’ll tow it.’
‘Who cares, it’s a piece of shit.’
‘But what about the party? How will we get there?’
Brant looked back, delight on his face, said:
‘See, you do want to get laid. We’ll grab a cab, arrive in style; best if we don’t have transport in case we get shitfaced.’
The station was crowded and the left luggage place was right at the rear, attended by a middle-aged guy in uniform. Roberts hefted the bag on to the counter and, without looking up, the guy asked:
‘How long?’
When Roberts didn’t answer the guy finally raised his eyes and said:
‘You deaf?’
Roberts produced his warrant card, said:
‘No, I’m the heat, now give me a ticket.’
Slowly, the guy began to punch out the ticket and without handing it over, said:
‘Five pounds.’
Roberts snapped the ticket and said:
‘You don’t want to get in the way of a police operation.’
The guy was not impressed, said:
‘That’s corruption, that is.’
He took the bag and handed it back to Jimmy who was out the back, out of Roberts’ line of vision. Jimmy immediately began to fill his overcoat with wads of money. Angie had sewn pockets all down the sides and, thanks to Her Majesty’s Prison Service, her sewing was terrific. He also carried a nondescript shopping bag, which he jammed with more wedges of cash. Finally, he produced a Network Rail shoulder bag and rammed the last few packets into it. He was ready to roll. Waited until the cops had pushed off, then shouted: