Chapter 59

 

Dylan sat opposite his brother in the back of the van, both of them with their hands cuffed behind their backs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Dylan said, shaking his head, “I can’t believe this. An undercover cop. Why the fuck didn’t I see it?”

“Cause your eyes were in your bollocks that’s why,” Victor spat.

Perspiration trickled down Dylan’s back. “We’ll ring Stephen Wallis when we get to the station. He’ll have us out by the end of the day. And I swear, I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll get her. She’ll pay for this.”

“It’s not the fucking courts we need to worry about,” Victor groaned, “now they’ve got the painting, how the hell are we going to pay everyone? I can’t see Jit Monks and the gang being fucking delirious about this.”

Dylan wasn’t listening. “She was so convincing. She’s just come out of the nick, for Christ’s sake.”

Victor’s face was full of venom. “Yeah, obviously a set up. They must have had us in their sights for a while. She was bloody convincing, I’ll give you that. They needed someone as slick as her to pull it off.”

“Wait till I get my hands on her,” Dylan said. “I never suspected a thing. Not once until the security bloke mentioned seeing her in the park. I knew then something was wrong. I’d never have guessed she was a cop though. Even on my way to her flat, I was convinced it was an insurance job. Those cops coming out of the kitchen and handcuffing us was a shock. I still can’t believe it.”

“I told you not to go after her,” Victor said, “but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Nobody said you had to come,” he snapped back.

“What the fuck did you expect me to do? You left me no choice, racing round to her flat.”

Victor was right. He had been a bloody fool. He was normally so measured, but he’d let his guard down. Gemma Dean, or whoever she really was, had played him every step of the way.

He felt nauseous. Vic looked ashen. He watched his brother try to wipe the sweat running down his face, on his shoulder. They had a long road ahead of them now.

“Anyway, you’re right,” Vic said, “we’ll be out by the end of today.” But he didn’t sound convincing. They’d prepared for eventualities, but not for this. Vic carried on, “The brief will sort this. But once we’re out, we’re still in deep shit, that’s for sure.”

“Do you reckon they’ve picked Jit up as well?”

“I reckon, yeah,” Victor said, “they’ll not get anything out of him though. He’s no grass.”

Dylan shook his head, “What a fucking mess.”

The van started to slow down.

“Where the fuck are they taking us?” Victor frowned, bending his head to look through the windscreen. The view was obscured by the visor separating them from the cops, but he could just about see the road ahead.

Dylan ducked his head also. “Christ knows. Not Kensington, that’s for sure.” He scowled, “Maybe they’re taking us to Fulham?”

Both of them continued to watch.

“Why are we stopping?” Dylan frowned.

Victor shook his head, “Where the hell are we, anyway?”

The van entered a car park and came to a halt. One of the cops got out and moved a couple of cones that had reserved a parking space. The second cop manoeuvred the van into the space and applied the handbrake before cutting the engine. The cop got out of the van and slammed the door, leaving him and Victor alone.

Dylan looked around incredulously. “Where the fuck are they going?”

Why would two police officers leave prisoners unattended in the back of a van?

Okay, their hands were cuffed, but nevertheless.

Both he and Vic’s eyes were focussed on the officers as they let themselves into a parked Ford Focus. The one in the driver’s seat started the engine and slowly moved the car forward towards the car park exit. He didn’t look back.

Victor screwed his face up. “They’re not fucking cops. They’re just dressed as cops.”

Dylan looked disbelievingly at his brother and his expression mirrored his own. “Shit.”

Victor’s face twisted, “Yeah, and she’s got the fucking painting.”