Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 44, No. 4, April 1980

“Don’t do anything foolish, lad. Not now when everything you asked for has been laid on. Money takes time to count — you asked for Sterling — you’ve got it all in old notes just like you said. Right now it’s being counted and packed. One o’clock. Think, lad. One o’clock, no one else need get hurt.” Foley’s voice showed the strain of the long night’s vigil and the need for calm.

“The safety’s off!” Condon yelled, poking the blue steel in the child’s side. “Are you counting, Foley? — ONE — TWO—”

“Ah Arne, stop tickling!” Sandra interrupted the fatal count. Giggling, she twisted her head around to look up at the gunman. The gun moved again. It movement struck terror to the hearts of those who watched.

“I tickle, do I?” Condon said softly, eyes resting on the small laughing face for a long moment. He nudged her again, without malice. There was no malice in the tired boy face now turned down towards the child’s, just desperation. The gun moved again and Sandra’s high clear laugh drifted like the tinkle of a silver bell into a silence that was almost tangible as apprehension stopped breath. Waiting ears cringed away from the inevitable shot that must come. And then Condon was shouting something through the window.

“Okay!” He shouted. “Okay! You’ve got till one o’clock and not one second more!” Breathing once more became possible as relief found itself in laughter, in movement. The air was as filled with sound as it had been quiet a few moments before.

Maura Kelly, standing near the gate, caught her husband’s eye and her head moved in an almost imperceptible nod. Shay crossed quickly to his wife’s side.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“Across the street in the Bingo Hall, Mrs. Coady at the wool shop gave me the keys.”

“Are there many?”

“Seventeen, plus the three blind men with their dogs.”

“It’s enough. Try to keep out of the wet,” the tall guard said, squeezing her arm. He made his way across the tarmac to where the Superintendent stood girding himself for the next bout with Condon if, by some horrid trick of fate, the money still were not ready.

“Superintendent, Sir. If you don’t mind I’d like to have a word with you,” he began and with no further preamble launched into his plan to bring the siege to an end.

“Rain might be grand for the grass, but I could do without it today,” Foley said to no one in particular before turning to address Kelly. “Of all the eejit ideas! Aren’t you satisfied with the number dead already, Garda... Garda?”

“Kelly, Sir. Seamus Kelly, Irishtown Barracks.”

“Yes. Garda Kelly. I thought I recognized you,” Foley said, grateful for the chance to let off steam. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what did I do to deserve you?” With difficulty Foley kept his voice under control as he laid down the law. “Ah yes, I know that name well and the way you go charging around the country against orders. Seamus Kelly, the one man Garda Siochana! We should fire the lot and let you take over!”

“But I thought—”

“You above every man in the Irish Police Force are paid not to think! You are here to keep the crowd back — nothing else. Do you hear me? Don’t think, and that’s an order!”

“Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir.” Kelly turned away.

“Where are you going?” Foley asked, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“To keep the crowd back, Sir.” As soon as was possible Shay shook his head at Maura, mouthing the words, ‘No way.’ He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He squinted up at a sky so grey it was impossible to believe the sun ever would shine again. Abruptly, he went over to Maura. “I don’t care, I’m going to do it,” he said.

“What did the Superintendent say?”

“Never mind about him.”

“But—”

“No buts. You brought my rifle?” Maura nodded. “And the grey jumper?” She nodded again. “Okay, ease over to the entrance of the Bingo Hall, I’ll see you there.” Five minutes later, Kelly handed his jacket to Maura and pulled the dark sweater over his head, he could hear the chatter of voices coming from the main hall.

“Sure there’s after bein’ a half dozen Army sharp shooters inside now, what makes you think—” his wife ventured.

“They’re all on this side of the street and they shouldn’t be.”

“They are o’course,” Maura said. “Condon would spot anyone on top of the wings. They’re so flat a flea would lump up like an ox.”

“That’s why I need something to distract him.” He kissed her quickly on the mouth. “Get everyone in position and as soon as you see me on top of the right wing they should fan out in the court yard. Condon must be so distracted he won’t notice me as he crosses to the car. Wish me luck,” he said and was gone.

At ten minutes to one word came that the money was on its way to the plane. Foley conveyed the information to Condon. The Mercedes crept through the crush into the courtyard stopping twenty feet from the door through which Condon would come.

“Alright, Condon, it’s time to go,” Foley said into the bull horn. Maura’s eyes willed Shay to appear but there was no movement on the right hand roof.