‘You mean souvlaki?’ Silas spoke with a strange accent, a mixture of Greek and Cockney.
‘Yeah, I’m John Bent—’
‘No last name, first only, you come in,’ he said in a staccato manner.
John stepped inside as Silas looked outside, quickly glancing up and down the road before relocking the door. They shook hands and Silas jerked his head for John to follow him. The interior of the café was small and shoddy, with six tables covered in plastic red-and-white-checked sheets. A refrigerated display counter contained a number of plastic bowls with different sandwich fillings and olives, while cakes and Greek pastries were arranged to one side next to baskets of sliced bread and rolls. There was a large espresso machine, and an array of bottles and sauces on dusty shelves behind the counter.
Silas led John to a back room; the doorway had a greasy multicoloured plastic strip curtain hanging across it. Inside there were boxes and boxes of what appeared to be tins of tuna, vine leaves and assorted vegetables stacked on unsteady-looking shelves.
‘You wanna a coffee or sometink, or shall we just get on wiv it?’
‘I’d like to see where we start, and do you have a back yard so we can bring in the equipment or does it all have to come in via the front?’
‘I have yard, but maybe good if decorating stuff come in front way during first day to make it look real. I still open café in day and you work at night so look like I still keep business going. Anyone ask I say basement being converted for more seating as I expanding, so there should be no problem.’
Silas flicked on a light switch and John followed him down stone stairs into a large dank basement.
‘You got a power source down here?’
‘I got big set of cables with long leads, plenty power for down here.’
They stood side by side facing an old whitewashed brick wall. Silas slapped his palm against it. ‘This also bank’s wall. You smash through here, dig tunnel and vault is on other side, but you gotta thick concrete floor base that is gonna take hours of drilling — they say it supposed to be impenetrable.’
‘Bloody hell, it’s a lot of work,’ John said quietly.
‘Yeah and we only work through night and stop 5 a.m. before light and people about on streets. I open café at seven but only during week. I close weekends cos no local business open.’
‘I’m going to have to get some wooden RSJs and Acro props for that wall if we want to knock through it.’
‘What you mean?’
‘The wall here will not be that difficult to get through, but it’s a supporting wall so I need to put up support planks where we remove the bricks, which we’ll have to do slowly. Last thing I want is the whole lot collapsing in on us.’
‘Too bloody right,’ Silas said, looking concerned.
‘You know how thick the concrete floor is below the deposit vault?’
‘I hear is plenty thick, built three years ago. If we can’t drill our way in, we might need explosives to blast through.’
‘Blasting is a last resort. I’ve got a heavy-duty Kango hammer drill but I reckon it will be too weighty and awkward for even two of us to lift and drill upwards.’
‘So what you do?’
‘Get a smaller one which is more fucking cash out of my pocket.’
‘I also hear the concrete floor has gotta thick metal mesh in it for extra strength and security.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Course I serious — why I make joke about such things?’
‘Cos it means more expense and I’m virtually out of cash as it is.’
‘Why more expense — you trade big Kango for small?’
‘I’ll think about it, but I’ll need an angle grinder to cut through the mesh.’
‘No problems, I give you more money, you pay me back when job done.’
‘What about alarms?’
‘I don’t have any.’
John was beginning to wonder if Silas was stupid, but realized it was just the language barrier. ‘I mean in the fucking bank. I’ve got someone on board who’s a good bell man but he needs to know what he’s up against to disarm it.’
‘Alarms inside of bank, plus all windows and doors. The vault has big steel entry door, but as we go up through vault floor from below it no trigger it.’
‘Of course it will...!’
‘No, listen to me. I hear there no alarm inside vault as they think nobody can get in.’
‘Whoever you got all this info from, does he know what we are going to do and is he safe to keep his mouth shut?’
Silas let out a deep guttural laugh, but John was not so amused and wanted to know if the alarm informant would have to be paid off.
Silas held his pendant towards John. ‘My father give this to me many years ago. Is the Owl of Athena from ancient Greece, a symbol of knowledge, wisdom and how you say... shrewdness. I have no informant, I hear the bank staff talk when they come in my café for food and drink, and the young ones they yap, yap, yap.’
John felt relieved and more confident about Silas who could have lied and said he did have another man who needed paying.
They both stood staring at the whitewashed wall. Silas explained that one of the safety-deposit boxes contained at least £100,000 in untraceable notes. John knew this, but he was curious as to how Silas knew. Silas explained the man used to be a regular at the café, and after too much ouzo one night he said he had put some nicked money in the vault.
‘Silly sod then get himself arrested, but added to de cash there’ll be Christ only knows what. People who use these deposit boxes stuff in jewellery and uninsurable stuff along with a lot of antique silver and dodgy gear — millions could be had for the takin’,’ Silas said grinning and then offered to make John a coffee.
They left the basement and went up the stairs into the café. Silas made some Greek coffee in a small copper pot that he said was called a briki. He poured one for himself and one for John into two clear glass demitasse cups with saucers. John took a sip out of politeness, but it was like tar and tasted far too strong for his liking.
‘This other guy you bringin’, you know him well?’ Silas asked, taking a sip of his piping-hot black coffee.
‘He’s the bell man, name’s Danny Mit—’ he began to say and Silas wagged his finger rapidly reminding him it was first names only.
‘Danny’s kosher and I’m using me brother to keep watch from up on high. Any sign of the cops, anyone passing, anything suspicious, or if we’re too noisy, he’ll be able to radio us to stop.’
Silas sighed. ‘I tell you, I gonna be very glad to get out of this shithole as soon as job is done.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I will have to get out of England, but I gonna disappear to Katakolon in my country. Get me a nice villa overlooking the Ionian Sea, a small fishing boat, then I’m just gonna relax.’
‘No family then?’
‘Yes, wife and three kids, but I already send her back to live with her sister a month ago. I gonna tell her I win big on horses so she no suspicious. I won a packet on the Grand National with Red Rum, what a horse. Besides she’s no complainin’ if living well in nice place. You can come and visit, you’ll soon be able to afford it.’ He grinned.
John smiled back. Looking round the dingy café he could understand why Silas wanted to return to his homeland.
Silas lit up a small cheroot and tapped John’s arm. ‘So you all set?’
‘Yeah... just one thing... can we trust this geezer in prison who set it all up? I know he’s got a long stretch inside, but what if he’s trying to get on the side of the cops? You know, settin’ us up and grassin’ to get early parole.’