“I lied. You always know when I lie.”
“Not this time.”
Silence. “So, you’re claiming you had no idea? Not even an inkling?”
“That’s right.”
“Up until what point?”
“What do you mean?”
“At what point did you realize what was going on?”
“Once you got the gun out and said, ‘Everybody freeze. This is a robbery.’ ”
“Pretty fucking cool, that.”
“No, it wasn’t. You’re not cool. You’ll never be cool. It’s not even a proper fucking gun. You’re retarded.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“Thanks, I will.”
“So what’s going to happen now?”
“Dunno. They’ll fetch the police. And they’ll probably come and handcuff us. Lead us off to some pokey room somewhere in a police station and bombard us with questions.” Trevor paused. “I’m going to tell them the truth.”
“Which is?”
“I was coerced into it.”
“Coerced? Cofuckingerced? I hate it when you know words I don’t. How do you do that? I’ve never seen you so much as pick up a dictionary.”
“You forced me to do it. That better?”
“Suit yourself. Doesn’t bother me what you say.”
“You’ll back me up.”
“I will?”
“Sure. You know it’s the truth.”
“But why should I?”
“Because you don’t want to go to prison.”
“What’s you getting off with it got to do with me going to prison?”
“Everything. Think about it.”
Pause.
“Well?”
Harry said, “I’m thinking.”
“Nothing clicked?”
“If I’m guilty, they’ll send me to prison.”
“Yeah. But if I’m innocent, they can’t send me to prison. So how do they arrange that, short of an operation?”
“Ah, I’m with you. Fucking nice.”
A key scraped in the lock. Harry and Trevor got to their feet. Took a well-timed joint effort. A difficult operation, but they’d had lots of practice. They waddled forwards a couple of steps as the door opened. A young guy in a suit walked in tucking his bleached blonde hair behind his ear.
“Hi,” Harry said. “You’re the manager, right? I’m Harry. This is Trevor. Nice bank you’ve got. Don’t like this room much, though. Smells like a summer breeze.”
The bank manager ignored Harry, looked at Trevor.
Trevor said, “I’m innocent.”
He nodded. “It’s clear you weren’t a willing participant. I could see you trying to get your brother to put down… this.” He held up the gun. “Whatever it is.”
“I was coerced.” Trevor looked sideways at Harry.
“Don’t you mean co-arsed?” Harry said. “Fucking cockjockey.”
“So can I go?”
The bank manager said, “That may be problematic.”
“But I’m innocent.”
“I dare say.” He pulled a face. “You’ll have to wait for the police to decide.”
“I want to go home.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Harry can stay.”
“That’s impossible. Even if I could let you, it’s physically impossible.”
“But you’ve no right to keep me here.”
“You have to stay till the police get here.” The manager tucked his hair behind his ear again. “I have every right to insist on that.”
“You’re fucked,” Harry said. He started laughing. “I robbed your bank. I pulled out my gun and waved it around and threatened people with it and there’s fuck all you can do because I’m a Siamese twin and my brother’s innocent.”
“I thought,” the bank manager said, “that the correct expression was ‘conjoined twin’.”
“To you,” Harry said, “it is.”
Trevor lashed out with his cane, struck the bank manager on the temple.
“Oh,” Harry said. “Nice fucking shot.”
“Thanks,” Trevor said. The bank manager was sprawled on the floor. He groaned. “After three,” Trevor said.
Together the conjoined twins lurched out of their seat. They bent over and Trevor picked up the gun. “You okay?” he asked the bank manager.
The bank manager opened his eyes, saw the gun in Trevor’s hands, flinched.
“Know what it is?” Trevor said. “Humane killer. Used for killing livestock. Place the weapon to the animal’s forehead like this.” He placed the gun to the bank manager’s forehead. “And then when you pull the trigger, it fires a steel bolt into the animal’s brain.”
The bank manager said, “No. For God’s sake.”
Trevor shrugged, straightened up. He turned, smiled at Harry. Placed the gun to his brother’s forehead and pulled the trigger.
Harry jolted. A red circle beauty-spotted his brow. Blood began a slow trickle downwards. His eyes closed.
Trevor dropped the gun. “Jesus,” he said.
Harry slumped to the side, dragging Trevor sideways. They fell on the floor, landing on top of the bank manager.
The bank manager cried out. Trevor struggled to get his wind back, then said, “Sorry.”
No point trying to get back to his feet. That was an impossibility now.
The bank manager struggled out from beneath them, sat with his back to the wall, hugging his knees. After a while, he relaxed, gently massaged his temple. He moved forward, slowly, eyes on Trevor. Then he examined Harry. “You’ve killed him,” he said. He picked up the gun, stared at it.
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “Can you call an ambulance? Tell them they’ll need to perform an emergency separation on a pair of conjoined twins. And they’ll need to do it now. There’s a number in my back pocket. They’ll need to phone it. It’s the number of a surgeon who can perform the operation.”
“You planned this?”
“Harry would never agree to the op. Too risky.”
“So you did agree to the robbery? You weren’t as innocent as you claimed?”
“I’m admitting to nothing. Just call for an ambulance. And get the surgeon. He’s in Edinburgh at the moment. But he’s on standby.” Trevor paused. “Hurry. I think I’m going into shock.”
“What if I refuse?”
“No matter.” Trevor was short of breath. “The police’ll bring an ambulance with them. Where are they?”
“Ah, Trevor,” the bank manager said. “You really believe a couple of geriatric Siamese – forgive me – conjoined twins having a public argument constitutes a serious enough threat for us to call the police?”
“But my brother asked for your money.”
“And you told him to be quiet.”
“But he waved his gun around.” Trevor glanced at the humane killer in the bank manager’s hand.
“And you took it off him and gave it to a teller.”
“So, what are you saying? You didn’t call the police?”
“Nope. No police.” He paused. “No ambulance.” He walked towards the door.
“Fuck,” Trevor said. “I won’t survive longer than a couple of hours on my own. Harry’s dead. Don’t you understand what that means?”
The bank manager turned in the doorway, said, “I understand completely.”
“Come on,” Trevor said. “What kind of a sadistic fuck are you?”
“I’m a bank manager.” The door closed.
UNCLE HARRY by Reginald Hill
“What I need to make clear and you need to get clear is, any resemblance between me and a real terrorist is purely coincidental.
“We’ve nothing in common, me and those guys. My thing was personal, not ideological. The only common ground was putting the thing together, which did teach me one thing about their line of business that I’d never realized before.
“The trouble with being a terrorist is that you experience a lot of terror!
“Not perhaps if you’re one of those mad sods who reckon that blowing up a busload of people on their way to work is a first-class ticket to a world full of warm sunshine, sweet music, soft couches and doe-eyed virgins.