Synopsis

Ma Jenkins is no fool. The easiest job of her nefarious career has landed in her lap. She needs a team, fast. Not the best team; and that’s exactly what she’s got!

I tap fingers on my desk and watch Bo the Beast pace, with his usual lumbering impression of a restless rhino. With every pounding step the room quakes. He’s messing up the place. Pictures tilt on the wall, coffee jumps out of cups. The drawers of the filing cabinet shudder and jerk. He’s pricking at my patience.

He’s on edge, frustrated and furious since I ordered Curly the Butcher and his moll, Samantha Tease to make an appearance. I’ve an urgent job and my regular no-good thieves are unavailable. I’m making do. Samantha broke Bo’s heart and he now wants to kill Curly. It’s gonna take some gentle handling of the situation.

As opposed to the gloss and opulence of the rest of the Penthouse Suite, I’ve kept this room dark, shabby and uncomfortable, reminiscent of the old days, before I felt impelled by my success to move uptown.

I’m sitting behind my old desk, scarred (like me). It’s huge and encourages the delusion of me as a fragile, silver haired, old gal playing at mob matriarch. It leads visitors to unrealistic expectations of what they might get away with. And if there’s any trouble, well, I let Bo loose.

I’m about to blow a gasket waiting on Curly and Samantha. Waiting is not what I do best, and it’s been fifteen minutes since I called. A job has fallen into my lap, an easy-peasy, money for jam, low-risk heist and we’ve only a couple of hours to pull it together.

And here they are. Laughing, confident swagger. Samantha stiletto heeled and curvaceous. Curly, stylish and debonair. They are loud, full of themselves and deadly killers. Not the skillset I require for tonight’s job, but I need people who are reliable under pressure.

‘About bloody time. What was the hold up?’ I growl.

‘Sorry, boss,’ said Curly. ‘Traffic.’

Bo kicks the filing cabinet at this cheek, and the top drawer crashes open, smashing him in the face. Stupid move, but I do appreciate his impulse control.

‘It’s one in the morning, idiot. Not an excuse that fits the situation.

‘Time is of the essence with this one. Quick and easy, no fuss. There’ll be nobody around. We won’t need any knife action,’ I warn.

‘Whaddya need us for then,’ demands Samantha. She needs an attitude adjustment.

‘Yeah, not really our type of gig,’ adds Curly.

‘What I need is all hands on deck,’ I say. ‘Loyal and reliable, and today, you’re it.

‘Paddy Patch has his nose in a cast. When he breathes, it’s a freight train. Johnny Juicy is holidaying with his kids in Bali. I’ve never heard the like. All my best stealers are in jail. Maybe not the best, thinking on it.’

‘So, it’s a stickup?’ Bo mumbles through the hand currently holding his face together.

‘It’s a deceased estate sale. Amateur setup. Word is a real treasure trove. Easy money.

‘So easy,’ I continue, ‘that a clever mob with a reliable van can cruise on in and walk out with armloads of the meltable stuff. A golden opportunity.’

A piercing scream from Samantha reveals her clumsy attempt to snoop in the filing cabinet as she’s snagged by the hidden mousetrap. Bo and Curly punch and shove their way to her aid, while I breathe deep in an effort to not pull a gun on them.

‘People! Quit fooling around, we’re outta time. Sam, get into the bathroom, there’s bandages and stuff. Fix yourself up. Boys, guns and dynamite are in the bottom drawer.

‘It’s basically a snatch and grab. Bo, you’ll punch through the front door, then the three of you grab anything that glitters gold. We’ll take the van. I’ll drive.’

Curly grunted a choked laugh at that. Disrespect. To deal with later.

‘Whatever we can take in say, twenty minutes, will do it. I don’t expect to need hardware, but we’ll prepare for the unexpected.’

‘The drawer’s locked, Boss,’ says Curly. ‘Do you have the key?’

‘I never open that drawer. Ah, yes, the key’s in the third drawer. Protected by the mousetrap,’ I say. Delighted at the irony.

We catch the lift down to the basement carpark and pile into the Lite Ace van I keep next to the Porsche. Unremarkable in city traffic, good for under the radar.

Although the van is small, I struggle to see over the dash and feel all eyes on me! More disrespect to be dealt with, later.

‘We’ll drive around the block, eyeball any CCTV, get the lay of the land,’ I say.

But on the first lap, we are stunned to see Joe Murphy and his boys laden with plunder. We jerked around for too long and missed our own party!

We watch for a minute as Joe stands in the doorway, surrounded by broken glass, taking a last look around before heading to his getaway vehicle.

‘Want me to rough someone up?’ asks Bo.

‘Team effort,’ says Curly. ‘Bo creates the chaos. Sam and I finish them off.’

‘Bo, call that sergeant at Police Central. Give him the tip, and we’ll call it a day,’ I say.

I take a moment to consider, before putting the car into drive, blocking Joe’s escape, just as we hear the wail of police sirens. Serves the bastard right, stealing our loot.

Job done, we drive off, Joe Murphy giving us the eye.

When, truly in concert for the first, we give him the collective bird. [907 words]