“I’m sure he’s fine.” Mae’s gloved hands press together, as if she’s trying to stop them from shaking, “He probably stopped for food.”
Plumes of smoke cover the street and disappear into the dreary sky. I grip the steering wheel tighter, easing my foot off the gas pedal as a black cop car goes whizzing by me.
Jasper’s heavy breathing creeps over our intercoms and I can hear the wheels of his big brain turning. Horace isn’t known forhis radio silence, and up until three minutes ago, he was yapping our ears right off.
“It’s probably that shit car.” My voice comes out as confident as ever, my role as team leader resting heavily on my shoulders, “Ugly scrap of metal deserves to be put out of her misery.”
“Careful, Deville. If Horace hears you saying that-
“Oi! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Angry huffs blow down the line, “Talking about my Betsy like that. She’s a classic, I’ll have you know.”
The yellow monstrosity shakes and rumbles her way down the road in front of us. Horace’s thick frame is tucked neatly in the driver seat, his face obscured by a motorcycle helmet.
“Thank God.” Jasper whispers the prayer while Mae shakes her head with a laugh.
“Where the fuck you been, Horace?”
My curt response is met by silence.
“You owe me an apology.” He pauses, forever trying to build the drama, “After you clean Betsy and tell her what a beautiful girl she is.”
A loud snort comes from my passenger seat.
Biting back the grin threatening to spill over my cheeks, I shove the relief aside and take a sharp right, past the flames licking the side of the building we just blew up.
“I’ll kiss her ass later. Would you mind not falling behind this time?”
“No need to be a wanker. I dropped my earpiece back at the shop and didn’t want the cops to get it.”
A stunned silence falls upon the group.
“You… you went back for your earpiece?” Disbelief fills Jasper’s voice.
Horace grunts, his vintage Volkswagen weaving its way between cars, “I wasn’t about to leave it there. Somebody could have traced it back to us.”
“Jasper would have cut the signal, mate. You could have just said something.”
“Oh.”
Another moment of silence while we all ponder the empty residence between Horace’s ears.
We don’t keep him around for his intelligence, that’s for damn sure.
“Moving on to Plan B. Take the next left and circle back to the main strip. Keep the speed low until you hit the backroads. Reconvene in an hour.”
“Has anyone ever wondered why it’s called Plan B?” The man of the hour muses out loud, “Next time we should call it Plan H. That would be way cooler.”
“H for Horace?” Mae doesn’t bother hiding her amusement.
“Nah, I was thinking more like helicopter. So, we can fly out of here.”
Nobody ever accused Horace of being a complicated man.
“Stay focused. We’re still thirty minutes from the… oh, fuck.”
The three cars holding London’s biggest collection of uncut diamonds come to a stuttering halt in front of the policebarricade. Spikes on the ground, concrete dividers spaced between them, the road to freedom is just out of reach.
Cars are being pulled over as officers shut down the street, checking pedestrians and drivers for any potential suspects fleeing the scene. Yellow tape hangs from the blown out entrance of Mark’s Jewellers, the shattered glass looking suspiciously similar to the shards glittering along the hood of my car.
