AGAINST THE ODDS:A lovely Saturday evening at home without the kids takes a sinister turn
THE BRUSCHETTA was just the way Vinny Fitzpatrick liked it, crunchy ciabatta bread underneath, topped by tomatoes, garlic, chilli peppers and olive oil. An Italian Pinot Grigio, a €6.49 steal from Aldi, was a fine accompaniment noted Vinny as he poured himself a refill. “Ah, it doesn’t get much better than this,” he sighed happily.
That Mr and Mrs Fitzpatrick had the run of their Mount Prospect home was thanks to the generosity of Angie’s sister, Debs, who’d taken Oisín and Aoife to Castleknock overnight.
Vinny couldn’t recall the last time he and Angie had sat in together without the cry of the kids, the feeds, the nappy changes, the fear of projectile vomit.
It was an ideal end to a wonderful sporting Saturday during which Vinny, thanks to dexterous use of the remote, had kept tabs on the golf from Loch Lomond, racing from York, the Tour de France and Dublin’s hurlers and footballers.
To cap it all, Germany had just clinched third place in the World Cup and Vinny was quids in after investing a tenner in Boru Betting at 25 to 1 on a 3-2 German win.
“And to think, the weekend is only half-time,” he thought, looking ahead to Sunday’s smorgasbord of sport while his wife tossed the salad and plated up the prawns and tagliatelle.
It was several hours later when Vinny awoke for his customary pre-dawn patrol pee. Tottering to the loo, where he did his best to aim straight, he had just left the en-suite when he heard Angie scream.
Instantly, he was jolted awake in the half-light. The door was open and two figures, wearing masks, one Spiderman, the other Shrek, were standing by the bed. Spiderman was carrying what looked like a revolver which he swung in the direction of Vinny’s chest.
“Don’t try anything stupid, Fatty Arbuckle. Stand still and stay quiet,” he said in a thick Dublin accent.
Shrek grabbed Angie, dragged her out of the bed and clasped a hand on her mouth.
“One word and we’ll take a detour to Castleknock to check on the kids. You wouldn’t want that, would you love?” he said, yanking Angie’s arm up so she yelped in pain.
Vinny watched helplessly. He wasn’t a violent man, or a particularly brave one, but he could feel his anger simmering.
With a guttural roar, he reached towards Shrek only to feel a jab of pain across his temple as Spiderman cuffed him with the butt of the pistol.
Dropping to the floor, Vinny felt a knee catch him in the chest, sending him flat on his back, where he panted in pain, while his beloved wife was dragged out of the room by Shrek, terror in her eyes.
Soon, the hall door slammed and a car engine revved.
Instinct told Vinny to call the guards, but as he reached for the phone by his bedside table he was aware of more footsteps on the stairs.
He had just punched in 999 when a gloved hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him roughly on to the bed.
There were two more of them, also in dark tracksuits and masks, this time Batman and The Penguin.
Batman spoke first. “Bad move with the phone, fat boy. Another like that and your kids will need a new Mr Blobby. Do as you’re told and everyone will be alright. Any messing and you can wave goodbye to those sausage fingers of yours, one by one.”
Vinny nodded. He was terrified. His heart was thumping so loud he felt it would explode.
Batman and The Penguin dragged Vinny to his feet and frog-marched him down the stairs. They stretched duct tape across his mouth, pulled a hood over his head and tied his hands with twine behind his back, so hard Vinny was sure his wrists were cut.
The next thing Vinny knew, he was being bundled across the driveway and shoved into the boot of a car, which pulled away at pace.
As he tried to grapple with what was happening, Vinny’s busman’s “sat-nav” kicked in and he was able to track which direction the car was going. Right up Vernon Avenue, through Brookwood, a left and a right at the Artane roundabout.
A left soon after had to be Oscar Traynor Road; another roundabout confirmed it. When the car stopped, in another six or seven minutes, Vinny reckoned they were somewhere by the back of the airport.
Vinny heard a mobile ring, and whispering. Then car doors slammed and there was the scrunch of feet on gravel. Then silence.
He tried to make sense of it all. Angie and he were law-abiding folk, they had no enemies, nor did they have wads of cash.
As he lay there, tethered in the boot of a car he reckoned was a Mazda or Mondeo, such was the size, Vinny tried to suppress a burp. Tried and failed.
With no escape hatch, the taste of prawn and garlic enveloped him and made him nauseous. He was reminded of the dinner the night before when Angie served up a mound of tiger prawns.
At the thought of tiger prawns, a light switched on in Vinny’s head.
“Of course, this is a Tiger robbery and I’m the bloody collateral,” he thought.
It had to be the Saturday takings in Boru Betting the armed robbers were after, twigged Vinny.
They had picked the right office, too, as there was no time-lock on the safe, just a combination known only by Angie, her assistant manager and head office.
At the thought of Angie, Vinny felt his blood chill. His wife had built up Boru Betting from a spit ’n’ sawdust hovel into a thoroughly modern premises.
Angie loved her job, and greeted every customer with genuine warmth. How far would she go to protect what she had worked so hard for? Vinny prayed his wife would do the right thing, for all their sakes.
Vinny wasn’t sure how long he remained curled up in a foetal position.
He could feel his bladder at bursting point and was about to do something he hadn’t done since he was a nipper when he inadvertently raised his head against the ceiling of the car boot and felt it move.
He nudged it again, and it gave way again. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, pushing the boot all the way up with his potato-shaped bonce. He felt fresh air on his cheeks and heard lark song in the air.
Slowly, he slung his heavy legs over the tailgate, found the catch on the boot and sawed the twine off his wrists. As the blood ran into his fingers, he ripped off his hood and the tape.
Vinny glanced at his watch, it was half-eight. The first bus from Harristown to the city centre on a Sunday morning was ten to nine. “Time to shift,” he said.
Just as he was approaching the gates of the garage, he felt his chest tighten and he collapsed to the tarmac.
Will Vinny survive? Boru Betting are offering 100 to 30 our hero will return to Mount Prospect Avenue and the pages of The Irish Timesnext month.
Vinny's Bismarck:1pt Lay Tiger Woods to win British Open (5/1, general, liability 5pts)
Bets of the week:1pt e-w Geoff Ogilvy to win British Open (90/1, William Hill)
2pt Armagh to beat Dublin in All-Ireland SFC (13/8, Paddy Power)
