Bombproof by Michael Robotham

nothing has happened.
    ‘You’re not the complete package, son,’ he says, picking a grain of rice from his shirt. ‘Some parts are still missing.’
    Sami’s mouth is opening and closing like a guppy.
    ‘This plan of yours to retire, I don’t think it’s a good one. You can’t just walk away from the life you chose; the life that chose you. You’re too good at what you do, son.’
    Murphy loads his fork with Indian pickle and rice.
    ‘Young bloke like you should use his talent wisely. Make a decent score. Know what I’m saying?’
    Sami can breathe again. The pain is easing.
    ‘You got savvy, son. You know what savvy means?’
    ‘I’m not sure.’
    ‘You’re bright. You learn fast. You know your way around. Am I right?’
    Sami feels like he’s being led by the dick and there’s nothing he can do about it.
    ‘Let’s face it, son, you’re too young to retire. You’re in your prime. You’ve come of age. You got that hungry look in your eyes.’
    ‘That’s cause I haven’t eaten,’ explains Sami.
    ‘I’m speaking metaphorically, son. Work with me here.’
    Sami sucks on a wobbly tooth and feels perspiration prickle along the skin beneath his hairline. Mr Murphy is getting to the point.
    ‘That’s why you’re going to do this small favour for me. A single job and then you can walk away. And I promise you nobody is gonna give you any grief. You’ll be out.’
    ‘What about Nadia?’
    ‘I’m going to look after your little sis. Get her straightened out. Clean.’
    ‘Can I see her?’
    ‘When the job is done.’
    ‘What do I have to do?’
    ‘I want you to open a safe for me. It’s more of a strong room than a safe. Locks and metal bars. No funny combination whats-its. Someone of your experience will do it in his sleep. Blindfolded. One hand tied behind his back.’
    ‘I can’t do it,’ says Sami.
    Murphy stops chewing.
    ‘You saying you can’t open the safe?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why not?’
    At this point Sami knows he’s on shaky ground. He doesn’t have the first fucking clue how to open a strong room. He’s not a safecracker or a safe blower. ‘Sparkles’ is invented, a figment of people’s imagination.
    ‘What if I told you that I didn’t do the Hampstead job?’ he says.
    ‘I don’t understand.’
    ‘I wasn’t there. It was a guy called Andy Palmer. Or maybe it was someone else. I was just sitting in a van.’
    Murphy laughs. ‘Pull the other leg, son, it plays “Land of Hope and Glory”.’ Then his face grows hard. He gives Sami the pointy finger. ‘Enough pissing about, son. You do this job and you have a future, simple as that.’
    ‘I’m out of practice.’
    ‘Nonsense. It’s like riding a bike.’
    ‘No offence, Mr Murphy, but it’s nothing like riding a bike.’
    ‘I’m speaking figuratively, son.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    Sami looks at Dessie and back to Murphy. He can’t see a way out of this. He needs time to think. Time to come up with a plan.
    ‘What sort of strong room?’ he asks.
    ‘Big fucker.’
    ‘I need the make and model, the specs. I don’t try to open a safe unless I know everything about it - the type, location, tensile strength of the steel. Manufacturer. How old it is?’
    ‘I can get you that.’
    ‘I don’t have any tools.’
    ‘What do you need?’
    Sami is winging it now. ‘It’s very technical equipment.’
    ‘Just tell me what you need.’
    ‘Depends on the job.’
    Sami starts talking about diamond tipped drills, fibre-optic cameras and stethoscopes. He doesn’t know about half the stuff he’s asking for, but hopefully neither does Murphy.
    ‘I’m going to need explosives,’ he says.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘A failsafe, just in case the door won’t open.’
    Murphy clips the end from a cigar and draws on a flame, puffing out clouds of smoke.
    ‘Give Dessie a list.’
    ‘What’s in this strong room?’ asks Sami.
    ‘That ain’t none of your business, son.’
    ‘If I’m going to open it, I should know what’s inside.