The two women sat watching the clock, waiting for the big hand to reach the twelve; eventually Lorraine sighed.
‘That’s it. Let’s get the door open.’
Carla stood and moved out from behind the counter, and around the corner to the door. She turned the Yale knob and locked it in place, opened the door and checked outside. Nobody. She closed the door and rejoined Lorraine behind the counter.
‘Nobody there,’ Carla confirmed. ‘My guess is six minutes for the first punter.’
‘I’m going to be optimistic. Ten minutes, I reckon,’ Lorraine said, more in hope than anything.
Carla was closer. At 10:04 they heard the door open. They heard the Yale lock click as the door was locked, and the hand on the clock moved to 10:05. A figure walked around the corner of the counter and faced the two women.
Wearing a black hoodie, with the hood pulled up and forward to conceal the hair, it was a terrifying vision. A white mask turned his face ghost-like, the mouth frozen into a rictus grin. A long stick of some description, wrapped in a large black plastic bag was gripped in the right hand, hands that were hidden by white gloves; everything else about the figure was black. Jacket, jeans, trainers: darkest black.
The horrific mask, completely concealing the facial features, moved from side to side, as what they assumed was a man surveyed the two women in the red shirts proclaiming to the world they were employed by Sanderson’s Bookmakers, and they were happy to help.
It was so scary, so horrifying, it was almost comical.
He pointed to Carla with the stick. ‘Money,’ he said, his tone guttural and unnatural.
They remained seated. His left hand moved across his body to reach the plastic bag, and he pulled at it to reveal its contents; something the two women had assumed was a baseball bat, the preferred weapon of choice for bookie robbers. The end of a rifle protruded from the black bag.
Carla moved first. She emptied her own till and handed over the money she had only recently put in it. He grabbed at it and stuffed it into his pocket, then swung the gun towards Lorraine.
‘You,’ he said, once again hiding his true voice behind the unnatural harsh tone he had adopted.
Lorraine glanced at Carla, and Carla gave a slight nod. Lorraine keyed open her till and removed her float money.
He pocketed that, then said, ‘Safe.’ Neither of them moved, so he tilted the gun and pointed it directly at Carla.
She pushed her office chair and it rolled gently away from the desk. She stood. Her legs struggled to respond to her commands to walk. Moving slowly towards the staff door that separated them from the main area of the betting shop, she opened it.
Lorraine waited and watched. The second he moved towards Carla, she pressed the emergency button under the counter, knowing they would be instantly under surveillance by security.
‘Situation at 1475.’ Adam Taylor immediately switched all monitors to the ongoing action in the small shop; everyone in the operations room could see exactly what was happening.
‘No police,’ Frank Sharpe commanded. ‘Not till I give the order. Adam, your finger on the call button, please, ready to ring.’
The presence of a gun in the shop was a game changer. Police activity would alert the gunman, with potential life-threatening repercussions. Nine nine nine would be dialled once the perpetrator was outside the shop and all employees were safe.
Frank was relieved to see the two women were following company policy and complying with the gunman’s instructions.
Frank watched as his second screen gave him the information he needed: a Sheffield branch in the south-east of the city, staff on duty Carla Andrews, manager, and Lorraine West, cashier. He could see from his primary screen that it was Carla who had moved into the customer area of the shop. Her T-shirt had Manager emblazoned on the back, above the words happy to help.
His third screen came into play and he saw her enter a tiny kitchen and bend down to open the safe. She handed the man the bundle of money and he gestured with the gun for her to stand. Together they moved back into the main area and the third screen once again was devoid of people.
Frank could sense the fear. The women knew the police wouldn’t be on the way. As long-term employees their training had been completed, and they would know police would be notified the second they were out of danger from the gun.
They were behaving exactly as they had been told to act; hand over the money, hit the security button if it was safe to do so, remain calm.
‘More,’ the gunman growled, and Carla turned to face him.
‘There is no more. We’ve only just opened.’
The door rattled as a customer tried to get in. Carla glanced at the clock. 10:22. Whoever was at the door at that early hour was a regular. She prayed they would give up and go away. Again there was the rattle at the door and they all heard, Carla! You in there? Open up, lovely, me bacon sarnie’s going cold.
Ben Craig. Carla knew he wouldn’t give up. He didn’t visit the shop every day, only Saturdays, and always arrived shortly after opening time, complete with a bacon sandwich from the café. Ben, go.
There was silence and all three of them waited for further activity from outside. Again Carla looked at the clock. 10:27. Ben had gone quiet, and she hoped he’d accepted the shop was closed.
‘You.’ The gunman pointed the gun at Lorraine. ‘Get round here, and both of you get on the floor.’
Lorraine’s legs felt like jelly, and her heart was hammering. She stood, holding on to the counter, and went out to join her manager.
‘Floor,’ he said, and Carla and Lorraine sank down, their backs leaning against the counter.
Ben had moved away from the shop. The response when he had pressed the third nine had been immediate. He asked for police then quickly explained the situation when put through. ‘The manager’s car’s here, the blinds are lifted, shutters raised. She must be inside but she’s not opened up. Summat’s wrong.’
‘Hold on, sir.’
There was half a minute of silence while the operator put him on hold to despatch two cars to the bookmakers; there had been three betting shop attacks in a fortnight and they normally only found out after the perpetrator had fled the scene.
She went back to Ben. ‘Thank you, sir. I have sent two cars. Please leave the area of the premises now, until we can sort it out. There may be a simple explanation, but please move away. Can I take your name, and is this number your own phone?’
‘It’s Ben Craig. And yes, it’s my phone. I can hear the sirens, I’ll get out of the way,’ and he disconnected, running across the small car park, before stopping.
The two women looked at each other and automatically held hands. They had also heard the sirens.
2
The rifle swung towards the two women as the sirens wailed in the distance. He fired twice and ran.
Ben Craig, in a crouching position by the side of a car, watched as the black-clad figure barrelled out of the betting shop door, then swung left to run across the car park heading for the row of shops.