They went in together through the front. They figured going in the back meant the security team would ask questions. Like – where was the usual crew and why were they so late? Security would want to make a call to the cleaning company. That couldn’t happen, and North didn’t want to have to hurt anyone if he didn’t have to.
They wore ‘Capital Kleen’ beige boiler suits and baseball caps, and pushed trolleys full of cleaning equipment. They’d apologized to the two men and two women they waylaid en route to Derkind. North had explained, as he secured their wrists and ankles with plastic tags and roped them to their chairs, that it was a matter of national emergency. North didn’t know if they understood, but they’d left the TV on for them in a storage container owned by a mate of Plug who asked no questions, and four piles of £50 notes on a table in front of them to concentrate their attention. They hadn’t looked like they were struggling too hard to get back to work.
North kept his baseball cap pulled down low and his face turned as Jarrod waved them through. The receptionist’s hair was still perfect, but his arm was in a sling and he seemed preoccupied, North thought. Was he still recovering from the trauma of the museum massacre? Wondering whether to get another job? Whether Derkind could ride out the death of its founder? Or maybe just how long he should leave Esme to grieve before he suggested a drink? On the video screen behind him, Tobias still played the alpha male. North turned away to swipe his fake lanyard in front of the security gate.
‘Hold on.’ Jarrod’s voice held a note of accusation. The three of them stopped in their tracks and Plug’s eyes met those of North. They weren’t even over the threshold. Had Bald Paulie got it wrong? Was it Plug’s sheer size? ‘You’re late, and why are you coming in this way? What are you thinking?’ Jarrod demanded from his desk.
Granny Po stepped out from Plug’s shadow. In a ferocious mix of Cantonese, Mandarin and vernacular Geordie, which North was pretty sure included the words ‘fookin’ divvy’, she harangued Jarrod, flapping her duster in his direction like she could slit his throat with it if she wanted. With his good hand, a suddenly frantic Jarrod pushed the button under his desk; there was a noisy buzz, and the glass security door opened into the heart of Derkind. Still chuntering and throwing Jarrod basilisk stares, Granny Po pushed her trolley through the glass doors, as if she had taken personal offence to the receptionist and would be back.
North and a whistling Plug followed after. Plug’s trolley was heavier to push, had anyone been watching, because it contained a contorted Bald Paulie, clutching his laptop.