“What’s in it? Money?” he asked tightly.
Christy’s mouth hardened visibly. She hated using Jimmy like this. She would not have done so if she hadn’t been so goddamned desperate. “Just bring the envelope with you. Remember, Mr Morrison. Okay?” she instructed curtly.
“And if I don’t?” Jimmy hedged.
“Remember the automatic pistol if you don’t, sonny,” McIllvaney injected icily, his reedy Belfast accent ringing in Jimmy’s ears as he got out of the car. The Irishman whipped the dark glasses from his eyes and handed them to Jimmy. “You’d better put these on. The least people see of your face the better.”
Jimmy patted the inside pocket of his jacket. “Keep ’em. I have my own.”
At that time of the afternoon the inside of the bank was moderately quiet. Jimmy inquired of a smiling female cashie
