BUSINESS PROPOSITION
I was rolling myself a spliff when I got the knock on the door. I wasn’t expecting visitors, so I flushed my stash down the bog quickly and opened the door. Sure enough, a Bluecoat was there on the step, with a reading machine in his hand. Unusually for one of his kind, he was smiling.
“Jack Kendle?” he asked.
“I nodded. “Want to put my card in the box and prove it?”
“Not just now. I have a small business proposition for you.”
I stood there gawping like a robot that was about to explode shouting ‘Does not compute; does not compute’. “Come again?” I asked him.
“I want you to work for me.”
Alarm bells rang. I didn’t want to be a patsy for a state official. Trouble was, refusal to co-operate could make things very awkward for me. These were not men who understood ‘No thanks.’
“What do you have in mind, and why me?”
He walked in, without being invited. He closed my door behind him. He was looking furtive. I realised that he didn’t want to be seen coming into my house. I relaxed a little. Whatever he wanted was strictly off the record.
He sniffed the air. The aroma of my ganja-weed was still pretty potent. A normal knock would have seen me seriously screwed by now. His instinct to report me even now seemed to be on the brink of engaging. He struggled for a moment to suppress his training. He wrinkled his nose in a gesture of disgust and pushed me back until we were both in my dingy little living room. Dimps and empty bottles were scattered over the floor. There was a vacuum cleaner somewhere; probably buried under the dust. I shrugged apologetically. I was clearly entertaining a man who liked his creature comforts and a tidy, orderly world.
“What’s this all about?” I asked him, aware that he would want to get away as fast as I wanted him out. He finally spat out his request, which was in effect, an order. I knew that. Whatever he wanted, I was stuck with it. I felt like I was sinking in quicksand.
“I checked your National Identity Register file. You’re a well-known local cat burglar. You only came out of Strangeways prison a few weeks ago.”
“That’s yesterday’s news. I’m straight now. “
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Well that’s a shame, because there’s some rich juicy pickings to be made for you tonight, if you want to come out of retirement. How long as it been now? A fortnight without felony? “
“What’s the job?”
“I just ID’d everyone in The Gardener’s Arms, in Lightbowne. There’s a big 40th Birthday party on in there. A whole family and all their neighbours are in the pub getting pissed up. They’ll be there for a few hours yet.”
“So?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. I just wanted him to have to spell it out for me.
“So there are a number of empty houses in and around Charlestown Avenue. You could clean them out without worrying about being seen.
“They’ll have dogs and babysitters. A few may even have alarms.”
“My files tell me who buys pet food. I have all the baby-sitters on a register for the area. With the scare about paedophiles we make sure every baby-sitter is registered. As to alarms, we know who has had them installed or not recently. Here’s a list of the handful of houses you need to steer clear of.”
“So how many properties do that leave me to choose from?”
“About fifty. You won’t get through the lot – I recommend about five or six. I’ve made a note about who has the best incomes out of them for you.”
“Why do you want me to rob the neighbourhood?”
“I want 25% of what you make; call it a finders fee. Do alright with this, and there’ll be more work for you.”
“I thought you boys had a decent income for what you do?”
“It’s not that great to be honest, and I rather like Champaign and late night poker tournaments more than most. “
“You’re fucked if they find out about this – They’ll be a lot harsher with you than they will with me. “
“Believe me, friend, half of the Inspectorate are running similar scams. This isn’t that uncommon.”
“What if I get pulled in by one of the Inspectors while I’ve got a big bag of swag on my back?”
“You won’t. I’m the only one working in this district tonight, and I’ll be marking your ID Card a couple of times about three miles from where the robberies are taking place. I’ll be your alibi.”
“What? How?”
“I want you to give me your ID Card. Don’t worry. No one else is going to ask to see it. About ten o’clock, I’ll run a check on it. I won’t log any information on your files. It’ll just stamp you down as being in my sites. About an hour later, I’ll clock you up again. I’ll slip the card back through your letter-box here later on before my shift ends.”
“Won’t it look odd if they check my Sat-Nav readings, and my card shows me walking about with you all night?”
“No. Sat-Nav data is there, but there are reams of it. No one reads through any of it unless there’s reason for suspicion about someone’s activity. You won’t give anyone cause for that. You’re covered. Trust me.”
And that was that. I gave him my card, packed my jemmy and other tools, and went shopping without money. I got quite a haul too. I got through five properties, and filled the car. Now I’m at home again, waiting for the Inspector to bring my card back. It’s late. His shift will have ended by now. I realised that I never even found out his name or badge number. Hope he brings my card back soon… or I’m really fucked.
Ah, a knock on the door. Hope it’s him. Did he knock that sharply last time he called round? I can’t remember….
© Copyright. Arthur
Chappell
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