little light headed. He knelt in front of the boxes, opened his briefcase and pulled out his Dutch kit. It was an automatic lock pick that looked like an electronic screwdriver. But instead of a driver head sticking out the bottom there was a thin shaft of metal.
Kevin sat down with the instructions. He had spent many Friday nights reading instructions, usually for Ikea wardrobes, not 'How to Break into a Deposit Box'.
He put the two batteries into the back of the pick and read on. It seemed simple enough. He switched it on, stood up and put it into the client lock. There was a gentle humming sound but the lock didn't budge. Kevin tried again. The lock opened. Success!
He stepped away from the box with the pick still in his hand. He turned it off, suddenly scared. This was it. He was going to rob the safe-deposit box. Kevin reached out and opened the steel door. It swung back with a gentle creak to reveal the black box. His fear left him.
He opened his briefcase, then reached inside the deposit box.
Suddenly, the bank's alarms ripped through the building. Fuck!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Leaving the briefcase he ran up the stairs in blind panic. 'Shit!
The sirens were outside now. Kevin fell against the door. Police radios crackled. He walked slowly back into the bank in a daze. All he could think of was Linda as blue lights flashed into his face. Suddenly he turned to the window. A wooden bench was sticking out through the smashed glass.
Kevin could see the police shouting at passers-by. But the alarm was too loud for him to make out what they were saying. Shit! What now?
He ran back downstairs to the safe-deposit box room. Closing the door behind him, he hit the lights. He could still hear the alarms, but he felt safer in the darkness. The only other noise was the sound of his breathing. He leaned against the door, then slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands.
It was hopeless. He couldn't get film scenes of prison out of his mind and, worse, pictures of life without his Linda. He knew the police would surround the bank and the alarm company would already have called Symington. He started to cry. He wasn't a bank robber. He was a nobody.
His mobile was ringing. He hadn't even remembered to turn it off. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, grabbed at the phone. The display lit up. It was Symington. Could it get any worse?
The phone bleeped again. He still hadn't turned the fucking thing off. He listened to the message. Symington sounded as if he was in a pub. 'Where are you Dodds? I've left a message on your home number. There's been some vandalism at the bank. I'm going there now. Call me as soon as you get this.'
The system had swung into action and Kevin could not stop it. Symington would carry out his checks at the bank with a policeman. He would then report to Head Office. The glass people would arrive to patch up the window with plywood and in the morning they would replace the glass. The police would be outside all night, protecting the bank. It was then that Kevin started to tremble. The copy of the key was still in the safe lock!
The alarm fell silent. That meant Symington was in the bank. Kevin just sat and waited for the moment when his boss and the police would burst in and find him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kevin heard muffled voices upstairs. It wouldn't be long now. He wanted to see Linda, to cuddle her on the settee. Police radios were at the top of the stairs now. He racked his brains for what de Niro and Eastwood would do. For a start they wouldn't cry. And they wouldn't give up. Neither would he. Maybe the key wouldn't be noticed for a while. Maybe Symington would wait for him to turn up before he checked Kevin's office? Maybe. Maybe he had a few more minutes.
He wiped his face, switched on his torch, and quietly locked the door. If he was going to get nicked, he might as well get nicked red-handed. Fuck 'em. Kevin went back to the deposit box, reaching inside, he opened up the black box and quickly put its contents into his briefcase. Making sure he had also put the pick in his briefcase, he closed it before re-locking the deposit box. At least now he was a real bank robber.
Footsteps, more than one person, and the chatter of a police radio were coming down the stairs. Kevin gripped his briefcase and leaned back against the wall behind the door. He turned off the torch and held his breath. A key turned. The door swung open, with Kevin behind it. The light came on. Symington's face was inches away from his but on the other side of the door. 'All OK here. Although I'd like to know where my bloody deputy is.'
Just then Kevin's mobile vibrated in his hand.
The light was switched off and the door was locked again. He heard Symington and his escort go back upstairs.
Kevin looked down at the lit display. It was Linda. Shit! It was nearly ten! He kept his voice low. 'Hello?'
She was in the car. 'Where are you? I called home and I just got—'
'I'm at work. A bench has been thrown through the bank's window. I don't know when I'll get home. There's loads to do and—' Kevin could hear her crying. 'What's wrong? Your mum OK?'
'Fine. I've just dropped her off and I wanted to talk to you. I've been worried and when you didn't answer, well I… It's just I thought you'd left me.' She was sobbing now.
'Linda, stop the car, you'll have a crash.' Kevin forgot where he was and why. 'You parked up yet? Linda?'
There was no reply.
'Linda?'
'I thought you'd left, what with you staying up late online, the text last night, and then you not at home.' She was still sobbing. 'I was so worried. I thought you'd met someone else. You even started wearing hair gel.'
'Linda, it's OK. There isn't anyone else. I'll be home soon. Just calm down and take your time getting back. I'll be with you soon. I just have to finish here. OK?'
'I love you, Kevin.'
'I do too, sweetheart. I'll be home soon.'
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
He turned off the mobile. He needed time to think. There must a way out of this. There had to be. He couldn't be locked away in prison. He had to get home to his wife. He paced up and down in the darkness. He had to bluff his way out. After all, he did have a reason to be there. He was the deputy manager, and his boss had called him in. Kevin was muttering to himself as if he were getting a football team ready to go out on to the pitch. 'Come on now. Get a grip, Kev. You can do it.'
He took a deep breath, turned on the light and opened the door. As he did so, the noise from upstairs poured into the deposit-box room. He could hear glass smashing as the contractors cleared the glass out of the window frame. He had started to walk upstairs when he spotted a policeman at the top, looking down at him.
'Who are you?' the copper asked.
Kevin was too busy to look the man in the eye. He was checking his watch. 'The deputy manager. You know where the manager is?'
The policeman looked a little confused. 'How long have you been down there?'
Kevin walked past him, still without eye-contact. 'Far too long. Got lots more to do. You seen the
