Click.
I moved swiftly around the room, searching for whatever might be relevant to the job; doors, locks, windows, valuables, pets.
Click.
I took a few general pictures of the sunroom and then some close-ups of the obvious items – the flat screen TV, paintings, a cut crystal set. I also discovered where they kept their car keys. Most of our jobs were done during the day, after carefully planning for when nobody was home, but quite often there’d be one car and its keys left at a house. One time there were two cars left behind and Mike rang and asked me to drive one away. I agreed on impulse, instantly regretting it after I’d hung up, but I was committed then. That’s the most I’ve ever been involved in any of them and only the once. It was a thrill, but I didn’t enjoy it. As least it went smoothly and I was able to bound straight home, lock my door and smoke a joint. I told Mike afterwards that I’d never want to get that close again. In fact, I told him I’d probably quit altogether before I was thirty – and that was creeping closer now.
Click.
Damn!
It struck me that I hadn’t checked for CCTV yet. If it was recording and someone watched it – I’d have some explaining to do, and the job certainly couldn’t go ahead. I ambled back towards my set up area and glanced casually up and around the ceiling. Nothing obvious was there. I released a sigh. My heart rate had quickened. Relieved, I walked back across the room, looking for any other expensive looking items. I noticed some pricey looking sculptures beyond the seated area. There were book cases surrounding the cabinet that they were on, with a modern oil painting of Scrabo Tower on the wall behind. I raised my camera phone.
“Vicky…”
Instinctively I dropped my arm down and felt my face fall too.
“…Sorry I took so long on the phone. Did you get everything you needed?”
I turned, recovering quickly, and dialled up a broad smile.
“Yes, all fine thanks – just taking a wee snap for the old social media pages – hope that’s okay?”
“Yes, yes – no worries at all. I heard you practicing earlier – it sounded fantastic – we’ll be sure to leave you a review up on your Facebook.”
“Thanks very much – I’d appreciate it.”
Guilt swept through me.
Then it registered that she had changed into a night dress and she looked sensational.
“You look lovely by the way,” I said, and walked over to my mike stand, adjusting my iPad.
“Thank you, it’s not often I get dressed up these days.”
I thought I caught a wistful expression cross her face.
I went and fiddled with the levels on my mixer, while the guilt spiralled around my stomach on a medium spin.
“I just need to pop out to the shop for a last couple of bits. I’ll be back in the hour. Here’s a spare key in case you need to go out and come back before later.”
She stepped over and placed them in my hand. Then she pulled on a denim jacket.
“Oh right, that’s great,” I said, looking down at the little metal keyring with three differing silver keys attached, “I’ll see you later on then.”
This is too easy.
She left and I sat down on my stool and flicked the switch on my keyboard. I reached over and turned the mixer on too, the speakers producing a low hum. Absently, I pressed my fingers down on the keys and tested a few low chords. It boomed around the room. Very bassey, and too loud. It’d need to be quieter later on. I’d also need to up the treble a little. But this was good for now, it suited my mood. I ran off a few pentatonic scales and then slipped into Dat Dere by Art Blakey and The Jazz Messengers. It was written by his piano player Bobby Timmons – one of my all-time heroes. He had such a groove and unique style of playing. I began to speed up, improvising a few licks with my right hand. Sadly, he was kicked out of the band and later died from his drug dependency. We’ve all got our issues.
I carried on playing and looked about the room, picking out a bass solo with my left hand. My eyes looked down and settled on the small bunch of keys. Occasionally a mark would give me a key or even a code for their alarm system. I had provided a key for Mike to copy a few times before. After the jobs, he just locked up and smashed a window to make it look like an ordinary break-in. You have to break it from the outside. A rookie error is to break it from the inside and then most of the glass shatters out and it’s obvious someone’s faked it. An episode of Columbo taught me that. Mike was always careful about these things – so he told me anyway. So long as nothing ever pointed back to us.
The set that night went fine. It was uneventful. All the usual crowd pleasers hit home – Rocket Man, Call Me Al, Lovely Day. Afterwards, I was dutifully given a hand with my equipment by a few middle-aged men. Some of them leered more than others. I briefly thanked them and then set off into the night. The road to Belfast was quiet. It was still before midnight and it was dry and mild out, great weather for driving. As I passed through Crawfordsburn, I realised there were barely any cars at all. The road was a sixty, but at night by yourself, sixty feels like a crawl. I switched into the right-hand lane to overtake a lone Audi that was staying around the limit. Half
