The upmarket, tree lined streets were familiar. In the dark they all looked identical to Richard and Ivan’s house.
Richard’s house.
Mike pulled up a few streets away, near the end of one road, behind a large garage. On the other side of the road were mature trees spaced out along the footpath, in front of a large double fronted house. The cover didn’t matter much anyway – the street was incredibly still and silent. Mike opened the door and just the insignificant click of it echoed all around. Cold air broke into the car and I remained seated a moment. It wasn’t the cold; I was frozen with fear.
Mike walked round to my door, opened it and offered me a hand. His face looked set hard, but he still managed the briefest of smiles. He looked calm. Mike isn’t always the most grounded and sensible guy, so seeing him like this was a comfort. I swung my legs around and stood. They gave a little wobble.
C’mon you big eejit. It’s alright.
“I’m okay,” I said, “Right, let’s get on with it.”
Mike nodded, slung the bag over his shoulder and locked the car. We walked off, quietly, steadily. Our footsteps echoed along the road; it couldn’t be helped. They made me think of a confident school teacher clip clopping down a corridor, children moving out of their way.
Be confident.
We came to the corner of a second road that led onto Richard’s.
“Do you remember – just over there?” Mike whispered.
I nodded.
“C’mon,” he said.
We turned the corner and joined another sweeping street with big houses and fancy cars. But this one was different. This was where it had all got fucked up in the first place.
This is where it all needed to end.
We walked on.
“We’re just going to scare him… right?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” said Mike, gesturing for me to keep my voice down. We were only a few houses away and my stomach was jumping all over the place. His car was in the drive, the gates open in front of it. There seemed to be some lights on in the house, or they could just have been on a timer for security. We strode through the open gates and silently walked along the narrow path at the side of the house. It was gravel, but we were careful. Once we were around the back, we stopped at the corner of the wall. My breath was laboured, pulse racing. I suppose it was a mixture of nerves and cigarettes. Mike pulled the bag off his shoulder and offered me what was probably intended as a comforting look. But Mike was nervous now too. It couldn’t be concealed. He set the bag down and unzipped it gingerly, before rummaging inside. He pulled out the gun and weighed it in his hand.
“Is it loaded properly then?” I asked worriedly.
“Yeah, it seems to be,” he said with an edge of defensiveness.
“What kind of a gun is it?” I asked for no reason at all.
“It’s a Colt I think… listen, I think we should try the double glass doors over there first,” he continued.
“Okay,” I said, swallowing hard. I felt like just sprinting back the way we had come. Something kept me grounded to the spot. To this day I’m not sure what.
“I’ll hopefully get us in quietly, then we’ll try and disable the alarm if it starts to chirp.”
“And if the code doesn’t work, we’ll just make a run for it?” I asked hopefully.
“We’ll sort it.”
Mike swallowed hard. He rubbed one of his palms down his leg. He was putting on a good enough show, but I knew him too well. I’d never been with him when he did any of the jobs. Except the one time he called me in. I suppose he knew what he was doing. This was nothing like a usual job – for a start he wouldn’t usually be breaking in when he knew somebody was home.
“C’mon,” he said, his eyes questioning if I would.
I followed him, keeping close to the wall as we crept around towards the back door. The rear of the house was doused in darkness, but the outside was dimly illuminated by a line of solar lights. They ran either side of a gravel path leading down to the huge lawn, like a miniature runway. We stopped in the shadows to the left of the glass double doors.
“Hold this a minute,” said Mike, handing me the gun.
I reluctantly accepted it, gingerly taking it in my two hands, irrationally fearful that it would suddenly explode into life. I knew then what it was I feared the most: more violence. I had experienced more than enough to last me a lifetime.
My mouth was dry, my heart fluttery.
Calm down, you’re alright.
I took a few deep breaths. I wished I’d gone to the toilet again. My bladder felt like it was going to burst.
It’s just nerves.
Mike set the bag flat and rustled in it again. He took out several small blades and screw drivers, then began to work on the door. I kept my two hands cradling the gun, my gaze moving all around, watching. The shadows played tricks – especially in dark corners of the garden, as did the slightest breeze rustling through the tress. Mike worked quietly and swiftly, as I stood by helplessly, the waiting a torture. A melody took hold in my head again, another unwanted visitor there. Maybe it was the way my consciousness sought to soothe me. This time I knew what it was immediately – Into my Arms by Nick Cave. I always thought it contained the most outlandish way to start a love song-
“I don’t believe in an interventionist god. But I know baby that you do.”
It’s quite the impressive feat to work that
