Tuesday January 22 nd 2008
A dud and a bad dud at that. I arrived at the row of shops in Castlemilk after 11.00pm and almost got myself in a fight straightaway as I stumbled on a gang of lads glugging MD 20/20 in the lane behind. Four or five bottles to the good and the six of them were up the far end of the lane.
At first, I thought I could break in and leave them be but, as I walked down the lane, I was spotted and they started towards me. I did the manful thing and retreated, waiting for half an hour before I chanced my arm again.
This time they were sitting outside the Credit Union back door and starting to kick up some nonsense. One of them was balancing on the wall that bordered the lane and was trying to back-flip like a beam gymnast. It was never going to end well and he crashed to the ground to the amusement of his mates.
I watched them fanny around for twenty minutes and when they cracked open another bottle I considered walking away but, just then, I heard footsteps behind me. Before I could move I was slammed into the wall as ten or twelve boys hurtled past screaming and shouting. The next I knew, there was the battle of Bannockburn going on in the lane and, by the sounds of things, the new gang were no less the worse for wear on the alcohol front than the gang they were attacking.
I watched from the relative safety of the end of the lane as the fight geared up. Ten minutes in and the police siren on the wind told me someone had dialled 999. I turned, sprinted across the road, dived into a close in the tenement opposite and waited for the police to arrive.
Three patrol cars cruised up to the entrance of the lane — blues and twos now in quiet mode. They pulled up out of sight of the lane and seven policemen got out. There was the faint buzz of a radio and then they disappeared around the corner and into the lane. Seconds later bodies started streaming out of the lane entrance. The police emerged a few minutes later with five of the boys in tow. They were thrown into the back of the cars and it was over before it really had a chance to begin.
I heard a door open behind me and turned to see a figure emerging from the dark.
‘Whit the fuck are you doing?’
The voice sounded heavy with drink. Does every fucker drink round here?
‘Just avoiding the nonsense out there,’ I said, pointing to the entrance of the close.
‘I don’t give a shit. Piss off or I’ll break your legs.’
Outside the police were still tidying up and I needed to be part of that scene like a hole in the head.
‘I’ll be out of your hair in two minutes.’
The stranger was now in sight, lit by the glow of the streetlights from outside and oozed wee man syndrome in a big way. I’ve seen it all before — men shorter than they want to be, making up for it by being aggressive unreasonable shits. Trying to add inches to their height by acting the big man. It stinks and can be a pain in the arse but I was fucked if I was going to let some little shit with a vertical complex piss on me.
He had brave pills going on and stepped in close. I could smell the booze as the vapour wafted up my nose — his head barely up to my shoulder.
‘You’ll be out of my hair right fuckin’ now.’
I turned to him and, as the car doors were still shutting behind me, I lifted my right knee, grabbed his mouth with my good hand and sunk a knee deep into his bollocks. My hand caught the scream. I pushed his head back and caught his leg with my foot and sent him to the ground.
Dropping to my knees I grabbed his head and slammed it onto the concrete with as much force as I could muster. His head bounced and he groaned. I balled my fist and slammed it into his gut and stood up. He wasn’t out cold but he was well fucking gubbed. I looked out of the close and was rewarded with the sight of retreating tail lights. I gave one glance at the stranger and exited. It was good to know I could still handle myself if needed. Even if it was against a midget drunk.
I crossed the road and entered the lane with no thought that my victim would be after me. I was sure the wee man would gather himself up and head home. Calling the police would be the last thing on his mind.
I reached the back door of the Credit Union, took out a small torch from my pocket and played it around the edge of the window. I was looking for the tell tale shadow of a tremble alarm but if it was there it was well hidden. That was a surprise. I had expected a tougher gig than this. After all this was all but a bank in name.
I took out a curled up piece of cloth from under my jacket and laid it on the ground. I unfurled it and, in the half light, selected a ball and preen hammer along with a small punch. I placed the point of the punch at the bottom left corner of the mesh window and struck it with the hammer.
The punch went through and the glass spidered. I repeated the operation until the bottom corner was a maze of cracks. I turned the hammer over, using the preen to finish driving a hole in the corner.
Grabbing the busted glass I levered it away from the window. Putting some welly into it I pulled again and the rest of the window peeled away like Blu-Tac on a warm day. I forced the window to bend up into the top right corner. The mesh held the glass together and the whole window now hung from the frame like a bent and twisted shutter.
I cleared away the sharp edges around the frame with the hammer and shone the small torch into the room beyond. It was stacked full with boxes and in one corner there was a small table with a wooden chair in attendance. High up in the top corner was a small white box. An infrared passive detector.
In my day such technology was the domain of the rich and powerful. Nowadays it was available from Tesco’s and would almost certainly be linked to the local police station. I wasn’t worried. I had no intention of being inside for more than a few minutes.
I had spent the last few days getting to know the layout of all three jobs in intimate detail. As my cell mate for the first four years inside had said to me on more occasions than I cared to remember — planning is everything. The fact he had been caught during an opportunistic house breaking seemed to pass him by.
Beyond the room was the main shop — an open area that served the public. No counters. No wire cages. Open plan was the order of the day and the safe was in the room next to this one. A bottle of Glen’s vodka, that I could ill afford, and a long term customer that I had befriended in the local pub had given me the low down — to the smallest detail. She had once worked there and knew the layout inside out. Yes, she had told me, there were some safety deposit boxes but only half a dozen and they were rarely used. She didn’t know if there were any that hadn’t been touched in years but she told me she wouldn’t be surprised.
All I had to do was exit the door from the room I was looking at, turn left, enter the next one and I was in the safe room. My friend had assured me that the door to the safe room wasn’t strengthened and the plan was simple — in and out as quickly as possible.
I pulled up my hood, heaved myself onto the window and, as I slid through the gap, the red light blinked and the alarm went off. I rolled on the floor and, kicking boxes out of the way, I rushed through the door and into the shop.
But my friendly snitch had either lied or was out of date with her info. The other door was locked and it was a heavyweight son of a bitch. I’d had visions of kicking the thing in but given the CCTV cameras I hadn’t dared enter the building to check it myself. Mistake. It took me ten minutes to crack the lock and I knew that the police were on their way but the fact they had just lifted five of the gang gave me hope that they might be light on back up.
The ten minutes seemed like ten hundred and my ears were only listening for one sound — sirens.
The door opened and I pushed inside to find a mother of a safe door on the right and a dozen boxes on the left. I whipped out the key and in sixty seconds knew that I had drawn a blank. I exited, head down to the camera and I was back in the lane in less than a minute. The sirens were on the rise again but I vanished into the scheme before the police could arrive.
Tonight it’s Easterhouse.