soon as they’d placed it up against the wall, Kevin returned to the van, ready for a quick getaway if anything went wrong.
Dick climbed the ladder and then Kevin watched as he placed a small torch between his teeth, leaving his hands free to work on the alarm box.
Kevin’s tension eased. Dick seemed to know what he was doing. He removed the cover, carefully handing it down to Nobby before reaching inside the box. Then suddenly a deafening, clanging racket pierced the silence.
Kevin froze momentarily, but then in panic he gunned the engine to life, eyes on stalks as he screamed, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here!’
Dick slid down the ladder, grabbed his tools, and then both men scrambled for the van.
Nobby just about managed to leap into the passenger seat as Kevin screeched off. ‘Shit!’ heyelled, holding on to the dashboard for dear life.
Dick had almost shot into the back of the van and, with tyres screaming, Kevin was out of the gate, driving with his foot hard on the accelerator.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Dick yelled, ‘give me a chance to shut the back doors!’
Kevin slowed almost imperceptibly before turning a corner, his ears peeled for the sound of police sirens. Dick managed to pull the doors closed, and soon they were streets away.
‘Slow down, you stupid bastard! You’re drawing attention to us,’ Nobby shouted.
‘Watch your mouth,’ Kevin spat, his eyes now flicking to the back of the van and to Dick Smedley. ‘So much for the alarm being a fucking doddle! Christ, it serves me right for getting mixed up with amateurs.’
Nobby’s voice was dangerously low: ‘We ain’t amateurs. It was just bad luck. Now find somewhere to dump this van, and soon.’
Kevin turned left towards the industrial arches under Clapham Junction station. In the pitch-darkness his headlights pierced the gloom and, parking in front of the first unit, he scrambled out of the van.
‘Come on, this’ll do. We can make our way home through the backstreets.’
The three men walked quickly, constantly looking behind them and relieved when they reached Battersea High Street.
‘That was a bloody fiasco,’ Kevin said, breaking the silence.
‘I’ll admit it was a cock-up, but we got clean away.’
‘Yeah, but empty-handed.’
‘There’s always another job, and we’ll make better plans next time.’
‘Next time! You must be kidding!’
Nobby shrugged. ‘You’ll be looking for easy money again soon, and I’ll be in touch.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Kevin spat as he marched away.
Trevor Bardington still couldn’t sleep. Standing in the darkness of his room, he looked out of the window on to the three young men below him in the street. He recognised his landlord, Nobby Clark, and though the men seemed to be arguing, he wasn’t interested. His appetite was rising again, and try as he might he couldn’t fight it. How many times had he moved? How many different areas had he lived in? He’d lost count. So far he’d been lucky, very lucky, and had never been caught.
He turned away from the window and threw himself onto his bed. Once he had seen that face it was impossible to get it out of his mind – impossible to fight the desire. Now, as he had done so many times in the past, he began to plan.
Other than the young girl downstairs, this place was ideal, and if he used drugs again, there would be no noise. Of course, the time and place would be crucial, and it wouldn’t be easy. His brain turned. There had to be a way, there was always a way, and as an idea began to form, Trevor Bardington smiled. He’d love it, he knew he would. They all did, despite their protests.
Chapter Twelve
When Pearl awoke on Monday morning, she knuckled her eyes before climbing tiredly out of bed. She hadn’t slept well. Trevor Bardington had started pacing again and it had been after one in the morning before he’d stopped.
Why did he spend hours walking back and forth across his room? Was he an insomniac? God, she
Dick climbed the ladder and then Kevin watched as he placed a small torch between his teeth, leaving his hands free to work on the alarm box.
Kevin’s tension eased. Dick seemed to know what he was doing. He removed the cover, carefully handing it down to Nobby before reaching inside the box. Then suddenly a deafening, clanging racket pierced the silence.
Kevin froze momentarily, but then in panic he gunned the engine to life, eyes on stalks as he screamed, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here!’
Dick slid down the ladder, grabbed his tools, and then both men scrambled for the van.
Nobby just about managed to leap into the passenger seat as Kevin screeched off. ‘Shit!’ heyelled, holding on to the dashboard for dear life.
Dick had almost shot into the back of the van and, with tyres screaming, Kevin was out of the gate, driving with his foot hard on the accelerator.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Dick yelled, ‘give me a chance to shut the back doors!’
Kevin slowed almost imperceptibly before turning a corner, his ears peeled for the sound of police sirens. Dick managed to pull the doors closed, and soon they were streets away.
‘Slow down, you stupid bastard! You’re drawing attention to us,’ Nobby shouted.
‘Watch your mouth,’ Kevin spat, his eyes now flicking to the back of the van and to Dick Smedley. ‘So much for the alarm being a fucking doddle! Christ, it serves me right for getting mixed up with amateurs.’
Nobby’s voice was dangerously low: ‘We ain’t amateurs. It was just bad luck. Now find somewhere to dump this van, and soon.’
Kevin turned left towards the industrial arches under Clapham Junction station. In the pitch-darkness his headlights pierced the gloom and, parking in front of the first unit, he scrambled out of the van.
‘Come on, this’ll do. We can make our way home through the backstreets.’
The three men walked quickly, constantly looking behind them and relieved when they reached Battersea High Street.
‘That was a bloody fiasco,’ Kevin said, breaking the silence.
‘I’ll admit it was a cock-up, but we got clean away.’
‘Yeah, but empty-handed.’
‘There’s always another job, and we’ll make better plans next time.’
‘Next time! You must be kidding!’
Nobby shrugged. ‘You’ll be looking for easy money again soon, and I’ll be in touch.’
‘Don’t bother,’ Kevin spat as he marched away.
Trevor Bardington still couldn’t sleep. Standing in the darkness of his room, he looked out of the window on to the three young men below him in the street. He recognised his landlord, Nobby Clark, and though the men seemed to be arguing, he wasn’t interested. His appetite was rising again, and try as he might he couldn’t fight it. How many times had he moved? How many different areas had he lived in? He’d lost count. So far he’d been lucky, very lucky, and had never been caught.
He turned away from the window and threw himself onto his bed. Once he had seen that face it was impossible to get it out of his mind – impossible to fight the desire. Now, as he had done so many times in the past, he began to plan.
Other than the young girl downstairs, this place was ideal, and if he used drugs again, there would be no noise. Of course, the time and place would be crucial, and it wouldn’t be easy. His brain turned. There had to be a way, there was always a way, and as an idea began to form, Trevor Bardington smiled. He’d love it, he knew he would. They all did, despite their protests.
Chapter Twelve
When Pearl awoke on Monday morning, she knuckled her eyes before climbing tiredly out of bed. She hadn’t slept well. Trevor Bardington had started pacing again and it had been after one in the morning before he’d stopped.
Why did he spend hours walking back and forth across his room? Was he an insomniac? God, she
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