Breakers

by Doug Johnstone

  Barry removed the secateurs and handed them to Tyler, then threw his shoulder against the door. It shook but stayed solid. Again, same result. Barry tutted under his breath and tried again. The door bent in the middle but only a little. A decent deadbolt, most likely with five bolts into the frame up and down the door. Probably hooked too. It wouldn’t give. Modern doors like this were becoming more common, but around here you still sometimes got the old plastic ones with a single bolt, or even original wooden doors that you could almost blow open.

  Barry turned to the kitchen window. It was one large pane with two smaller hinged fanlights along the top. He took the secateurs from Tyler and thrust them into the point below the window lock. Pushed the handles and it popped first time. No one ever reinforced fanlights, they were always a weak point. Half the time they weren’t even locked.

  Barry dropped the secateurs as Kelly lifted a black wheelie bin over, careful not to drag it and make a sound. Barry helped Tyler onto the bin then held it steady with both hands. Tyler pushed the small window open as far as it would go then gripped the open ledge and pulled himself through the gap headfirst. He was midway, his weight balanced half inside the kitchen, half outside. Kelly reached out and gave the soles of his trainers a shove and he slid forward, hands out. He was skinny but his hips stuck in the window frame. Kelly gave another shove. He was over the kitchen sink, his hands near the draining board, and he wriggled his jeans against the lip of the open window, squeezing one hip sideways then the other. He slipped the last few inches, braced his hands against the draining board, swivelled his legs sideways through the gap and flopped onto his hands and knees next to the sink.

  He paused for a second assessing his body, listening for noise inside the house. He’d done this dozens of times but his heart still throbbed in his ribcage, the pulse like a message in his ears. He scooted onto his bum then jumped down into the kitchen. He was lithe and flexible but he still wished he had a cat’s body, the ability to slip gracefully through the world. He looked around. Marble worktops, brushed chrome hob and oven, long oak breakfast bar. They’d spent their money on that rather than security.

  He went to the back door. Sometimes they left the key in the door, but not this time. He had a quick look round, found a spare set on a shelf next to some hardback cookbooks, faces he recognised from television.

  He put the key in the lock. It was stiff because of the damage Barry had done from outside but it turned with a jiggle.

  He opened the door.

  ‘Good work,’ Barry said, coming inside, Kelly trailing after.

  He raised his eyebrows at Tyler and tilted his head, meaning upstairs.

  ‘The usual,’ he said.

  Tyler ran upstairs. It was good to be away from the other two. He did a quick tour of the rooms, three bedrooms, a bathroom and an office. No one home. Always best to check, you never knew if someone had gone to bed early, taken something, slept through the doorbell.

  The décor was old-fashioned, a retired couple maybe, kids grown up and left home. That was common, not many younger people could afford places like this.

  Tyler stood in the hall for a moment, collecting himself. Soaking up the atmosphere, imagining the people, the lives they lived here. What was it like to be them? Worked in a bank or office all their lives, kids at university now, time to enjoy the garden.

  In the master bedroom he went into the linen closet, pulled out a couple of pillowcases. There was a dresser with a mirror, a few jewellery boxes and trinkets. He swept it all into a pillowcase. Tried the drawers, more jewellery, mostly costume but some nice silver and gold. You could accumulate a lot of stuff over a lifetime.

  He had a quick look through a chest of drawers, in case valuable stuff was hidden underneath pants or socks, but nothing. He checked bedside tables. Scottish crime novels on her side, books about military history on his. A half-empty packet of Viagra in his drawer.

  He did the office next. Shelves lined with hardback books, classics mostly. A laptop and an iPad on the solid desk. He scooped them into the pillowcase. Checked through the desk drawers and lifted out power supplies and charging cables, bundled them up. He looked around. A bottle of expensive whisky, two crystal glasses, a water jug. An old record player and some shelves of vinyl, classical and jazz. Nothing portable.

  In the bathroom he lifted two bottles from the cupboard, temazepam and morphine. Barry would want them. He looked at the toiletries and thought if they needed anything at home. Threw the Colgate and Radox in the pillowcase.

  The other two bedrooms were mostly empty. Tyler had been right, grown-up kids had moved away. In the back bedroom he found an old Nintendo DS and games, pocketed them. Spotted the charger and took that too. Sometimes you got PlayStations or Xboxes, but not here. In the other bedroom he found an old Polaroid camera with two packets of unused film. He couldn’t sell it but he took it anyway. Maybe Bean would like it.

  He was done and downstairs in a few minutes.

  When he walked into the living room Barry had his cock out and was pissing on a sofa, Kelly watching and smiling.

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Tyler said.

  This wasn’t the first time, Barry had been pushing things recently.

  ‘Anything good?’ Barry said, zipping up.

  The smell of piss snagged at Tyler’s nostrils. He stared at Barry for a moment before answering. ‘Laptop and iPad, some necklaces and rings.’

  Barry had a DVD player, another laptop and some other stuff in a tote bag. Kelly waved some money she’d found in a drawer and a pair of expensive headphones.

  Tyler looked around. More bookshelves, they were big readers. A couple of original paintings on the wall, abstract things, pastel shapes that didn’t make sense. Dark leather sofas, pictures of the kids on the mantelpiece, a phrenology head on display. Classy people living quiet lives. He wondered how they would take this.

  ‘Come on,’ Barry said.

  They went back through to the kitchen.

  Barry stopped at a bowl in the middle of the breakfast bar and rummaged through it. Loose change, golf balls, a calculator, stained corks from wine bottles.

  ‘Fuck, no car key.’

  Barry looked around the kitchen and Tyler followed his gaze. A set of flashy knives in a block, copper pans hanging up, a huge fridge-freezer. He thought about what they had to eat at home.

  Barry took one of the knives from the block and dropped it in the middle of the floor with a clatter that was shocking. A warning to the owners. He went out the back door. Kelly smiled at Tyler and followed. Tyler took a last look round and left the house.

  4

  Barry and Kelly were yammering up front, buzzing from the job. They were talking over each other, Rihanna’s new single throbbing away on the radio. Barry was doing well over thirty, his caution of earlier evaporated. Tyler had the adrenaline rush too, but it felt like a betrayal. He was ashamed of what he’d done but the endorphins pulsed through his bloodstream, making him feel as if he’d achieved something, like a caveman escaping the jaws of a sabre-toothed tiger. He learned about it in biology at school, fight or flight, but knowing the physical reason didn’t make it easier to accept.

  They drove north through Newington then left into Sciennes and Marchmont. Not many pickings here, too many student flats, the uni just over the Meadows. There were also too many people in the streets, students walking home from pubs and clubs in the Old Town. Barry steered them through Whitehouse and skipped round the edge of The Grange into Morningside. It was the famously posh part of the city, where all the old-school money lived, as opposed to the brash New Town hedge funders.

  Barry was too high from the first job and the coke to focus on the houses they drove past. Tyler spotted two candidates that Barry missed, but he didn’t say anything. It was the owners’ lucky night. Kelly couldn’t spot a good mark at the best of times. Thick as shit in a bottle, Barry said, even to her face, like it was a compliment. She just smiled and stroked his arm like she was brainwashed. As
if on cue, she laughed at something Barry said, flicked her hair off her shoulder, eyes shining from the coke bumps.

  They wound into Craiglockhart, then north to Merchiston, then sat at the lights at Holy Corner for ages, Lorde’s new single playing on the radio. Tyler liked her, she had something interesting about her, not like the other crap Forth played. He didn’t like the charts generally, preferred electronica and chill out. He found some stuff on Spotify one day, trying playlists for meditation, looking for something to help his mind settle. He wanted to stick his earbuds in now, listen to his own stuff on his phone, but Barry always slapped them off his head if he tried that on a job. Awareness of your surroundings, Barry said, that was key. How that squared with a coked-addled brain and a jaw that never shut up, fuck knows.

  The time idling at the crossroads seemed to quieten them down in front. They went across into Churchill, along Chamberlain Road and right into Churchill Gardens. Too open, too busy, even at this time of night. A couple of lefts and they were into Greenhill Place, a terrace along one side, bigger detached houses on the right. They went to the end, turned right, round the block. A funeral directors on one corner. Tyler imagined what they might find there. But businesses were always better protected, alarm systems linked to the police, CCTV, money in a locked safe.

  Barry turned right into St Margaret’s Road and slowed. Tyler spotted it before he sensed anything from Barry. A standalone Victorian upstairs-downstairs, bay windows, trimmed hedge and narrow gravel driveway. Ivy crawling up the wall around the front door. Dark, no car in the driveway or street, no sign of an alarm. The windows at the front looked old sash and case, probably the same round the back.

  Barry went round the block to be sure, making a purring noise under his breath. Kelly got the coke out and sorted a couple more lines on her lap. Barry slowed the car as they came back into St Margaret’s Road and eyeballed number four again, then he pulled up between streetlights and under an overhanging chestnut tree. They both did a line in front, Barry making a gargling sound, Kelly sniffing into her throat. They were both fucked when they needed to be sharp.

  ‘Look lively,’ Barry said, climbing out of the car.

  Getting in was easier than last time. A conservatory extension had been added round the back, but it was old so the lock mechanism wasn’t up to much. The sliding doors prised away from the support without much grumble, no need for Tyler’s monkey climb this time. He wished he could stay in the car but that wasn’t how it worked, Barry wanted them all involved. Tyler reckoned it made him feel more secure, knowing his brother and sister were in the shit with him if a job went tits up.

  They split up like before, Tyler taking the stairs two at a time, Barry and Kelly spreading out from the kitchen, one to the living room, the other towards the office. So much space in these big houses, Tyler wondered how you got used to it. He pictured the flat he shared with Mum and Bean. At least it was just the three of them since Barry and Kelly had taken over the place next door. Before that it had been unbearable, everyone under each other’s feet the whole time. And getting Bean away from those two was a relief. She wasn’t safe around them.

  He found a pillowcase in the cupboard at the top of the stairs, stood for a moment and breathed. Sniffed the air. He wondered if you could smell wealth. Maybe this was what it smelt like, sandalwood and floor polish. All the floors were stripped hardwood, an expensive runner along the length of the hall. No carpet meant more creaks and squeaks, but that didn’t matter, in fact it helped. If the owners were in the house, it was harder for them to sneak up on him.

  Main bedroom. He played his phone torch over it. He should get one of those head torches that strap around your skull so he could keep his hands free, the ones that hillwalkers and runners use. He’d suggested it to Barry, who just laughed and called him a poof.

  The king-sized bed had purple satin sheets, tacky as hell, out of keeping with the décor in the rest of the place. The bay-windowed room was big enough for two dressers with mirrors, his and hers, sleek Scandinavian lines. Tyler went to the woman’s first. Lots of gold and platinum, bracelets and anklets, brooches and rings. He swept it all into the pillowcase then went through the drawers. More of the same. These guys weren’t shy about spending money.

  Over to the man’s side. Three flashy watches on the top that he lifted, more rings, heavy, probably solid gold. There was more in the drawers too. Who needed seven designer watches? Some people were stupid with money. If Tyler had that kind of cash he’d take Bean on holiday somewhere sunny with an empty beach, a wee shack selling fried chicken and cold drinks. Space and time, that’s what money should buy you, not Cartier and TAG Heuer.

  In the bottom drawer of the dresser were six brand-new iPhones still in their boxes. Tyler frowned as he placed them into the pillowcase. Didn’t make sense. Either this guy was crazy rich or he was up to something.

  He switched the torch off for a moment and looked out of the window. Just a quiet street, the soft sodium glare from the light down the road. There wasn’t a Neighbourhood Watch sign anywhere on the block, but those were mostly bullshit anyway. It was hard to coordinate coherent security between neighbours in a city like Edinburgh, where people didn’t talk to each other. Even harder in a rich area, where a lot of people were only here half the time.

  Something caught his eye. A fox padding along the road, tail flat, head bobbing, its fur sleek in the yellow light. It stopped to sniff at a hedge, lifted its head to look around, seemed to stop and stare at him. Did foxes have good eyesight? Could he see Tyler standing in the window? The fox sloped off, flitted down the street and out of sight, and Tyler thought about fight or flight.

  He turned and switched the torch back on. There was an iPad on the bedside table with a pair of Gucci reading glasses lying on top. Into the pillowcase. He opened the top drawer and found a silver money clip full of twenties. Christ. He riffled them, guessed there was maybe five hundred here. Barry would be ecstatic. Hard cash was so much easier than all the fencing and haggling. Tyler removed a glove, slipped five twenties out of the clip, folded them and placed them inside his briefs against the elastic. Once on a job three months ago, Barry had made him turn his pockets out afterwards. They’d been empty that night, but the threat was clear. Tyler put the money clip in the pillowcase and recced the rest of the room. He came up with some more trinkets of jewellery, cheaper than the earlier stuff.

  Back into the hallway and he could hear Barry and Kelly downstairs, rummaging and snooping, a cabinet door opening and closing, the clank of something metal. The sounds of people’s lives being turned upside down.

  In the next bedroom he hit the jackpot. A teenage boy, a gamer, with an Xbox One and a PlayStation 4, loads of games, controllers and headsets, other add-ons. He went to the hall cupboard and pulled out a duvet cover, went back and filled the thing. He looked around. A Hibs poster on one wall, the cup-winning team standing around the trophy, a picture of Kim Kardashian with her bum sticking out on the wall opposite. Some glossy motorbike and car magazines piled up next to the bed, standard spread of joggers, trainers and hoodies across the floor. It could’ve been Tyler’s room, if Tyler lived in a million-pound house with money to burn. He looked about for any signs of the boy’s identity but didn’t see anything. Girls tended to have more of that stuff than boys. Their names in fairy lights above the bed, printed-off selfies with BFFs stuck to mood boards or mirrors, names on diaries. Tyler preferred when they did houses with girls, he could lift something small to give to Bean as a present. It was also more calming being in that female space compared to the shoot-em-ups and hotrods, the wrestling and rugby of boys’ rooms.

  He walked to the next bedroom but it was just a guest room, simply furnished, bed and a desk, nothing worth taking. He got on his knees and checked under the bed. Nothing. He realised he hadn’t checked under the bed in the main bedroom, so he went back and crouched down, played the torch beam under it.

  He sat on his haunches staring for a long time.


  Eventually he reached in and pulled it out. He’d never seen a sawnoff shotgun before. He’d fired plenty of airguns in his time, aiming at Coke cans on waste ground near home, but this was a different league. He put the torch down and lifted the gun in both hands, felt the heft of it. There was a part on the underside of the barrel that slid backwards and forwards in his right hand. Pump-action. It made him think of Call of Duty.

  He didn’t know how to check if it was loaded. His gloved finger stroked the trigger. He stood up with the shotgun in his hand and looked at himself in the dresser mirror. Pointed the barrels at the mirror and made a face. He swung the gun round to see it in profile, posed like a soldier, then back again, sniper style, his eye lined up along the sight. He dropped to one knee then spun round, imagining Barry bursting through the bedroom door, getting a blast in the face.

  He heard a noise. Outside. Wheels on gravel, engine cutting out. Clunk and blip of a car door being closed and locked.

  He scurried to the window. There was a car parked in the driveway and he caught a glimpse of someone stepping towards the front of the house, a woman in leggings and trainers.

  Shit.

  He listened. He could hear Barry and Kelly downstairs, still clearing out the living room. They couldn’t have heard the car.

  He saw himself in the mirror. He was still holding the shotgun.

  ‘Fuck.’

  He scrambled across the room, threw it under the bed, picked up his phone and switched the torch off. He shoved it in his pocket and picked up the duvet cover and pillowcase full of stuff.

  He was at the top of the stairs when he heard the scratch of a key in the front door, then it opened and the hall light came on.

  The noise from the living room stopped.

  Tyler stood at the top of the stairs. The staircase doubled back on itself so he couldn’t see the front door from here.

  His heart banged at his chest and his fingers tingled. He started taking soft steps down the stairs. Made it as far as the landing.