Nine days later.

‘Ready yet?’

‘Of course, just getting my bat. Who the fuck is the crack-head’? Said Smithy looking through his curtains, twitching in kind at the cord. His burner phone to his ear. He leaves his I-Phone in his drawer, location left on.

‘He’s our driver man, he’s alright just don’t mention his gnashers.’

‘What’s up with his teeth?’

‘He smokes crack, what you think? You’ll see, don’t say anything he’s a sensitive sausage.’ Said Justin pacing down the street with a cigarette.

‘I’ll be out in a second.’ Said Smithy, reaching under his bed and grabbing his bat. Beater, wackin’ stick, or bat. It’s now a tool of the trade.

‘Ready for your big night out?’ Said Justin, leaning up a battered Toyota Yaris smoking, blowing into the air and watching it flow into the dark night.

‘I’ve been pumping since last week man, you sure we’re good to go?’ Said Smithy, pulling his jacket tight and shivering. He thinks about going back in and grabbing a jumper.

‘All sweet, was just waiting for this guy here to get us a motor.’ Said Justin pointing to the driver, who nervously moves inside. He has little sores under his chin and picks at them, leaving a trickle of blood to seep down his slim neck and a faded tattoo of a kid’s name born a few years before Smithy, yet indelible.

‘Taking the piss with that?’

‘Nah man, he’s my cousin’s little mule and he burgles old ladies for a fix. I said to him, get a car, do some driving for us and you’d get a shit ton of drugs. The man had it ready in two days. What’s the problem? You think I would turn up in my motor?’ Said Justin, pointing out the Yaris and the beige shawl sitting in the backseat. Smithy’s Nan used to have a blue one and he remembers the soft wool on his cheek fondly.

‘What you mean his mule? He couldn’t carry himself to the doctors for fuck sake, let alone us to a job.’

‘If you want his life story ask him, the fucker does nothing but talk shit, you can sit in the front, I’ve had enough of him. Try not to touch shit, fingerprints and shit.’

‘I don’t care about this tools story. I thought it was just us?’

‘This guy owes my cousin money too, lots of it the fiendish bastard. If we get chased by the blue bastards then we get out and he drives on, he’ll run it into the ground and go to prison and we’ll have the time to get away. He likes prison, so he’s all over it.’ Said Justin finishing the cigarette and throwing to the floor. The binmen are on strike and the bins are overflowing, it isn’t noticed. Brushing down his black tracksuit of the ash, he throws his hood up hiding his face as a car drives passed.

‘We’ve got more chance of being pulled over with him at the wheel, look at the state of him.’ Said Smithy, pointing to the scrawny addict picking at his potholed face with a shade of grey only achieved through the brown.

‘It’s alright man, the car’s on fake plates and it’s common as fuck, don’t worry. Police go for the driver man, chill.’

‘What area is that house again?’

‘Acocks Green, not far. How you forget that?’ Said Justin jumping into the back seat.

‘Been talking about it all week for fuck sake.’ He continued, looking to Smithy like he’s an idiot.

‘I’m on it.’ Said Smithy turning away before deciding to walk away back to his house and a safe joint and the playstation. ‘Alright gummy bear, how you doing?’ Said Smithy jumping into the passenger seat and turning to the driver, whose tearing into the steering wheel with blackened nails.

‘What you say?’ Said the Mule with blackened teeth too, at least the ones that were left.

‘Nothing man, you sure about this Justin?’ Said Smithy turning to the back seat with wide eyes. He’s seen a few of these around, always shuffling, going somewhere with a can of high strength cider to get them going until they find the dragon. Never this close and personal though, feeling his breath on his skin as he talks. The only words he’s ever exchanged is ‘nah mate, don’t drink coffee’ when offered two jars of Kenco for a fiver outside Londis.

‘Don’t worry about him Mule, just drive the fucking car. You know where we’re going ye?’ Said Justin, leaning back and enjoying the moment. Smithy can’t remember him ever choosing the back seat, especially in a tiny hatch like this. He’s at least six feet tall and his knees need to turn without bumping the backseat. Smithy was told he chatted shit, not that this addict was bleeding his Hep-C everywhere. Now, as blood continues to seep down the Mules neck and he picks his nose and wipes it on the seat, he just thinks of twenty bags, just twenty bags and all his problems can be solved with a broken door.

‘Aye ye, smashing the big bastard? I know that horrible fat twat.’

‘Do you know him?’ Said Smithy, turning to him and then away. He’s a hard man to look at, pitted with old scars and new sores, like a leper without the bandages. Smithy must remind himself he doesn’t share needles so not to worry.

‘Ye bruv proper fat bastard, horrible fat twat.’

‘In what way?’

‘Ye bruv a proper fat bastard, a horrible twat.’

‘Ye, in what fucking way?’

‘He’s just a proper fat bastard and a horrible fucking twat, and Russian or Latvian, or one of them countries with fat bastards. I can’t drive and talk bruv shut your hole.’ Said Mule spluttering down his chin and picking at a puss ridden sore on his hand. Smithy turns to the window and heaves.

‘He isn’t going to get far in a chase.’ Said Smithy at a whisper.

‘Nah, he’s a useless fucker and he knows it.’

‘Why’s he called the Mule? He can’t drive for shit.’ Said Smithy as he stutters and nearly stalls at an island and a car beeps behind.

‘Because I can carry a shit ton of shit up my arse that’s why!’ Said the Mule without turning from the road. The one behind turns off and they’re the only ones around. He clutches the wheel as if on a motorway and he’s just passed the transport police. It would’ve been better if he’d driven thinks Smithy, looking at the getaway driver and still trying not to heave up his dinner.

‘Keep driving fella, just one thing at a time you said, stick to it.’ Said Justin laughing in the back as if it’s all a joke.

‘Can you trust this man, look at him!’

‘I’ve done bare of these jobs man, trusted geeza don’t you worry little boy. I’ve got six mini-phones and thirty sim-cards up my rusty badge right now, I’m ready to get nicked.’ Said the Mule, still not turning from the road. Smithy puts his hands to his face.

‘One more word out of you, I swear to fuck you’re walking to whatever bridge you live under.’ Said Smithy, opening the bag on his lap and holding his little rounders bat. He stole it from school when he was twelve, sticking it down his blazer and strolling out without a fuss. Hasn’t left the little spot underneath his bed, apart from the time the burglars tried prying the back windows open for the hundredth time since. He looks to the Mule and wonders if he’s one of the fuckers who had his first two PlayStation’s away while at school. Horrible little crack head bastard he thinks, slapping the bat in his hand. He spent his year eight summer holidays staring at day-time TV until Justin was up, which was rarely before three because of the green, as he started dabbling in primary school. He was hooked before turning a teen and hasn’t stopped since.

‘Alright bruv, I’m not deaf, even if I look half-dead.’ Said the Mule and he turns with a gummy smile with little black and brown teeth only Smithy has seen close-up on American cop shows.

‘Enough of you man, Smithy you need to understand a few things here mate.’ Said Justin coldly, almost professionally in manner as he moves forward and comes close to Smithy’s ear. Smithy could almost hear his heart beating through his chest and started to think he was nervous. Nah, not Justin, he was excited the mad bastard. Smithy was the one wiping the cold sweat on his legs.

‘What’s that?’

‘We’re in this together. I’m coming with ye, we share what we find fifty-fifty after we sort my cousin out, alright?’

‘Mate or no mate, don’t try and fuck you over? Looking at me like I’m some sort of cunt and I’m going to be shoving bags down my dick. What you taking me for?’

‘It’s not that. It just needs to be said.’

‘There’s things that don’t need to be.’ Said Smithy, and he was lying. He was thinking the same of him and was going to keep a close eye anyway. It was always a fifty-fifty venture in his mind. He can stick his share up his arse he thinks.

They didn’t agree to have some crack-head come along for the show for starters. Then again, Justin was right. The police will always go for the driver first if there is a chase. Watched enough Police Interceptors to know that. They can’t charge a passenger for driving a stolen car. Just get the crack-head to take the hit, just like they’re used to. Justin’s shrewder than he looks, certainly fooled Smithy into the motor.

‘True that, you ready to make some money?’

‘More than you could ever know man, how far we out?’

‘Not far man, you got that vest on?’

‘Ye man, it’s a nice fit.’ Said Smithy tapping away at the vest. Justin said it was bullet-proof, but it was only a stab vest and he wasn’t sure it would be any good. Better than nothing he thinks.

He was pacing around his room for the last few days, beater in hand as if training for his new role. He caught himself in the mirror and nearly cried. Those tears vanished quickly however, as the paycheck was left open on his chest of draws and for the first time, he smashes the little rounders bat on the top in rage. The pointless paper made the imprint in more than one way.

‘Good one mate, we’re nearly there. Just remember this….’ Said Justin as the Mule pulls up on a residential street. Typical council houses, nothing sticking out. Smithy couldn’t guess which one, ‘Police aren’t going to come looking for us.’ He said as Smithy looks out and knows there’s more.

How could someone change over the years in prison? Did Smithy still know him? He went away at sixteen for violence, then at eighteen for supply and is out on license with more lust for the easy pound than his younger self. He’s a survivor. He wasn’t under any illusions about his character and he always knew he thought of himself first, perhaps his little sister a close second. He had a bottom line extending to his own shoelaces usually, and only out for himself. He’s had no choice, no fucker’s give him a helping hand, so Smithy’s never taken it personal. His had his back when it mattered most. He remembers when he was in prison, he got a call asking if he could use his name to get a rental car when he got out. He wanted to use him then, is he using him now?

Smithy was struggling, swallowing dust in an excitable chatter of potential riches of tomorrow. He was already counting the cash. He had a lot more to ride on this, given his clean criminal record. It wasn’t the case of having nothing to lose, not entirely.

Criminal riches hidden behind dirty PVC windows and tobacco stained drapes. Smithy didn’t imagine in his own world what was hiding within his grasp. He wasn’t in that world now. He was in another, an alternative reality of a different lad and he hadn’t even done anything, yet. There was no going back. He couldn’t walk to the Bus-Stop ever again and not think of what the local dealers have in their drawers. He was on board, all the way. His leg twitches the last vestige of his nerves as the location nears. He remembers the street from Google maps and grips the beater ready.

‘We’ll be doing lines of coke…..instead of line-ups down the station, aye kid?’ Said Justin, slapping Mule on the back of his skinny shoulder that hallowed like he’s been rotted from the inside.

‘Or a speedball in the toes!’ Said the Mule, taking a drink from a Lucozade after pulling to a slow stop.

‘Don’t fucking move, only shake in position, you get me man?’ Said Justin tapping a sledgehammer on the headrest.

‘I need a fix man, I wouldn’t leave, I swear.’ Said the Mule scratching his sores and rubbing his arms. He was anticipating his own pain ending soon too.

‘Get me away from this waste.’ Said Smithy stepping out and blowing his hands warm. A few lights are on and a TV flickers in the street further down. Nothing outside though, they’re alone. Perfect place for a crop he thinks, nice and quiet with no traffic at night.

‘Take this.’ Said Justin, throwing a piece of black cotton with well positioned holes into Smithy’s free hand.

He slid the balaclava over his head. Unless you count wrapping himself in a scarf while waiting at that Bus-Stop in January, he’d never really covered his face before. He hadn’t the need. Unlike working in a factory for minimum wage and treated like a dog, it didn’t feel so unnatural. It was if the anxieties were lost in the darkness. He could be anyone and become anyone he wanted.

Fully prepared, his illusion was complete as he follows Justin’s lead. Smoke and mirrors from the working-class magicians with a limited bag of party tricks to choose from. They’re Schwag Lads.

‘Where you get this?’ Said Smithy, still following close behind.

‘Just fucking take it, it’s this gaff here.’ Said Justin handing over a small bottle of pepper spray.

‘I should’ve worn a pair of goggles man, you think we’ll need this?’ Said Smithy, holding the bottle in his hands. It was more dangerous than the bat and would get a higher sentence too. He was carrying a few years inside, even with the clean record.

They’re usually best served out to drunks on Broad street from the boys in blue. He remembers the lingering sting on his eyes after one was used at the football after Blues lost in the cup.

‘Just put it in your pocket, he’s a big bastard, just in case.’ Said Justin walking in front with the sledge-hammer hanging by his side. He’s attempting to hide it, however anyone looking outside right now would see two lads in black, armed, with balaclavas, pacing quickly to ruin someone’s day.

‘Few fucking years this.’

‘Oh fuck off, you will use it anyway. No fucking about. We’re in and out.’ Said Justin pointing to Smithy’s blackened face suggesting this wasn’t exactly of his own volition now. Snarling like a sergeant of arms with a pulsating vein on his neck.

‘Remember the plan?’ He said as they head close towards the house. It’s a Monday morning and it’s early enough for the birds to be the only sound, other than their soft voices.

‘We go round the back and through the back door….’ Said Smithy, thinking of the steps they had discussed during the week. They would go around the back and enter through the back door. They checked it out on Google maps, saving any suspicions doing a drive-by and as Smithy gets close to the house, he remembers the red front door and the neighbours Clio on the drive now too.

‘And then.’ Said Justin snapping in, turning to Smithy as they moved along the side of the house. Smithy stepped over a discarded lager he didn’t recognise. It looked European and potent. One of those eastern European lagers he hadn’t developed a stomach for. A crest of an eagle, with talons ripping over the crimpled metal. Was it crushed by a foot or a powerful hand? The Mule did say he was a fat bastard.

‘I’m with it….come on.’ Said Smithy taking the lead and hopping over the back gate. He opens easily as there’s no padlock on the bolt and with a creak of a rusty hinge they’re walking over broken bottles to the door.

‘One hit and we’re in.’ Said Justin readying himself and taking aim with the sledge. The door wasn’t reinforced and must have been the original wooden one from the paint fraying at the edges. They could’ve kicked it through if they wanted. Smithy sees Justin smile as if he’s enjoying the thrill and with one swing, they’re in.