deposit-box lock and turned. It opened with a gentle clunk. Kevin wasn't sure if it was excitement or fear that was making him feel a little light headed. He knelt in front of the boxes, opened his briefcase and pulled out his Dutch kit. It was an automatic lock pick that looked like an
electronic screwdriver. But instead of a driver head sticking out the bottom there was a thin shaft of metal.
Kevin sat down with the instructions. He had spent many Friday nights reading instructions, usually for Ikea wardrobes, not 'How to Break into a Deposit Box'.
He put the two batteries into the back of the pick and read on. It seemed simple enough. He switched it on, stood up and put it into the client lock. There was a gentle humming sound but the lock didn't budge. Kevin tried again. The lock opened. Success!
He stepped away from the box with the pick still in his hand. He turned it off, suddenly scared. This was it. He was going to rob the safe-deposit box. Kevin reached out and opened the steel door. It swung back with a gentle creak to reveal the black box. His fear left him.
He opened his briefcase, then reached inside the deposit box.
Suddenly, the bank's alarms ripped through the building. Fuck!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
L EAVING THE BRIEFCASE HE ran up the stairs in blind panic. 'Shit! Shit!' He had to get away. He reached the top step with the alarm still in his ears, and ran to the main doors. There, he could hear police sirens above the alarm. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the locks. The sirens were closer now. His fingers wouldn't work. He couldn't open the doors!
The sirens were outside now. Kevin fell against the door. Police radios crackled. He walked slowly back into the bank in a daze. All he could think of was Linda as blue lights flashed into his face. Suddenly he turned to the window. A wooden bench was sticking out through the smashed glass.
Kevin could see the police shouting at passers-by. But the alarm was too loud for him to make out what they were saying. Shit! What now?
He ran back downstairs to the safe-deposit
box room. Closing the door behind him, he hit the lights. He could still hear the alarms, but he felt safer in the darkness. The only other noise was the sound of his breathing. He leaned against the door, then slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands.
It was hopeless. He couldn't get film scenes of prison out of his mind and, worse, pictures of life without his Linda. He knew the police would surround the bank and the alarm company would already have called Symington. He started to cry. He wasn't a bank robber. He was a nobody.
His mobile was ringing. He hadn't even remembered to turn it off. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, grabbed at the phone. The display lit up. It was Symington. Could it get any worse?
The phone bleeped again. He still hadn't turned the fucking thing off. He listened to the message. Symington sounded as if he was in a pub. 'Where are you Dodds? I've left a message on your home number. There's been some vandalism at the bank. I'm going there now. Call me as soon as you get this.'
The system had swung into action and Kevin
could not stop it. Symington would carry out his checks at the bank with a policeman. He would then report to Head Office. The glass people would arrive to patch up the window with plywood and in the morning they would replace the glass. The police would be outside all night, protecting the bank. It was then that Kevin started to tremble. The copy of the key was still in the safe lock!
The alarm fell silent. That meant Symington was in the bank. Kevin just sat and waited for the moment when his boss and the police would burst in and find him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
K EVIN HEARD MUFFLED VOICES upstairs. It wouldn't be long now. He wanted to see Linda, to cuddle her on the settee. Police radios were at the top of the stairs now. He racked his brains for what de Niro and Eastwood would do. For a start they wouldn't cry. And they wouldn't
electronic screwdriver. But instead of a driver head sticking out the bottom there was a thin shaft of metal.
Kevin sat down with the instructions. He had spent many Friday nights reading instructions, usually for Ikea wardrobes, not 'How to Break into a Deposit Box'.
He put the two batteries into the back of the pick and read on. It seemed simple enough. He switched it on, stood up and put it into the client lock. There was a gentle humming sound but the lock didn't budge. Kevin tried again. The lock opened. Success!
He stepped away from the box with the pick still in his hand. He turned it off, suddenly scared. This was it. He was going to rob the safe-deposit box. Kevin reached out and opened the steel door. It swung back with a gentle creak to reveal the black box. His fear left him.
He opened his briefcase, then reached inside the deposit box.
Suddenly, the bank's alarms ripped through the building. Fuck!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
L EAVING THE BRIEFCASE HE ran up the stairs in blind panic. 'Shit! Shit!' He had to get away. He reached the top step with the alarm still in his ears, and ran to the main doors. There, he could hear police sirens above the alarm. His hands were shaking as he fumbled with the locks. The sirens were closer now. His fingers wouldn't work. He couldn't open the doors!
The sirens were outside now. Kevin fell against the door. Police radios crackled. He walked slowly back into the bank in a daze. All he could think of was Linda as blue lights flashed into his face. Suddenly he turned to the window. A wooden bench was sticking out through the smashed glass.
Kevin could see the police shouting at passers-by. But the alarm was too loud for him to make out what they were saying. Shit! What now?
He ran back downstairs to the safe-deposit
box room. Closing the door behind him, he hit the lights. He could still hear the alarms, but he felt safer in the darkness. The only other noise was the sound of his breathing. He leaned against the door, then slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands.
It was hopeless. He couldn't get film scenes of prison out of his mind and, worse, pictures of life without his Linda. He knew the police would surround the bank and the alarm company would already have called Symington. He started to cry. He wasn't a bank robber. He was a nobody.
His mobile was ringing. He hadn't even remembered to turn it off. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, grabbed at the phone. The display lit up. It was Symington. Could it get any worse?
The phone bleeped again. He still hadn't turned the fucking thing off. He listened to the message. Symington sounded as if he was in a pub. 'Where are you Dodds? I've left a message on your home number. There's been some vandalism at the bank. I'm going there now. Call me as soon as you get this.'
The system had swung into action and Kevin
could not stop it. Symington would carry out his checks at the bank with a policeman. He would then report to Head Office. The glass people would arrive to patch up the window with plywood and in the morning they would replace the glass. The police would be outside all night, protecting the bank. It was then that Kevin started to tremble. The copy of the key was still in the safe lock!
The alarm fell silent. That meant Symington was in the bank. Kevin just sat and waited for the moment when his boss and the police would burst in and find him.
CHAPTER TWENTY
K EVIN HEARD MUFFLED VOICES upstairs. It wouldn't be long now. He wanted to see Linda, to cuddle her on the settee. Police radios were at the top of the stairs now. He racked his brains for what de Niro and Eastwood would do. For a start they wouldn't cry. And they wouldn't
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