Money (That's What I Want)
So, I guess you just watch and wait. After working out where the vulnerable live that is. Sheltered Housing must always be a draw I reckon. A bit like a herd of Wilderbeest providing food for the lions and cheetahs of this world.At some point you see someone leave one of the flats or houses. You pay attention. Did he/she actually lock that door before shuffling off to the shop for an evening paper? No, I don’t think she did. Does that mean she’s just forgetful or is there someone still inside? Do you give a fuck? No, not really, she looks mid seventies so whoever’s inside (unless it’s a son or grandson) must be slightly older and, let’s face it, a pushover. So, over the road you nip and try the door. It opens.
You stand in the hallway listening and casing. A bedroom door on your immediate right – worth a punt. Another door on the right with a TV blaring from the other side of it – unless things get desperate you’ll give that a miss. So, into the bedroom and bingo. A handbag containing a lot of money, a mobile phone and debit cards. On the bedside cabinet: jewellery of both sentimental and monetary value. Result.
Out of the bedroom and into a room on the left – fuck! A bathroom. There’ll be sod all in here and just as you turn to exit, the woman who left earlier returns and you’re trapped. As she walks past the slightly open bathroom door, she spots the tips of your fingers trying to keep it as closed as possible. You’re rumbled – but no matter, you’ve done this many times before because you’re addicted to hard drugs or just a complete and absolute amoral twat – or both.
“Sorry to startle you missus, I did knock – there’s been a burst water pipe and I was just looking for the stop tap”
“Oh, OK luv – I’ll just get me husband – he’ll know where it is”
So the old guy whose been sat watching UKTV History while you – you fuckin’ wastrel - have been rifling his possessions slowly raises himself from his chair and shuffles into the bathroom.
“Oh I’m sorry mate”, you say full of mock-sincerity, “I didn’t know you were a bit doddery on your legs, I tell yer what, I’ll just nip down the road and get me van”.
And my Mother and Father say “Oh Ok thank you”.
And then you’re off, like the wind, until you’re out of sight and able to check the handbag. Oh yes! £500 in one pocket and a purse with over £100 in another.
Then what? What actually happens in your head after the rush of the ‘chase’ has gone and the realisation of what you have just done takes over (if it ever does)?
‘Cos I know what happens to the poor defenceless, decent salt of the Earth folk you leave behind. The despair, the anxiety; the guilt, believe it or not. But I shouldn’t think that anything other than the excitement of spending your ill-gotten gains even enters your head does it?
But if I – or my children - ever find out who you are, you will wish you had never lived. That is my promise. Let’s see how you take to being fed through a straw for the rest of your worthless life.
Hope you had a good Christmas everyone and all the best for the New Year.
