Burglars
- a crime story with romance and a twist in the tale
from Short Stories by R Hopcott

Alice sat neatly down at the kitchen table of her 3 bedroom semi-detached in the suburbs of London. The burglar slouched at the other end of the vinyl kitchen table.

How did she know he slouched, she wondered. After all, the grey packing tape that blindfolded her excluded even the slightest chink of light. But she did.

If light had been able to pass the tape, it would have fallen on blue eyes that glinted icily. Every corpuscle of Alice was angry. Her rage seared like a symphony through her arteries. The hammer beats of her heart crashed like cymbals in her ears as she strained for evidence of what was happening in the seeing world around her.

The day had started badly - then it had got worse. It had begun with John her husband, a slight, dapper man in his forties - grey suit, pale tie and condescension. Her anger against the burglars momentarily redirected itself back to her husband. She had been idly turning the pages of the free newspaper while she waited for him to come down for breakfast. When he did, he found her perusing an advertisement for a new shop in the high street two blocks away.

"My secretary was in there yesterday. Bought a present for her boyfriend to spice up a night in. Not up your street at all, my dear, far too risqué I'm sure."

Alice had tensed, directed a look in his direction that anyone but a completely insensitive, thick skinned male would have comprehended as extreme displeasure, primped her hair, smiled one of her sweetest smiles and deftly placed his breakfast in front of him. Over him would have been better - but that would have been a waste and Alice hated waste even more than assumptions about the liberality of her shopping habits.

When the elderly neighbour from next door had asked her to get her prescription from the chemist, Alice had deliberately walked past the new shop although it meant going round the village green the long way. The shop was tasteful, she had to admit. It didn't look sleazy and it didn't seem to be bulging at the seams with old men in crumpled raincoats.

The mission to the chemist was successful and she returned the long way round to have another look. On arriving home, the first indication that all was not normal came when she made to close the front door. A strong draught through the lounge pushed it shut with a bang. Had she left the back door open? She was certain not. Could her husband have returned. Most unlikely. Like Alice he was a creature of habit. The office would keep his attention until the due time and then he would return in the early evening to a tea Alice would have timed to the minute.

The second was the strong hand that clamped itself over her eyes. The third was the cold steel that pressed sharply against her jugular.

"You wouldn't want blood over that nice blouse would you. Keep quiet and you won't be hurt" The gruff voice was harsh and determined. The arm that obviously went with the voice bound her arms to her side like a band of steel. The slimline dark knee length skirt she wore nearly made her fall as he manhandled her into the lounge.

Another voice, higher, younger, perhaps just a boy, swore briefly. Obviously they hadn't been expecting her back. The draught was stronger here and a gust rattled the window and brought another portion of the back window down onto the television top with a crash. The realisation of their onslaught on her house moved Alice's emotions rapidly from surprise, through fear to the deepest and coldest rage she had ever experienced.

Icy cool, she forced herself to relax and cease resisting. The arm around her eased a little too.

"What do you want."

"Just a bit of business - you'll get it back from the insurance. We don't want to hurt you - just get in, get out and make a profit. Co-operate and you won't get hurt."

"There's no cash in her handbag," observed the younger voice.

The grip around her tightened.

"Where's your cash kept?"

"There isn't any - well just a few coins - change I've been storing for the charity when they come round."

"You're lying!"

The arm drove the breath from her body. She gritted her teeth determined not to cry out.

"You've already looked so why do you say I'm lying. I can't give you what I haven't got."

"Her bags got a cheque book in it - phew, loads of money in there." The younger voice had a south London twang, maybe a trace of cockney. There was the sound of riffled cheque stubs.

"What! You think she's going to write us a cheque? Queried the gruff voice sarcastically.

The younger voice continued. She could write a cheque, I could go and cash it while you keep her entertained here.

"Now there's a thought you wouldn't have had before that last stretch - learned quite a bit didn't you!"

Alice wondered through her teeming emotions whether she could detect pride.

"Networking!" The younger voice continued with satisfaction. "Nothing better and no better place for it."

The cheque was written in the kitchen with her stomach pressed hard against the work top to stop her turning around and with the knife at her throat. She wondered if the fact it emptied the account would be queried by the Bank but doubted it.

The tape, discovered in the utility room with a whoop had then been wrapped round her eyes. At least she had the use of her arms again. She knew the layout of the kitchen exactly. Everything would be in its place, unless they had moved it, neat and tidy.

"Would you like a cup of tea while we wait? Gruff voice had released her once the tape was over her eyes. "I was just going to have one when you - so rudely - interrupted me."

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