[center]BREAKING IN (PT.1)[/center]
House-breaking was a victimless crime, pretty much. That was what Richie Grout thought about his chosen profession. For a start he almost never did any actual breaking when he did the entering.

There were more than enough unlocked doors and open windows around, even in South
London. Nine times out of ten his method of choice was to shin up a drainpipe and into a
bathroom window. Most people seemed to think that windows above ground floor were
somehow unreachable. Big mistake.
And when he was in the house, he never – repeat never – hurt anyone. That was an absolute
rule. If there was someone moving around, he left. Like a bat out of hell. He’d never had a
confrontation, and he never would. But he knew that if he was ever confronted then he’d either
run or he’d raise his hands and surrender. Grout was a thief, not a mugger. He didn’t carry a
weapon of any kind, not even a knife.
Not that he’d even come close to being caught in the act. Grout was too clever for that. Too
clever and too prepared. He’d ended up in court, that was true. But that was always because he’d
been shafted when he was trying to unload the stolen goods. And a couple of times he’d been
caught by CCTV. But he’d never been caught red-handed and he planned for it to continue that
way.
The things he stole were insured most of the time. And if they weren’t insured then that wasn’t
his fault, was it? Insurance wasn’t expensive and if you couldn’t be bothered taking out
insurance then you shouldn’t start whining when someone takes your stuff.
So all in all, there were no victims. Just the insurance companies. And they were worth
billions so screw them. He looked up at the drainpipe and took a couple of deep breaths to steady
himself. He was wearing his usual house-breaking gear – black jeans, black Nikes and a grey
hoodie. He had on tight-fitting leather gloves and a small black Adidas backpack in which he
had a small Magnalite torch, a set of night vision goggles, a mobile phone jammer and a nylon
bag that when unrolled was big enough to hold a 32-inch flat screen television. That was one of
Grout’s favourite items. Televisions, BluRay players, laptops, anything like that was an easy
sale. But he knew a fair bit about antiques and paintings so he always had a good look to see what
was on the walls and in display cases.
He tended not to get jewellery because people kept stuff like that in their bedrooms and Grout
broke into houses when people were asleep. That was when they left windows open. When they
went away on holiday they locked everything and set their alarms. When they were asleep in
their bedrooms they felt secure and they let their guard down. That was when Grout would move
in.
His technique rarely varied. Up the drainpipe and through the window. A quick check of the
upper floor to make sure no one was awake. Then downstairs, keeping close to the wall to
minimise squeaks. He’d unlock the back door, then do the same with the front door. That way he
had his escape routes ready. If anyone came downstairs he’d be on his toes and away, no
fumbling with keys or bolts or chains.
3
The next step was to check for car keys. His van was parked close by but if he could find the
keys then he was more than happy to relieve the owners of their vehicles. Some people took their
car keys up to the bedroom but most left them in the kitchen or the hallway. The people in the
house he was about to burgle had two cars. The guy drove a BMW 3 Series and his wife had a
red Mini Cooper. The BMW was in the driveway and the Mini was parked in the road. Grout
would be happy with either. Stealing cars was another victimless crime, he reckoned. Anyone
who didn’t have their car insured for theft was just asking for trouble.
Then it was time for a quick look around for valuables, then off into the night. Simple. And
nobody got hurt. He’d arrived at the house at just after two o’clock in the morning and all the
lights were off. The couple were always in bed by midnight, regular as clockwork. He took
another deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and grabbed the drainpipe. He climbed easily, letting
his legs do most of the work, and within seconds he was alongside the bathroom window. He
reached for the latch, unhooked it, and slipped inside.
He stood by the shower for a while, his head cocked on one side as he listened intently for any
sound that the occupants were awake. If he did hear anything he would be back out of the
window and down the drainpipe. But there was nothing. He smiled to himself. It was always
during the first few minutes of entering a house that he had to fight the urge to burst into the
bedroom and shout “Surprise!” at the top of his voice.
He knelt down, took off his backpack and opened it. He slipped on the night vision goggles
and switched them on. Soon everything was bathed in a greenish light. He took out his mobile
phone jammer, a cigarette-sized stainless steel box with three aerials of varying lengths, and
switched it on. It would neutralise any mobile phones within fifty feet. He put his backpack on,
stood up and listened carefully again and then eased open the bathroom door and stepped out into
the hall. His heart was racing so he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly, in through his
nose and out through his mouth. He kept his back to the wall as he tiptoed down the stairs.
He stopped when he was half way down. There were three doors leading off the ground floor
hall. One led to the kitchen, one to a dining room and the third to the sitting room. The sitting
door room was open. Grout stiffened as he realised there was a man standing by a large sofa. He
was wearing a pair of night vision goggles similar to Grout’s.
Grout froze, wondering what the hell was going on. The man with the night vision goggles
was holding something. A knife.
Grout took a step back up the stairs and a board creaked. The man in the goggles turned to
look in his direction. He was a big man, wide shouldered and with bulging forearms. He was
wearing a black nylon bomber jacket and tracksuit bottoms. And on his feet, the sort of paper
shoes that forensic scientists wore on the cop shows that Grout loved to watch.
The man with the knife straightened up. Grout turned to run back up the stairs. That was when
the man standing behind Grout slammed something hard against the back of his head and
everything went black.

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